Chapter Four

IRINA VOLKOV

The wine was excellent. Probably worth more than everything I owned. I took a small sip of my wine and set the glass down, hyperaware of every movement, every gesture. One fucking wrong move, one slip in my performance, and this could all fall apart.

"You look nervous," Damien observed. Not accusatory. Just... observant.

"A little," I admitted, because Anastasia would be nervous. "I'm not usually good at first meetings. I'm much better behind a screen."

Nice one Irina.

“I understand.” He leaned back, and something about the movement was graceful, almost predatory. “Same here. But I actually wanted to meet you. I’ve thought about you all the time since we started talking. Do you know what that is like? To have someone occupy your thoughts one hundred percent?”

Yes. I mean I do. Because despite everything, despite all the lies, despite the scam, despite knowing this was supposed to be purely transactional. I had thought about him. More than I should have.

“I think about you,” I said softly, and it wasn’t entirely a lie.

Something flickered in his eye. Satisfaction? Pride? But it was gone too quickly for me to identify.

“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

The waiter returned to take our orders. I barely registered what I asked for, some kind of fish, I thought. My mind was too busy analyzing Damien, searching for weaknesses, for cracks in his polished exterior.

But he gave me nothing. Every movement was controlled. Every word carefully chosen. He asked about my work, my dreams, my favorite books, all the conversations we’d had before, but now in person, with his intense gaze fixed on my face.

I answered as Anastasia would. Charming, slightly vulnerable, grateful for his attention. It was a role I'd played a hundred times before.

So why did it feel different this time?

Halfway through dinner, he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope.

"The investment," he said, sliding it across the table. "Three hundred thousand euros, as promised. I've already had my lawyers draw up the partnership papers. All you need to do is sign."

Really?

My hand trembled slightly as I took the envelope. Inside were official-looking documents and a certified bank check made out to Anastasia Sokolova.

Three hundred thousand euros.

Damn. F for Freedom.

I looked up at him, and for just a second, I saw something in his expression that made my blood run cold. Not kindness. Not attraction.

Recognition. 

My brain screamed danger. I needed to make a move quickly. Disappear into thin air with my money.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice perfectly pleasant.

"No," I said quickly. "No, this is... this is incredibly generous, Damien. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He smiled, and it didn't reach his eyes. "After all, what's mine is yours now. Isn't that how partnerships work?"

Something about the way he said it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Irina Volkov, time up. Time to go.

But the check was real. The money was real.

I tucked the envelope into her clutch and forced myself to relax. I was being paranoid. This was just a normal dinner with a lonely businessman who'd been foolish enough to fall for my scam.

In an hour, I'd walk out of here, cash the check, and disappear forever.

But with the way he was staring at me right now, it was like Damien Romanov had no intention of letting me walk out at all. 

Dessert arrived. Some elaborate confection involving gold leaf and raspberry coulis. But I barely tasted it. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to leave. To take the money and run.

But silly me stood still. 

Damien was watching me with those ice-blue eyes, and something about his gaze made it impossible to move. Like a rabbit frozen in the sight of a wolf.

“You’re quiet,” he observed, setting down his fork. “You have second thoughts about the partnership?”

Huh?

“No,” I said quickly. “Not at all. I’m just…overwhelmed. This is very generous of you.”

“You deserve it.” H e leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something more intimate. “You’ve been with me for these past few months. Been there. Listening. Understanding a lonely businessman like me. Do you know how rare that is? To find someone who truly sees you?”

Guilt building. I pushed it down ruthlessly. This is not the time to feel guilty. Not now. Not when my freedom was literally sitting pretty in my clutch bag.

“I feel the same way,” The foolish, stupid part of me meant it.

Damien's smile was slow, satisfied. "Good. Because I have a plan for you."

My pulse quickened. "A plan?"

"Come back to my apartment. Just for a drink. I'd like to show you the view from my place, it's quite spectacular. And we can discuss the investment in more detail." He paused. "Unless you have other plans?"

Every alarm bell in my head went off at once.

Rule number Five: Never go to a target's home. Always keep meetings public. 

Always maintain an exit strategy.