Irina Spalko 소설 & 이야기

Everyone cheered and clapped, Irina smiled brightly with a hint of pride in her gaze. "Next up, is the couples' vote of thanks." - the Mc clapped, smiling as he passed the microphone over to Irina. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's an honor and as well a pleasure to be here with you today....... celebrating my two years anniversary with the man i love..... Jason Smith." - Her dress shimmered under the light, her waist lengthed red hair falling down her shoulders like waves.

Natasha stepped forward, her jaw tightened. "What?" Irina asked with fake innocence. "Do you know who she is?" Natasha smirked and leaned towards me. "She's Pakhan's wife... Mrs Sergei." Natasha pressed on the last word, puffing her chest and sounding proud. Has she already forgotten how Sergei treated me? "Oh..." Irina looked back at me. She didn't say anything, but her gaze said everything. She had great animosity towards me. Wow, another blade at my neck. Natasha smirked at her speechlessness.

It was a very peaceful breakup. I groaned as I looked at my watch while Danika complained about something as she continued to get dressed. She was back to being the angry stuck-up diva that people say she is. She has broken two of her coffee mugs over the smallest argument, she almost fired someone for bringing the ‘wrong’ brown coloured belt and she hasn’t spared me a look all morning.

“ I’m so sorry for speaking before you were finished but allow me to ask, aren’t there more pressing matters than this? We have nothing to give to our customers and they’re going to cave and buy from the Russians. “ Nikolai removed his hands from my seat and continued circling the table. I released a breath I didn’t even know I was holding as I watched him carefully. “ How can I fight the Russians if I don’t even have respect from the very people I took in and gave a home? There is a mole on the inside and that was how they knew when the shipments would arrive and how. They also knew my wife’s flight and where she would go for the meeting and when. “ Everyone paused to see how that related t

“Even though I could’ve. My army is strong enough now. But I didn’t attack.” “Why?” Alexandro asked. “Because I want peace,” Valerian said simply. “And… because my wife would kill me if I started another war.” Alexandro allowed himself a faint smile. “Your wife… she’s a siren, isn’t she?” Valerian raised an eyebrow. “How did you know?” “I suspected it,” Alexandro said. “The lake… Serena saw something. Someone. That was her, wasn’t it?” Valerian nodded. “Nivera. She’s… complicated. But she’s mine. And yes, I know your wife saw her. I allowed it.”

Her posture was immaculate, her shoulders squared and chin lifted as she met my eyes. “Here, in case you didn’t get one.” She gave me a purely polite smile, one that seemed to be perfected over the years. The smile was of pure professionalism, one that offered nothing but polite conversation. She was one of the contestants here to win, I noticed. It was easy to tell the difference between those here to win, and those here for the adventure of Iridian. She had that same competitive glint in her eyes as Abel, Liliana, and many of the other contestants.

She asked him instead. “I’ll find my fellow mermen here.” “Suit yourself.” She said. “Just take care of Yntreia. I’ll see you later.” She followed Margarette as they went through the thick crowd. She saw a lavishly dressed Kapre smoking his famously favored tobacco. There were also heavily armored Dwarves, having a contest in arm wrestling. She caught glimpse of some winged women called Harpies, circling above ground. They kept on going until they reached the Virsathen’s tree trunk.

But she had done nothing to earn it. Unlike Ravina. Ravina had never cared about power. She had never needed to prove herself through manipulation or empty words. She had been a warrior, a protector, a leader in her own right. And I had thrown her away for this. My hands clenched into fists under the table. I was a fool. I turned back to the elders. “The mating ceremony is postponed.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Amira sprang up from her chair. "You can't do this!" She was shrill, frantic. "Do you know how this is going to make me look?"

But I, Nikolas had been curious. I had my people trace her digital footprint. It had taken weeks, she was good, exceptionally good, but eventually I found her. Irina Volkov, twenty-four years old, living in a rundown apartment in the Tekstilshchiki district. No criminal record. No family except a stepfather she’d fled two years ago. And a debt of five hundred thousand dollars to some particularly nasty loan sharks. A normal man would have gone to the police. I wasn’t a normal man. I was Nikolai Dragunnov.