BastienAnya lies wounded, caught in the crossfire of a war not of her making. My fists clench as I watch Ivan lean down to stroke her hair, the man who orchestrated this chaos and shot his own daughter. A surge of conflicting emotions swirls within me, torn between the desire to protect her and the realization that she doesn’t belong with me. The rooftop is silent now, the only thing I can hear is Anya’s strained breathing.He looks down at her and chuckles, and something tells me the reason he shot her was to fucking protect himself … So he can get away quicker. I expected him to be up here, but I didn't fucking think he'd stoop this low.“Get her to safety, Popov, preferably before she dies and you’re no longer able to use her as a tool,” I grit my teeth, my words laced with a bitter acceptance of the situation.Ivan smirks, the arrogance radiating from him. “This is far from over and you know it. You got what you deserved, and I got what I came for.”His words cut through me, lea

Anya Three weeks have flown by in a blur of preparations and forced smiles. Each day, a monotonous parade of decisions and smiles, each more strained than the last. Today is no different, or so it seems at first. The room buzzes with the chatter of wedding planners, a symphony of superficial enthusiasm. They flutter around us like a flock of overeager birds, discussing floral arrangements with a passion I can’t muster. Roses, lilies, orchids... the names and colors swirl around me, scenes of irrelevance. As I sit at the breakfast table with my father and Dmitry, my betrothed, a man more statue than flesh, his presence both commanding and eerily detached. We’re surrounded by wedding planners discussing floral arrangements and seating charts, a wave of nausea hits me unexpectedly. It’s a visceral, jarring sensation that cuts through the facade of normalcy. I stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, an abrasive sound that mirrors the turmoil within. “Aniya?” my father s

Bastien (Three Months Prior)As I end the call with Niko, the silence of the private jet feels even more oppressive. The weight of my decisions, of the path I’ve chosen, bears down on me with relentless pressure. The plan to track Anya through the chip feels like a small victory, but the cost of it gnaws at me.I lean back in my seat, the luxury of the jet mocking me in my moment of turmoil. My mind replays the moment on the rooftop, the sound of Ivan’s laughter, the look of betrayal in Anya’s eyes. I forced myself into this role, the villain in her story, all for the greater good of taking down her father. But at what cost?The image of her, wounded and helpless, stays with me. The fact that I orchestrated her abduction, even if it was to save her from a worse fate, eats away at me. I used her, and now she’s back in the clutches of a man who sees her as nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game.I pour another drink, the burn of the alcohol a temporary distraction from the chaos

AnyaAs I watch Bastien, his figure restrained yet defiant, a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. He’s playing his part perfectly, but the sight of him bound, a pawn in this dangerous charade we’re orchestrating, sends waves of worry coursing through me.We lead him into the room where my father waits, his presence a suffocating force. My father’s eyes light up with malicious glee as he takes in the sight of Bastien, seemingly defeated and at our mercy.I force myself to remain composed, to play the part of the dutiful daughter, even as every fiber of my being screams in revolt. “Father,” I begin, my voice steady. “We’ve brought him, as you wanted.”My father looks at me, almost proud, then he pulls me into an embrace, leaving me startled. Then he pulls back, lets me go, and walks over to Bastien on his knees.“Well, well, look at the mighty lion, now just a harmless kitten,” my father taunts, his voice a venomous hiss. “I must say, Dmitry, you have outdone yourself. Bringing me m

AnyaThe wheels of the jet touch down, the vast lights of Las Vegas sprawling before us, a sparkling beacon in the night. I gaze out the window, the city’s shimmering allure a stark contrast against our recent turmoil. Once, Vegas symbolized a world of dazzling possibilities; now, it’s a much-needed haven.I glance at Bastien, his gaze fixed out the window, a look of determination etched on his features. He’s been silent for most of the flight, lost in his thoughts, planning our future. I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.“We won’t be staying in the penthouse,” he suddenly says as he turns to look at me. “I secured an estate where we can grow our family and pack; I think it’s about time we head out of the city.”The revelation startles me. We had stayed in a penthouse before, a symbol of Bastien’s power within the city’s heart. But a mansion—this was a sign of permanence, a commitment to a future together.“I … I’d like that,” I murmur, a smile tugging at my lips. “