Mag-log inMikhail’s POV
The SUV hummed through the city streets, the engine’s low growl the only sound breaking the suffocating silence. Nora sat plastered against the far door, her body rigid, as if touching the leather seat next to me would poison her. Her bag clutched in her lap like a shield, her eyes fixed on the blurring skyline outside. It irritated me—more than it should. I wasn’t used to being treated like a leper, especially not by a woman I’d just pulled into my world. Her defiance from the apartment still lingered, a spark that both annoyed and intrigued me. But this? This childish avoidance grated on my nerves. “I don’t bite, you know,” I said, my voice casual, laced with that cocky edge I knew would rile her. “You can sit comfortably.” She whipped her head around, those dark eyes flashing like daggers. “Sit comfortably with you? A cold-hearted killer? You literally kidnapped me!” I chuckled, leaning back, arms spread across the seat. “No, I didn’t. You’re simply paying the price for your brother’s foolishness. Which, need I remind you, you agreed to.” Aleksei caught my eye in the rearview mirror from the passenger seat, his expression a mix of amusement and warning. He’d been quiet since we left her rundown apartment, but I could see him watching the exchange, probably thinking I was playing with fire. Nora didn’t disappoint—she fired back, venom dripping from every word. “An agreement I had no choice in! You were about to kill my brother, you bastard!” I felt my jaw tick, but I kept the smirk in place. “I’d watch that snarky attitude if I were you.” She opened her mouth, no doubt ready with another barb, but then clamped it shut, turning back to the window. The tension thickened, her silence louder than any shout. Aleksei glanced at me again through the mirror, shaking his head subtly. I ignored him. The city lights streaked by, the drive stretching into an eternity of unspoken fury. Her presence filled the car—her scent, faint and clean, cutting through my cologne; her rigid posture a constant reminder of the fight she was waging. It stirred something in me, a dark thrill. She hated me, and I found myself wanting to push her more, to see how far that fire could burn. Finally, we pulled into the underground garage of my penthouse, the doors sealing us in with a hydraulic hiss. Aleksei got out first, opening her door with a neutral nod. She hesitated, then stepped out, clutching her bag like it was her last tether to freedom. I followed, my coat swirling as I led the way to the private elevator. The ride up was another layer of silence, her standing as far from me as the confined space allowed. When the doors opened to the sprawling living room—marble floors, panoramic views of the waking city—she froze, her eyes widening at the opulence. It was a far cry from her cramped apartment, and I savored the flicker of awe she tried to hide. “Aleksei,” I said, shrugging off my coat and tossing it over a chair. “Take her to the guest room. The one down the hall.” He nodded, gesturing for her to follow. She shot me a glare, pure hatred burning in those eyes, but she kept her mouth shut—surprising, given her earlier fire. As they walked away, I called after her, “Get some rest, Фурия. We have business to attend to later.” She didn’t respond, but her stiff shoulders and the way she avoided looking back said enough. Aleksei led her off, and I poured myself a scotch, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. Business. That’s what this was—repayment, control. But her presence already felt like more, a complication I hadn’t anticipated. Her tears back at the apartment, her pleas... they’d cracked something in me, just a hairline fracture. I downed the drink, shoving the thought aside. She was a challenge, nothing more. A few hours later, Aleksei and I were deep in discussion in the living room, glasses of scotch in hand. The theft at the warehouse was just the tip—rival crews were sniffing around, testing boundaries. “We need to tighten security,” Aleksei said, his voice low. “Elias and his idiots found a weak spot. Others will too.” I nodded, swirling my glass. “Double the guards. And find out who those gang members were that pressured him. I want them—” A throat cleared behind us. I turned, and there she was. Nora stood at the edge of the room, fresh from a shower, dressed in a baggy pajama top and shorts that rode high on her smooth, toned legs. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, strands framing her delicate face, giving her an effortless allure that hit me like a gut punch. My eyes traced her legs involuntarily, the curve of her thighs, the way the fabric clung just enough. Then up to her face—those full lips, the fire still simmering in her eyes. She looked vulnerable, yet unbreakable. I was entranced, my thoughts scattering, the scotch forgotten in my hand. She snapped her fingers. “Eyes up here, asshole.” I blinked, pulling my gaze to hers, irritation flaring at being caught. Aleksei smirked into his glass, but I ignored him. “What do you want?” I asked, voice rougher than intended. “I need to talk to my brother,” she said, arms crossed, pushing her chest up slightly—damn her. “I left my phone at home in the rush. Because of you.” I set my glass down, standing slowly. “You’ll contact him later. During the day.” “No,” she insisted, stepping forward, her bare feet silent on the marble. “Now. I’m worried about him. He may have made dumb decisions, but he’s still my brother. He’s all I’ve got. Please, let me know he’s safe.” Aleksei glanced at me, his expression shifting. “Let her talk to him, Mikhail. She’s here to work for you, not as a hostage.” “Well, there’s no plain difference considering the circumstances,” she sassed, her eyes locked on mine. Aleksei’s patience snapped. “Will you be quiet for once, huh?!” The tension spiked, the room electric. I rose, closing the distance between us in a few strides. She backed up instinctively, her breath hitching as her back hit the wall. I towered over her, her scent—fresh soap and something uniquely her—filling my senses. She stared up at me, holding her breath, her eyes wide but defiant. The air crackled, my pulse quickening at the proximity. I could feel the heat from her body, see the pulse fluttering in her neck. “I don’t appreciate you commanding me,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “You have no idea what I’m truly capable of. Be grateful I let your brother live. Grateful I gave you an option at all.” She snarled, unflinching despite the fear I saw flicker. “I’d rather eat shit than bend to your demands.” I smirked, leaning in closer, my lips brushing her ear. Her shiver ran through her, a tremor that sent a jolt straight through me. “We’ll see about that, kotenok,” I whispered, my breath hot against her skin. She held her breath, her body tensing, but I backed away, the moment hanging heavy. Aleksei watched, his cold expression unchanging. I straightened my shirt, masking the rush. “Aleksei, give her a burner phone. One day only. For her brother. If I find out you called anyone else,” I said, eyes locking on hers, “you’ll be sorry.” She nodded, hatred burning in her gaze, but she didn’t argue. I turned, slinging my coat over my shoulder, and headed up the stairs to my bedroom. Her glare bored into my back, a tangible heat. I loved it—the fight, the tension. She was a wildfire, and I was drawn to the flames, even if they burned. In my room, I stripped off my shirt, the cool air hitting my skin. The encounter replayed—her legs, her defiance, that shiver. Six months. Plenty of time to break her... or let her break me. Nora’s POV. The burner phone felt heavy in my hand, a cheap flip model Aleksei had tossed me with a grunt. Mikhail had vanished upstairs, his presence still lingering like a shadow. I retreated to the guest room, the door clicking shut behind me. The space was luxurious—king bed, silk sheets, a view that mocked my old life—but it felt like a prison. I dialed Elias’s number with trembling fingers, the line ringing endlessly before he picked up. “Nora?” His voice cracked, raw with guilt and fear. Tears pricked my eyes. “Elias. Are you okay?” “I’m... I’m fine. They left after you did. Nora, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—” “Save it,” I snapped, but my voice softened. “Just... stay safe. Stay clean. I’ll handle this.” “How? With him? Nora, he’s dangerous.” “I know,” I whispered, glancing at the door. “But you’re all I’ve got. I love you, idiot.” “I love you too. Be careful.” The call ended, the silence deafening. I clutched the phone, hatred for Mikhail boiling anew. He’d pay. Somehow. Nora’s POV,Unknown Location...Pain wakes me.Slow.Thick.Like I’m swimming up through tar.My head pounds.My mouth is dry.My limbs—Heavy.Too heavy.I try to move.Metal clinks.My eyes snap open.Darkness.Not complete.Dim light flickers from somewhere above—yellow, weak, unstable.I blink.Force my vision to focus.Concrete walls.Bare.Cold.A single bulb swinging slightly from the ceiling.I’m sitting on a chair.No, strapped to it.Wrists bound behind me.Ankles tied.Rope.Tight enough to burn.Panic surges instantly.Sharp.Violent.I jerk against the restraints.Useless.“Easy.”The voice comes from the shadows.Male.Calm.Familiar in the worst way.My heart stutters.“No…” I whisper.A figure steps forward.And the world tilts.“Hello, Nora.”Lucien.He looks… composed.Untouched.Like he didn’t just rip me out of my life and drag me into a nightmare.My chest heaves.“You—”“So many questions in those eyes,” he says
Mikhail’s POV Romanov Warehouse ... The first call comes in at 18:42. I ignore it. Not because it isn’t important—but because everything is important right now. Viktor is still a ghost. Ingrid vanished like smoke. Lucien’s trail is ice cold. And every second they stay hidden feels like a personal insult and I'm losing my fucking mind. “Aleksei,” I say, pacing in front of the wall of screens, “run the docks again. I want manifests, private shipments, anything flagged in the last—” My phone rings again. Same number. Dmitri. I pause. Aleksei notices immediately. “Answer it,” he says. Something in his tone shifts the air. I swipe to accept it, pressing the phone to my ear. “What?” Silence. Then— “Sir… Nora is not in the estate.” The words don’t land. Not at first. They just… hang there. Meaningless. “What do you mean she’s not in the estate?” My voice is calm. Too calm. “We—she left earlier. Said she needed air.
Nora’s POV I don’t sleep. Not really. I lie there beside Elias in the dark, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as shadows stretch and shift across it. Every creak of the house sounds like footsteps. Every passing car feels like a countdown. Morning comes too fast. Or maybe it never left. By the time the first light bleeds through the curtains, I’ve already made up my mind. I slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Elias. He needs the rest. One of us should have a clear head when we run. I head to the bathroom. Lock the door. And stare at myself in the mirror. I look… the same. That’s the strange part. Same face. Same eyes. Same girl. But everything inside me feels rearranged. Like someone reached in and shifted all the pieces without asking. I turn on the tap, splash water on my face, grip the sink. Breathe. Then the nausea hits. Sudden. Violent. I barely make it to the toilet before I’m on my knees, retching until my throa
Mikhail’s POV Romanov WarehouseAfter Caleb’s revelation to Nora, I instruct one of my men to drive her back home, though she wanted to resist, but this place was no place for any woman, well, except Ingrid of course, as she’s a fucking snake!Aleksei stands beside me, face carved from stone. He hasn’t spoken since we arrived. He doesn’t need to. We both know what this means.I finally break the silence.“She talked before she got out. Every word. Repeat it.”Aleksei exhales through his nose, voice low.“She said Viktor contacted her three years ago. Offered her a deal: help take down Maxim, split the empire, and she’d get you as the prize. She agreed. Fed him intel on operations, weaknesses. The ambush on Maxim was their first big move—paid the driver to divert the route, hired Albanian shooters to make it look like a rival hit. She said Viktor has been building alliances in exile—the Albanians, the Irish, some Italians who hate Maxim’s grip. The plan was to frame Nora, break you,
Nora's POVI wake up to a pounding headache, the kind that throbs behind my eyes like a drumbeat I can’t escape. The room swims into focus slowly—the massive king-sized bed with its black sheets, the high ceilings, the balcony doors letting in slivers of morning light. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been running a marathon in my sleep, and as I shift, the memories flood back: the confrontation at the hospital, Elena’s tears, Caleb’s face when Mikhail revealed the truth about him being Lucien’s son, the way everything shattered in that moment. I remember backing away from Caleb, the betrayal hitting me like a physical blow, and then the world tilting, darkness swallowing me whole.I sit up slowly, propping myself on my elbows, and that’s when I see him—Elias, sitting in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looks dejected, defeated, like the weight of the world has crushed him. His hair is messy, eyes red-rimmed from crying or lack of sleep or both. H
Nora’s POVI wake up alone again.He hadn't come home last night.The bed feels too big without him in it, the black sheets cold where his body should be. Sunlight cuts through the blinds in sharp white lines, turning the room into a cage of light and shadow. I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet around me like armor. Yesterday's events all come crashing down on me—the date, down to finding out Ingrid had escaped, to which I had no idea he had her . God, I feel so...used, and dumb, like I'm just being kept in the dark like a child. Tossing the sheets away, I stand up and head into the bathroom.The roses downstairs are starting to wilt, petals dropping like accusations. Everything he gives me feels like a leash disguised as a gift.I shower fast, scalding water pounding my skin, trying to wash him off. It doesn’t work. His scent is in the shampoo, the soap, the towels—cedar and smoke and him. I step out, wrap myself in one of his shirts (too big, sleeves falling past my hands) a
Nora's POV I lay tangled up in his arms for a while as we console each other. My thoughts keep spiralling after his breakdown. I never thought I'd see someone as strong as Mikhail Romanov cry real tears. All my life, he has always portrayed himself as this untouchable, inhumane man that I swor
Nora’s POV The door swung open with a heavy creak, and there he stood—Mikhail Romanov, framed in the threshold like a spectre from my darkest dreams. His presence filled the room instantly, sucking the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping in the vacuum. He looked ravaged, his once-impeccable shi
Nora's POVI don’t sleep.I sit on the edge of the bed, back against the headboard, knees pulled to my chest, staring at the locked door like it might open and set me free.It doesn’t. The room is too quiet. Too perfect.Too much like a cage designed just for me.Black silk sheets still rumpled from
Mikhail’s POVI never meant to do it.That’s what I tell myself as I stand in the study, staring at the city through the bulletproof glass.I never meant to cross this line.But the line blurred the moment I tasted her again in that staff room.The moment she moaned my name like she’d never l







