The night air was thick with fog, wrapping the city in an eerie silence that clung to Marina like a second skin. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she stood before the imposing gates of Viktor Castellano's estate.
It was the only place left to run.
Hours earlier, she had been a prisoner in her own home—the Vasiliev estate, once a sanctuary, now a gilded cage with bars she could no longer ignore. She had overheard the truth in her father's office, his voice cold and final. "She knows too much. Make sure she doesn't wake up tomorrow."
From that moment, every shadow in the house had felt like a threat.
She had waited for the dead of night, slipping from her room with her heart pounding against her ribs. Every step was a risk. Every breath, a prayer. She avoided the usual exits, knowing the guards were likely stationed there. Instead, she had taken the servants' passage, darting through the kitchens and slipping into the garden, the winter air biting her skin.
Her feet were numb by the time she reached the outer wall, her hands trembling as she scaled it. She landed hard on the other side, but there was no time for relief. A low hum broke the silence—a car's engine in the distance. Then headlights.
They were looking for her.
She ducked into the thicket of trees, hands shaking as she crouched low, her heart slamming against her ribs. The car slowed. Someone rolled down a window. She swore she heard a voice calling her name.
The moment the car passed, she bolted onto the street, hailing the first cab she saw.
"Where to?" the driver had asked, his gaze flicking to her disheveled appearance.
She hesitated for only a moment. There was only one name that carried both hope and terror.
"Viktor Castellano," she whispered.
The driver had gone pale but said nothing. He simply drove.
---
Now, standing before the towering wrought-iron gates, Marina couldn't shake the feeling that she had traded one prison for another.
But this was no ordinary prison.
Spotlights illuminated the massive estate, revealing not just a mansion but a fortress. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise, calculated. Black-clad sentries stood at the entrance, their earpieces flashing under the dim lights. High-tech security cameras followed her every move, recording, assessing.
A single thought settled in her chest like a stone: No one gets in without Viktor's permission. And no one leaves without it.
The gates groaned open, and before she could even take a breath, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward. He was not Viktor—but he radiated the same quiet menace.
"Miss Vasiliev," he said, his voice void of warmth. "Come with me."
Marina swallowed hard and followed.
The inside was even more unnerving than the outside. The estate was grand yet cold, dripping with wealth, but devoid of comfort. Black marble floors gleamed under the dim golden lights. The air smelled of leather and aged whiskey, mingled with something heavier—the scent of power, of control.
Each step down the long corridor made her pulse pound louder.
When they reached an oak double door, the man knocked once. No answer. He pushed it open anyway.
Inside, the study looked like it belonged to another century—tall shelves lined with leather-bound books, a roaring fireplace casting flickering shadows, and an imposing desk carved from dark wood.
And behind that desk sat Viktor Castellano.
Marina had seen pictures of him before, but they had done him no justice. He wasn't just powerful—he embodied it. His dark, unreadable gaze locked onto hers as she entered, studying her like a predator sizing up wounded prey. His sharp jawline, chiseled features, and tousled dark hair gave him an almost careless elegance, but there was nothing soft about him.
Every inch of him radiated danger.
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched.
Marina felt trapped under his gaze, like a moth hovering too close to a flame.
"Sit," Viktor finally ordered.
She obeyed, her fingers clenching her coat as she sank into the chair across from him. The room was silent, but it was not an empty silence—it was one that suffocated, one that forced her to realize how out of her depth she was.
Finally, Viktor leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You came to me."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement—a reminder that she had made this choice.
Marina swallowed. "I need your help."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Do you?"
She straightened, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "My family wants me dead. They're going to kill me."
He didn't react. No shock, no pity. Nothing. "And why should that concern me?"
Her throat tightened. "Because I have something they don't want the world to know. Information that could destroy my father. His career, his business, his alliances. Everything."
Viktor remained silent, considering her words. Then, finally, he exhaled, a slow, measured sound.
"You ran here because you think I'll protect you," he mused, his fingers drumming against the desk. "But tell me, Marina—how do I know you're not a trap?"
Her breath caught. "I—I wouldn't—"
"You expect me to take in the daughter of an enemy and not consider the possibility that this is a setup?" His voice was quiet but sharp, like a blade against her skin. "You could be a bargaining chip. A spy. A weakness disguised as desperation."
Marina's pulse pounded. If he didn't believe her, she was dead.
"I swear I'm not," she said quickly. "I overheard my father myself. He's arranged everything. I wouldn't have come here if I had any other choice."
Viktor studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, a small, knowing smirk playing at his lips.
"You're smart," he murmured. "But not as smart as you think."
Marina's stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"
"You think offering me information buys your freedom. It doesn't. What you've done is sign away your independence the moment you walked through my doors."
The air in the room shifted. Heavy. Final.
"You don't understand—"
Viktor held up a hand, silencing her effortlessly. "I don't think you understand." His voice was velvet over steel. "I will protect you. But make no mistake—you are mine now."
A shiver ran down her spine.
"You don't leave without my permission. You don't breathe without me knowing. You are under my protection, which means you obey me." His dark eyes burned into hers. "Do you understand?"
Marina wanted to protest. Wanted to fight back.
But she had nowhere else to go.
So she swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, "Yes."
Viktor smiled then—a slow, dark thing that sent ice through her veins.
"Good," he murmured, standing and rounding the desk.
His presence was overwhelming as he loomed over her, his voice low and unshakable.
"Then let's begin."