2

The night should have ended at the gala, but it followed him home like something unfinished. The mansion stood in silence, vast and obedient, every light exactly where it should be, every shadow undisturbed. It was the kind of order Victor built his life on. Predictable. Controlled. Untouched.

He walked past the main hall without slowing, his steps measured, his expression blank. The storm from earlier had long passed, but the faint scent of rain still lingered in the air. It should have been calming. It wasn’t.

Instead of going to his room, he turned toward his study. The door opened with a quiet click, and the dim light inside flickered on, revealing the polished desk, the leather chair, and the file.

It sat there exactly as it had yesterday, unopened, untouched, waiting. Victor walked forward and pulled the chair back. He sat down slowly, his movements deliberate, controlled. 

His hand rested on the file before he opened it.

Page after page flipped beneath his fingers, each detail already carved into his memory. He didn’t need to read it again. He knew everything about her that could be written. Her education. Her background. Her life reduced to facts and ink.

But then he opened the drawer, and there it was, her second file, which had her pictures. His hand paused.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then he picked one up.

Serena Moretti stared back at him from the glossy paper, composed and distant, her expression unreadable. The image was perfect. Too perfect. It lacked something real.

Her lips were plump. That was the first feature he noticed, followed by a black mole under her lower lip on the right side. It was unique. He didn't look at her at the gala properly, nor did he want to look.

Victor’s gaze sharpened slightly. He had seen beautiful women before. Many. It had never meant anything.

And yet… she looked different. Not in the photograph. In reality. Beautiful.

The thought came uninvited, unwelcome.

His jaw tightened immediately. That was an irrelevant thought for him. He didn't like it.

He dropped the photograph back into the file and shut it with more force than necessary. Sliding it away, he stood up without another glance, as if closing it meant closing the thought entirely.

It didn’t. She was on his mind.

Later, he moved to the pool.

The water was still, untouched, reflecting the dim lights above. The pool was at the edge of the floor as it faced the lush, floral backyard. The wall was low enough that he could rest his arms on it and stare at the backyard.

He stepped in without hesitation, the cold wrapping around him as he submerged himself completely. One lap turned into another, then another, his body moving in precise, practiced motions.

Swimming had always been his reset.

Everything followed a rhythm. Every stroke was predictable. Every breath controlled.

Unlike her.

Victor surfaced sharply, irritation flickering across his face before it vanished just as quickly. He ran a hand through his wet hair and stepped out of the pool, deciding he had had enough.

He didn’t allow himself to think about why.

As he stood under the shower, the cold water hit his skin minutes later, sharp and grounding. He stood under it longer than usual, letting the chill sink into his bones, forcing everything else into silence. Control came easily when nothing unpredictable existed.

And just like that, his thoughts were back on track, and there was no existence of Serena in it.

The next morning was business. Alexei had briefed him on the meeting.

The long table in the meeting room was occupied, powerful men seated on either side, their postures rigid, their gazes lowered. The air was tense, thick with anticipation. And there was a chilling fear in the air. Just the way Victor preferred.

Victor took his place at the head of the table, his presence alone enough to silence whatever whispers remained.

One of them had failed.

Victor didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“You had one responsibility,” he said, his tone calm, almost quiet.

The man across from him swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he nodded. “I’ll fix it,” he said quickly, the words rushing out. “I swear.”

Victor leaned back in his chair, studying him with a detached expression. There was no anger in his gaze. No visible reaction. And then his gaze trailed to the rest of the men surrounding the table. All of them had their head bowed, sweat glistening on their foreheads. They haven't done anything wrong, but they were scared.

“That wasn’t a question,” he replied. His deep voice thick with daunting authority.

A pause followed, heavy and suffocating. That man had tears in his eyes as he tried his best not to cry. And it was still in his favor that Victor was having this meeting in the office because if the meeting was in the warehouse, things would've been bloody different.

"I...I...I ap...apologize, Pakhan," the man said, trembling. His gaze was fixed on the floor as he had clasped his hands together to stop their trembling.

The raw fear of Victor was so immense that even in his calmness, his men were trembling.

“Fix it,” Victor added, his voice still even. “Or I will.” The man bobbed his head frantically. Only if he could do his job with the same fervor he was nodding.

The silence that followed was absolute. Just two words. They were enough.

The meeting ended without further discussion. No one lingered. No one dared.

Victor remained seated for a moment longer before standing up, adjusting his cuffs as if nothing of importance had just occurred. It was routine. Everything in his world followed rules.

Until his phone rang.

He answered without looking at the screen. “Volkov.”

“Change of plans,” Lorenzo’s voice came through, smooth but edged with urgency. “I’m leaving the country tonight.”

Victor’s expression didn’t shift. “That doesn’t concern me.” He said plainly.

“It does,” Lorenzo replied without missing a beat. “The wedding will take place at the end of this week.”

A brief silence followed. Victor’s jaw tightened just slightly.

"Who are you to decide that?" Victor asked.

"Your soon to be father-in-law," Lorenzo said, and before Victor would put him in his place, he continued.

"The government is tracking down my shipments. I don't have time." Lorenzo added.

“I don’t rush decisions.”

“This isn’t a decision anymore. Let's just get this done.”

The words settled between them, heavy and final. Victor didn’t argue. He didn’t agree either. He simply listened, weighing the tone, the implication, the shift in his demeanor.

“There’s one more thing,” Lorenzo continued.

Victor said nothing, but his attention sharpened.

“Serena has a request,” Lorenzo said awkwardly.

That was unexpected. Victor's eyes narrowed. A father wanted to dispose of his daughter for treaty, and the daughter didn't give a shit about it and was now requesting Victor, knowing fully well he didn't want to do anything with her.

“What request?”

“She wants you to accompany her,” Lorenzo said. “To choose her wedding dress.”

Victor’s grip on the phone tightened just enough to matter.

She refused to speak to him last night. And now she was making demands.

Ridiculous! But interesting.

“I’ll be there,” he said calmly, ending the call before Lorenzo could add anything else. But he was sure Lorenzo must be surprised by his answer.

The boutique was quiet when Victor arrived, the kind of silence that came with expensive spaces and careful movements.

 The staff moved discreetly, their voices low, their eyes avoiding direct contact.

Victor stood near the center of the room, his hands tucked into his pockets, his posture relaxed but commanding. He didn’t sit. He didn’t check the time. He simply waited. It felt awkward to be at such a place where he had never put his foot before.

He quietly observed the place, and then she walked in.

Serena Moretti entered as she belonged there, her presence shifting the air without effort. Victor noticed immediately, his gaze flickering toward her before settling again.

He didn’t like that he noticed.

He had already seen her.

That should have been enough.

“You came,” she said, her voice calm, controlled. Victor met her gaze briefly.

“You asked.”

A small pause followed as she studied him, her eyes observant, calculating in a way that didn’t match her softness.

“I expected you to refuse,” she said.

Victor didn’t react outwardly.

“I don’t refuse things that concern me.”

Something unreadable flickered in her eyes before it disappeared just as quickly.

There was no affection or kindness in their greetings. Just pure business.

The process began soon after. Dress after dress was brought out, each one more elaborate than the last. The staff moved carefully around him, adjusting fabrics, offering suggestions, waiting for approval that never came.

Victor remained where he was sitting on the sofa, watching. Not with interest. But with observation.

Serena stepped out in another dress, the fabric clinging to her form in a way that drew attention without trying. The room fell quiet, every gaze shifting toward her.

Victor didn’t move and barely glanced at her.

“Well?” she asked, her tone neutral.

“It will suffice,” he replied, while staring down at his phone.

Her brow lifted slightly.

“You have very low standards.” She said.

Victor’s head snapped to her, and his gaze sharpened, though his expression remained calm.

“I have very specific ones,” he said.

A pause from his side, and then he added.

“You haven’t reached them yet.” 

The silence that followed carried a different weight.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she turned and walked back into the fitting room, the door closing softly behind her.

Minutes passed. As the staff member helping her told her, she'll bring new designs.

Then...

“Victor.”

Her voice came from inside. He didn’t move. His eyes snapped to the door. This was the first time she took his name. It felt different.

His brows furrowed. What was he even thinking?

“Victor,” she called again.

His jaw tightened slightly. “What?” He said, walking closer to the changing room so he could hear her properly.

A brief pause followed before she spoke again. “I need help with the zipper.”

Victor's eyes widened, and his lips parted for a second. He turned away from the door instantly, his back facing it.

“I’ll call someone.”

“There’s no one here,” she replied.

Silence.

She was right, the staff had gone to get more dresses for her to try.

“Come inside.” She said. His expression hardened. What was she even saying? Was she high or something?

“I will not.” His voice was cold, firm. Displeased.

“I’m not here to assist you with something so trivial.” He said.

Another pause.

Then the door unlocked. Opened slightly as she peeked outside.

“Stop being dramatic,” she said. “It’s just a zipper.”

Victor didn’t turn.

“I don’t do ‘just’ anything.” He retorted. Annoyed. That was new because Victor rarely gets annoyed.

He exhaled slowly, irritation settling beneath his calm exterior. For a moment, he considered leaving entirely.

But he didn’t.

He turned around and then stepped forward and pushed the door open just enough, keeping his gaze deliberately averted.

“Turn around,” he said.

She did.

He reached for the zipper, accidentally his fingers caressed the bare skin of her shoulders, and he jerked his hand back.

With a clenched jaw, he faintly glanced at her back, this time his movements were precise, careful not to touch her more than necessary. The fabric shifted beneath his fingers as he pulled it up smoothly, finishing the task in seconds.

He stepped back immediately, turning around and giving his back to her.

“Next time,” he said, his tone even, “ask someone else.”

She turned slightly, watching him. His shoulders tense and jaw clenched.

“I will,” she replied. Then she took a small pause and then said. "Maybe.”

The staff arrived with new designs, and she chose the dress; the decision came quickly. It was obvious she didn't even look at the dress properly before choosing it, so why was she trying on all those dresses before?

Victor didn’t comment.

They walked out together soon after, the silence between them stretching once again. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t tense either.

It was something in between.

Unspoken.

As they stepped toward the car, it happened.

Her heel slipped.

One second she was steady, the next she wasn’t.

Victor reacted instinctively, his hand shooting out before the fall could complete. He caught her around the waist, pulling her against him with controlled force.

Her body collided with his.

Close.

Too close.

For a moment, everything stilled.

Her breath hitched.

His body went rigid.

Their faces were inches apart, her hand instinctively gripping his arm for balance. Victor looked down at her, his expression unreadable, his grip firm but not harsh.

And then he saw it.

Fear.

Clear.

Undeniable.

She didn't want to be touched by him...

Serena pulled away abruptly, the movement sharp, immediate, as if his touch had burned her. The distance between them returned in an instant, the moment breaking as quickly as it had formed.

Victor’s arm dropped slowly to his side. He clenched and unclenched his fist to calm himself down because his heartbeat just f*cking accelerated.

His expression hardened.

“Careful,” he said.

She straightened, avoiding his gaze.

“Thank you.”

Silence followed again.

But this time it felt different. She walked to her car as her driver opened the door for her while he turned towards his car, his steps as controlled as ever. Yet something had shifted.

Something neither of them acknowledged. Something that had nothing to do with the marriage. And everything to do with what was coming next.