After breakfast, his chauffeur walked in. "Mr. Volkov your car is ready," his chauffeur said.
He didn't say a word, he stood up and walked away not saying a word or even glancing at Elena. He didn't let himself.
At his office, he sat behind his sleek mahogany desk, fingers drumming once against the glass of whiskey he hadn't touched.
His mind was already heavy with numbers, meetings, and the endless balancing act of his empire.
A knock came at the door. Sharp. Respectful.
"Come in," his voice was low, commanding.
His secretary entered, file in hand, expression carefully blank as always.
"Sir," he began, placing the folder on Damian's desk, "we've collected information on the man who's been seen with Miss Elena.
His name is Alexander Carter. Thirty years old. Occupation: private investigator. Lives in the city, unmarried. Military background before switching careers."
Damian's hand froze halfway to the folder. His gray eyes lifted, sharp and unreadable.
"Alexander Carter," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like poison.
"Yes, sir," the secretary confirmed, opening the file slightly. "He has a clean record.
Highly recommended in his line of work. Known for… being charming with people."
That made Damian's jaw clench. His silence stretched long enough that the secretary shifted uncomfortably.
Finally, Damian leaned back in his chair, one hand curling lazily around the armrest.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it wasn't amused — it was dangerous.
"So…" he said slowly, "this Alexander thinks he can laugh and drink champagne with my cupcake? Chat with her. Smile at her. Touch her?"
His voice dropped like a blade. "Does he even know whose toy he's playing with?"
The secretary lowered his gaze. "Orders, sir?"
Damian's smirk widened into something darker. He tapped the folder once, then pushed it back toward the secretary.
"Keep an eye on him. Every move, every call, every person he talks to. I want to know if he breathes in her direction."
"Yes, sir."
He leaned forward now, his voice low, like a vow whispered to the shadows. "If Alexander Carter thinks he can steal a glance at what belongs to me…"
His eyes glinted, sharp and merciless. "Then I'll make sure he learns the price of coveting Damian Volkov's woman."
His secretary bowed slightly before leaving.
Damian sat back again, smirk lingering, but his hand tightened around his glass until the veins in his arm stood out.
The thought of Elena's smile — the smile that should be his alone — given to another man made his blood boil.
He muttered to himself, darkly amused, "Let's see how long this little inspector lasts before I break him."
***
Back at the mansion, Elena was watching a movie when her phone buzzed.
She picked it up, her tired eyes softening the moment she saw the name flashing across the screen.
"Tatia," she whispered, answering quickly.
"Tia! Oh my God, I've missed you!"
Tatiana's laughter came through the line, warm and carefree.
"I've missed you too, lioness. Guess what? I'm coming back. I couldn't stay away any longer."
Elena gasped, her heart leaping.
"You're coming back? When? Tell me you're not joking!"
"I'll be home soon," Tatiana assured her. "Be ready to see me, and don't you dare cry when you hug me."
Elena chuckled, her eyes stinging with happy tears.
"I'm already crying, stupid. You don't know how much I needed this."
For the first time in days, warmth flooded Elena's chest.
She couldn't wait to see her friend again, to finally have someone on her side in this heavy mansion where everything felt like a battlefield.
***
Alex sat in his apartment, the pale glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the clutter of files, documents, and photographs spread out in front of him.
His laptop hummed quietly, multiple windows open, each filled with notes and dead ends.
He rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair, exhaustion written across his face.
His investigation into Elena's aunt had consumed him for days, yet every lead led to another locked door.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, staring at the most recent report.
"She didn't just disappear… she was taken."
The thought gnawed at him. He had pieced together fragments: a transfer from her job that seemed too sudden, neighbors claiming they hadn't seen her in weeks, and a bank account that had gone completely dormant.
Ordinary people didn't vanish like this unless someone powerful wanted them gone.
Alex's jaw tightened. Whoever had taken Elena's aunt wasn't some petty criminal.
No — this was the work of someone with influence, someone who could erase a person's trail so cleanly it was like they never existed.
That realization unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
He stood and paced the room, the floor creaking beneath his steps.
"This is bigger than I thought…" he whispered to himself.
His instincts screamed that he was digging into dangerous territory, that this wasn't just another missing persons case.
Yet, despite the danger, he couldn't stop.
He stopped pacing and looked at the photograph pinned above his desk — a candid shot he'd taken during one of their meetings.
Elena, seated in the corner of a café, her hair loose, her eyes distant but alive.
She wasn't smiling then, not really, but even in her seriousness there was something about her that drew him in.
Now, in the quiet of his apartment, he pictured her smile — the way her lips curved gently, the way her eyes softened when she let her guard down.
He hadn't seen it often, but the memory burned in his chest.
"Damn it, Elena," he murmured, dragging a hand through his hair. "Why do you have to make this harder?"
At first, helping her was just duty, a favor to someone who needed it.
But somewhere along the way, that sense of duty had twisted into something else. Every time she called, his heart skipped.
Every time she thanked him, even in her clipped, cautious tone, it felt like a victory.
And now, staring at her photo, he realized he was no longer just invested in finding her aunt.
He was invested in her and he had started growing feelings for her.
Alex sat back down and opened another folder, determination flaring in his eyes.
If Elena's aunt had been taken by someone powerful, that meant Alex needed to tread carefully.
But the thought of Elena waiting, hurting, clinging to the faint hope that someone out there was fighting for her — that was enough to steel his resolve.
"She deserves answers," he whispered. "And I'll get them. No matter how dangerous it gets."
He began typing furiously, cross-referencing names, places, and organizations.
He wrote down a list of possible suspects, but one thought kept circling back: whoever this powerful person was, they weren't just erasing Elena's aunt for no reason.
There had to be a connection, a motive.