So," Tatiana said, lounging with one leg tucked beneath her, "how well do you know my cousin?"
Elena stiffened. "He's… Damian Volkov. The billionaire."
Tatiana chuckled. "That's what the newspapers call him. But they don't know half of it. Damian is…"
She trailed off, watching Elena with sharp, playful eyes. "Well, let's just say he's not the kind of man you ignore."
Elena swallowed. As if I didn't already know.
But Tatiana didn't press. Instead, she leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Forget him for tonight. We're doing what normal girls do. No billionaire talk. Just us."
And somehow, Tatiana kept her word.
Within an hour, Elena found herself sitting cross-legged on the plush rug in Tatiana's oversized T-shirt, her hair wrapped in a towel while they waited for homemade face masks to dry.
Tatiana had insisted on calling the maids for bowls of yogurt, honey, and cucumbers, laughing at Elena's hesitant expression.
"I feel ridiculous," Elena admitted, touching her sticky cheeks.
"You look adorable," Tatiana countered. "And trust me, Damian would drop dead if he saw you like this."
Elena threw a cushion at her, blushing furiously. Tatiana shrieked with laughter, the sound bouncing around the walls like music.
Later, they shared pastries and hot tea.
The warmth of girl chatter filled the room, a sound she hadn't felt in months.
Elena smiled faintly, answering Tatiana's endless stream of questions—her favorite color, her hobbies, what music she liked.
But inside, her heart was heavy.
If only you knew… Elena thought, forcing a laugh at one of Tatiana's jokes. If only you knew I'm not here because I want to be. I'm Damian's prisoner… his plaything…
Tatiana twirled her hair and grinned. "You're lucky, you know. Not every girl gets to live in Damian's house."
Lucky. The word cut her like a knife.
Elena lowered her gaze, biting back the truth that burned on her tongue. Lucky? I can't even step outside without guards tailing me. I can't call my aunt.
I can't breathe without wondering what Damian wants from me next.
Tatiana tossed a pillow at her. "You're too quiet! Come on, confess—have you and my cousin gone intimate under the duvet yet?"
Elena's cheeks flamed crimson. She stammered some vague reply, while her thoughts screamed louder than ever. If you knew what he's done… if you knew the way he takes and takes…
Tatiana talked about Paris, about Rome, about fashion shows she had attended, about men who had begged for her attention. Elena listened wide-eyed, nibbling at her pastry.
"What about you?" Tatiana asked suddenly.
"Me?" Elena froze.
"Yes, you. What was your life before all this?"
Elena hesitated, her heart thudding. Part of her wanted to keep everything hidden—Damian's cousin didn't need to know her struggles.
But something about Tatiana's warm, curious gaze made her soften.
She didn't want to speak about her aunt, about the little rented apartment, about juggling jobs just to buy medicine.
Tatiana's asked. "You've been through hell, haven't you?"
Elena nodded faintly.
Tatiana reached over and squeezed her hand. "Then I'll say this—don't lose yourself in my cousin's world. He'll take everything if you let him.
Promise me you'll hold on to who you are."
Elena blinked at her in surprise, her chest tightening. She couldn't tell if Tatiana was warning her… or protecting her.
But for the first time in a long while, Elena felt like she wasn't alone.
***
Thousands of miles away, Damian Volkov stepped out of a sleek black car onto the cobblestone streets of Prague. The city glowed with shadows, but his destination was tucked behind a forgotten warehouse.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
His men trailed behind him as he entered the dim-lit underground fighting ring—a cover for weapons trades, laundering, and debts being collected.
"Boss," a scarred man at the entrance greeted, bowing his head quickly.
Damian's sharp blue eyes swept the room. "Is the shipment ready?"
"Yes, sir. Eastern ports are secure. But…" The man hesitated. "There's been interference."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Interference?"
"Andrew's men. They've been circling. Testing our routes."
A silence spread like a storm cloud. the man he had sworn to destroy was tightening his grip again.
"Then send him a message," Damian said coldly, adjusting his cufflinks. "One that bleeds."
They moved deeper into the warehouse. A man was tied to a chair in the center of the room, bruised and trembling.
"This one's been leaking intel," Damian's right-hand man, explained.
Damian circled the prisoner slowly, his presence alone enough to make the man whimper. "Loyalty," Damian murmured, "is not something I forgive lightly when broken."
The man begged for mercy. "Do I look like a man who tolerates betrayal?"
Damian simply nodded to his right hand man. A sharp crack of a fist echoed, followed by a spray of blood. Damian didn't flinch.
But as the scene unfolded, a sudden shot rang out. Glass shattered. Damian ducked instinctively as his men shielded him.
A bullet had grazed one of his men's arm, the sting sharp and hot.
"Sniper!" one of his guards shouted.
Chaos erupted. Damian's men fired back, chasing the attacker into the shadows.
Damian clenched his bleeding arm, eyes cold, lips curling into a dangerous smirk. "So Andrew wants war," he whispered. "Then I'll give him one."
For Damian Volkov, blood was nothing new. But that night, under the smoke-filled rafters of the warehouse, he realized the game was only beginning.
"Find them," he ordered through clenched jaws. "I want their bodies on my floor before dawn."
His men scattered like wolves, chasing the attackers into the dark.
Andrew had dared to strike first.