Morning sunlight slipped through Zara's curtains in soft, warm lines. It painted the room in gold… but Katarina felt none of it. Her body was heavy, her head pounding, her eyes swollen and sensitive to the slightest brightness.
She woke with her cheek pressed to Zara's shoulder, last night's tears dried tight across her skin.
Zara stirred beneath her, stretching like a lazy cat returning to life.
"Girl…" she mumbled, gently brushing Kat's hair away from her face, "your eyeliner survived better than your entire life situation."
Kat let out a broken, humorless laugh. "It's waterproof."
"Yeah? Well, your soul needs to be waterproof too." Zara flicked her forehead lightly. "Upgrade, babe."
That earned another small laugh—shaky, thin, but real. Zara's ridiculousness had a way of forcing the world to feel a little less bleak.
The two of them dragged themselves out of bed like exhausted ghosts. Zara shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking in every direction as she started the coffee machine. Normally the smell would have lifted Kat's spirits, but her chest felt too tight to expand properly.
Zara glanced at her tablet while waiting for the coffee…and suddenly gasped. Loudly. Dramatically. Like she had discovered the end of the world on a livestream.
"Oh my god—OH. MY. GOD!"
Kat flinched, eyes narrowing. "Please don't say someone else died."
"No! No, no—this is… this is something else entirely." Zara waved the tablet like a madwoman. "You need to sit down before you combust."
Kat stayed standing.
Zara shoved the screen at her.
A headline blared across the news site:
THE VALENTI FAMILY ANNOUNCES BRIDE-SELECTION GALA FOR THEIR HEIR.ALL ELIGIBLE WOMEN INVITED.
Kat stared, unimpressed. "…And why should I care?"
Zara leaned in slowly, widening her eyes like she was delivering forbidden intel.
"Oh, honey. Because they're mafia. Like, MAFIA-mafia. Ancient money. Generational power. The kind of family that still believes shaking hands forms blood oaths."
Kat narrowed her eyes. "And you know this because…?"
Zara planted a hand on her hip. "Sweetheart. I livestream for side cash. Men brag. Men overshare. Men confess their crimes because apparently talking to a pretty girl turns their brain into warm pudding. This is my entire business model."
Despite the grief clinging to her skin, Kat snorted. "That's… horrifyingly believable."
Zara jabbed a finger at the tablet. "Your father is the new head of your family. And he hates you more than he hates paying taxes. Do you know how easy it would be for him to toss your name into this bride-selection like you're part of a hostile business takeover?"
Kat froze mid–coffee sip.
"…Please don't remind me."
"Oh, I will." Zara kissed her forehead. "Because I love you, and because if you suddenly become the bride of a Valenti heir, I'm coming with you. Free mansion, babe."
Breakfast was unusually quiet. Zara didn't crack jokes. Kat barely lifted her spoon. The silence between them felt gentle instead of suffocating—like the world giving her a moment to breathe.
Finally, Zara spoke softly. "We should go see your grandfather today."
Kat nodded. "Will you come with me?"
"Always. Unless you want to call Nikolai."
Kat immediately shook her head. "Not yet. He'll show up with guns first and questions never."
Zara burst out laughing. "He really would. I like him."
They dressed, grabbed flowers, and drove through the quiet streets toward the Dragunov family cemetery. The grounds were secluded and heavy with memory—ancient stones lined up beneath the cold morning light, the scent of moss and winter earth wrapping around them.
Kat's chest tightened painfully as she approached the fresh grave.
She knelt, placing the white lilies gently on the polished granite.
"I'm here," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm trying, Grandpa. I promise."
Zara stood nearby, hands folded, offering silent support.
Kat brushed a tear off her cheek. "Someone framed me. I know they did. But why? Who would do that to you?"
A flicker of movement tingled at the edge of her sight.
She turned sharply.
A man stepped forward—tall, dressed in a dark coat, expression sharp but respectful. He stopped several feet away, as though he understood the sacredness of where they stood.
He tipped his hat.
"Miss Dragunov."
Kat rose slowly. "You are…?"
"Arthur Voss," he said. "Private investigator. Your grandfather hired me for many years."
Zara subtly moved closer, protective and suspicious.
Arthur continued in a low, professional tone. "Your father has ordered me to shut down the investigation into your grandfather's death. Permanently."
Kat clenched her jaw. "Of course he did."
Arthur didn't flinch. Instead, he slid a hand into his coat and pulled out a sealed folder—slim but heavy enough to make her pulse skip.
"I have evidence," he said. "More than your father realizes. If I cannot pursue the case… then you should."
Kat reached out, her hand trembling as the folder touched her palm. "What kind of evidence?"
Arthur's gaze swept the cemetery slowly, cautiously. "Not here. Not openly."
He lowered his voice further.
"Your grandfather anticipated danger. He left instructions. He trusted you."
Kat swallowed hard. "Trusted me with what?"
Arthur hesitated—just a moment—before meeting her eyes.
"With the truth. But be careful, Miss Dragunov. Whoever orchestrated this is not just bold. They're intelligent. Calculated. And they know exactly who you are."
Kat's breath hitched.
Arthur tipped his hat once more. "Find me if you need me. And stay alive."
Then he turned and walked away, disappearing behind rows of stone monuments until he blended into the cemetery shadows.
Kat stared at the sealed folder in her hands, the weight of it pressing into her bones.
Zara leaned closer, voice hushed but intense. "Girl… that's literally Pandora's box."
Kat's grip tightened. "Good."
Zara blinked. "Good?!"
Kat's voice was calm now—calm in the way a blade was calm before it cut.
"Because I want answers."
She pressed the folder to her chest.
Yesterday she had cried until her heart cracked.Broken.Bleeding.Lost.
But today?
Something within her shifted.
Not healed.Not softened.
Hardened.
If someone wanted to frame her—If someone killed the only man who ever protected her—If someone dared to use her signature—
They had no idea what they had unleashed.
Because this time, she wasn't the prey.
This time… she was the hunter.