They didn't take me back to my room.The security sedan delivered me not to the penthouse, but to a discreet, windowless floor of the Residence, where they conducted high-level, private business. The room was a small study, entirely clad in dark wood paneling, lit only by a single, focused desk lamp. It smelled of old leather and expensive scotch.Ivan sat behind the desk, impassive, sorting through a pile of documents that likely had nothing to do with me. Dmitri stood leaning against the wall near the door, his arms crossed, his entire posture radiating a coiled, terrifying stillness.I stood in the center of the room, still wearing the cheap, wrinkled jacket I had tried to escape in. I was shivering, not from the cold, but from the raw exposure of my total failure. My eyes felt bruised from crying, and my throat was tight with shame.Ivan didn't look up immediately. He finished signing a document, his movements neat and precise, before finally setting down his pen and meeting my ga
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