Two o'clock in the morning wrapped the Hélène de Beaumont apartment in an unnatural stillness. The city outside breathed faintly, muffled by distance and velvet drapes. What by daylight felt like a palace now felt like a cell — elegant, suffocating, and far too quiet.
Sofia sat by the tall window in her silk dressing gown, the untouched glass of wine beside her casting faint red shadows on the tablecloth. She stared at the gaslit street below but saw nothing.
Sleep was impossible. Her mind was a whirlpool — dread, guilt, and something darker: anticipation. The operation was set for tonight. Kato hadn't told her details, only the time frame. Somewhere out in the fog of the Baltic, history was being rewritten. Every faint vibration from the city — a distant rumble, a creak in the floorboards — made her heart leap.
She had helped light the fuse. And now she could only wait for the sound of the explosion.
The life of Hélène de Beaumont had become unbearable to wear. Every stitch of silk, every strand of pearls, felt like armor against her own conscience.
Then — a sudden, frantic pounding at the door.
The sound was violent, chaotic. Not the measured knock of a servant or lover. It was desperation given form. Sofia froze, her hand trembling as she reached for the latch.
"Who is it?" she whispered.
"Hélène!" The voice beyond was thick with brandy and panic. "Hélène, open the door! It's me — Dmitri!"
Orlov.
Her blood turned to ice. This was not supposed to happen. Kato's rules were absolute: distance, mystery, control. Never let him come to her. Never let him see the cracks.
But he was here. And his voice was breaking.
She unlocked the door.
Orlov stumbled in — a ghost of the proud officer she had once dined with. His collar hung loose, his face was slick with sweat, his hair disordered. The smell of brandy clung to him like perfume gone sour.
"Hélène…" he gasped, collapsing into a chair. "A catastrophe. An absolute disaster."
She stood motionless. "Dmitri, what's happened?"
"The Kronan," he said, his voice hollow. "The ship — the steel shipment. It's gone. Sunk near the Åland Islands. They think sabotage." He looked up, and the anguish in his eyes was raw enough to flay her. "I arranged it. I vouched for it. My word, my name—" He broke off, clutching his head. "They'll ruin me, Hélène. They'll ruin everything. The Tsar himself will demand it."
Sofia felt her stomach turn to stone. The Kronan was gone. Her coded note, the words she'd written in Kato's cipher — Sandviken. Putilov. Artillery. — had transformed into a sinking ship, into screaming sailors, into this broken man in her living room.
All her elegance, her role, her discipline — none of it mattered. The war she'd thought of in abstractions had reached across the sea and crushed someone's life in her hands.
Orlov began to pace, muttering to himself. "It was my guarantee. My signature. My honor…"
When he looked at her again, his composure was gone. He was just a man, trembling on the edge of ruin.
And Hélène — Sofia — moved without thinking. She crossed the room and touched his arm.
"Dmitri," she said softly. "It isn't your fault. It's the war. It destroys everything decent it touches."
He stared at her, his eyes wet, unfocused. He seized her hand, his grip almost painful. "You… you're the only good thing left, Hélène." His voice broke into a whisper. "The only pure thing."
Before she could step back, he pulled her down, his arms closing around her. The brandy on his breath, the tremor in his chest — it was all too real. He pressed his face into her hair, desperate, lost.
The kiss came suddenly — clumsy, trembling, full of grief instead of desire. It wasn't romance; it was collapse.
Sofia froze. The mission, the discipline, the hours of training — all of it shattered.
This was no longer a game of seduction. This was what came after the game. This was the ruin.
As Orlov's tears wet her cheek, a single tear escaped her own eye. It cut through her powder, down her skin, a visible line of guilt and surrender.
She closed her eyes and didn't pull away.
Because she could no longer tell where the lie ended and where she began.