In the soft light of the bedroom, Viktor's gaze became even deeper and more mysterious. He leaned very close to Alia and said in a low voice,
"Alia, this royal gown looks very heavy. You should take it off and relax now."
Alia froze for a moment. A blush spread across her cheeks. She tried in vain to push Viktor away from his chest and said in a playful voice,
"Have you gone crazy? I… I can't do this myself, and it's not possible like this!"
A crooked smile appeared on Viktor's face—the same smile that always defeated Alia. He leaned close to her ear and whispered,
"You can't? Alright then, I'll help you. But I'm going to count from one to ten. If you don't agree by then, I'll remove it my own way. And you know very well—I never lose."
Alia stared at him with wide eyes as Viktor began counting.
"One…"
"Two…"
"Three…"
With every number, Viktor moved closer to Alia. She didn't know whether to laugh or feel shy. She knew that when Viktor said something, he always meant it.
With a half-smile and shy expression, Alia said,
"Viktor, this isn't right at all! You're really very stubborn."
But Viktor didn't stop. His voice became deeper and more serious.
"Four… five… six…"
A strange tension filled the entire room. Outside, snow had begun to fall, but inside the room the atmosphere grew warmer, heated by Alia's shyness and Viktor's dominance. the room was palpable as Viktor's voice dropped an octave, resonating like a dark melody. He was no longer just a protector; he was a man claiming what was his.
"Seven..." Viktor continued, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made Alia's breath catch in her throat. He leaned in so close that his silver hair brushed against her forehead.
"Eight..."
Alia's heart was drumming a wild rhythm against her ribs. She looked at those ten towering doors of the suite, then back at the man before her. She knew Viktor never bluffed. His "own way" usually involved a level of dominance that she both feared and craved.
"Nine..."
Viktor paused, his lips just a fraction of an inch from her ear. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft sound of the snow hitting the windowpane outside. He let the number linger in the air, a final warning.
"Viktor, wait—" Alia started, her voice a breathless whisper, her hands trembling as they rested on his chest.
"Ten."
The counting stopped. Viktor didn't move away. Instead, he let out a low, triumphant chuckle. "Time's up, moya printsessa."
Before Alia could utter another word of protest, Viktor's hands moved with lightning speed and surgical precision. He didn't wait for her to struggle with the complex silk ties and hidden buttons of the heavy lace gown. With one masterful tug, the first layer of the corset loosened.
Alia gasped, her face flushing a deep crimson. "Viktor! I said I—"
"And I said I don't lose," he interrupted, his voice a velvet growl. He turned her around gently but firmly, his fingers working through the intricate lace at her back. "Rest now, Alia. Tonight, you don't have to be the guarded novelist or the brave queen. Tonight, you are just mine."
As the heavy fabric finally began to slide off her shoulders, Alia stopped resisting. She closed her eyes, leaning back against his solid, warm chest, feeling the sheer power and protection he offered. The world outside could freeze in the Moscow winter, but here, in Viktor's arms, the fire was just beginning. As the final echoing "Ten" faded into the air, Alia didn't surrender as expected. Instead, a spark of pure mischief lit up her eyes. With a sudden, playful shove to Viktor's chest, she gathered the heavy folds of her midnight-lace gown and bolted toward the door!
The massive royal suite doors swung open as she burst into the grand corridor. The sheer weight of her dress made it feel like she was running with a cloud of storm-darkened silk behind her, the fabric "hissing" against the polished marble floors.
"You'll have to catch me first, Viktor!" she laughed, her voice ringing through the hollow, moonlit halls like silver bells.
She sprinted past golden statues and ancient portraits of tsars, her red-bottomed heels clicking a frantic rhythm against the stone. The palace was a labyrinth of shadows and luxury, and Alia felt like a ghost haunting her own empire.
Behind her, she didn't hear running. Instead, she heard the slow, rhythmic, and terrifyingly calm footsteps of a man who knew exactly how the hunt would end.
"Run all you want, Alia!" Viktor's deep, velvet voice boomed, echoing off the high-vaulted ceilings. "But remember—every shadow in this palace belongs to me. You are only running deeper into my arms."
Alia reached the grand spiral staircase, her breath coming in short, excited gasps. She tried to hurry upward, but the endless train of her gown caught on a marble banister, jerking her to a halt. She turned around, heart hammering against her ribs, only to see Viktor standing at the base of the stairs.
He looked up at her, the dim light catching the sharp angle of his jaw and his silver hair. He wasn't even out of breath. He began to ascend the stairs, one slow step at a time, his gaze locked onto hers like a predator watching his prize.
"The palace is locked, the world is asleep, and your dress has finally betrayed you," Viktor murmured, his shadow stretching long and tall over her. "Where will you run now, my Princess?"
Alia leaned against the cold railing, a defiant but breathless smile on her lips as he reached the step just below her. As Alia struggled in his arms, dangling her legs and kicking playfully in a final attempt to escape, Viktor simply tightened his grip. His muscles were like iron beneath his tailored suit, unbothered by her restless movements. The massive folds of her black lace gown swayed like a dark tide with every kick she made.
"Viktor, put me down! This is cheating!" she cried out, her voice a mix of laughter and breathless protest. "I wasn't ready! You can't just hunt me down like this!"
Viktor didn't stop. He carried her back toward the royal suite with the steady, rhythmic pace of a man who had already won. He looked down at her, his silver hair falling slightly over his forehead, his eyes burning with a dark, amused fire.
"You can rule a kingdom with laws, Alia, but you rule a woman like you with action," he murmured, his voice vibrating through his chest and into hers. "The more you struggle, the tighter I'll hold you. It only makes the victory sweeter."
Realizing her physical resistance was useless against his strength, Alia finally let her legs go still. She let out a huff of playful defeat and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. Her heart was racing—not from the run, but from the sheer intensity of being completely under his command.
Viktor reached the ebony doors and kicked them shut behind him with a resonant thud. The lock clicked automatically, sealing them back into their private sanctuary.
He walked slowly toward the massive bed and leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he prepared to set her down.
"Running away has a price, Princess," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "And now that the doors are locked again, I think it's time you paid it." As Viktor carefully began to unfasten the intricate laces at the back of the gown, a hush fell over the room. His fingers brushed against her skin with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver down Alia's spine.
The heavy black gown finally slid off her shoulders, pooling around her feet on the ivory sheets. Beneath it, her expensive black silk nightdress was revealed. It was a masterpiece of fine silk and delicate lace that clung perfectly to her silhouette, shimmering under the glow of the chandelier.
Viktor stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Catching her gaze in the large vanity mirror, he paused, momentarily stunned by the sight. In this intimate attire, Alia looked more breathtaking and ethereal than ever.
"You look magnificent, my Queen," he whispered in Russian, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.
He leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of her neck as he adjusted the thin straps of the silk dress. "Was the 'penalty' too much for you? Or was seeing you like this worth every second of the hunt?"
Alia turned around in his arms, the silk sliding against his suit. She looked up into his eyes, seeing the raw adoration behind his powerful exterior. "Is your gaze not the greatest reward I could ask for, Viktor?" Alia's cheeks flushed a deep, burning crimson. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment and Viktor's unyielding gaze, she tried to step back, seeking a bit of space. But escaping Viktor was never that simple.
Before she could move more than an inch, Viktor caught her wrist with lightning speed. Her delicate hand was swallowed by his firm grip. With a single, decisive tug, he pulled her flush against his chest and swept her off her feet once more.
Caught completely off guard, Alia gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. "Ahhh, Viktor! You're truly...!" she trailed off, her voice a breathy whisper of shock and excitement.
Viktor carried her toward the plush bed, his eyes never leaving hers. The thin silk of her nightdress felt like a second skin under the pressure of his hold. In his powerful arms, Alia felt small, yet more cherished than ever before.
"Where do you think you're going, Alia?" Viktor murmured, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "Inside these walls, there is no escape. I told you—tonight, the world stops here."
Alia stopped resisting. She let her head rest against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. The thrill of being his queen was as intoxicating as the cold Moscow night outside. Viktor came to a sudden halt, a dangerous yet amused smirk playing on his lips. He lowered Alia onto the plush bed but didn't let her go just yet.
"Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life, Viktor!" Alia declared, her eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and lingering embarrassment.
Viktor leaned over her, his broad frame casting a shadow that felt both intimidating and protective. "Owww... so you didn't realize that before, Princess? You seemed quite brave back when you were with the CIA, digging through my classified files."
Alia didn't flinch. She met his gaze head-on. "So what if I was CIA? You're no saint! Your FSB background is exactly why this whole city is under your thumb!"
Viktor let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through the air. He began twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. "Yes, I am FSB. And do you know our number one rule? Once we mark a target, we never let them go—especially not a beautiful agent like you."
Alia tried to turn her face away, but Viktor gently caught her chin, forcing her to look back at him.
"Mistake or not, Alia... you're caught in this web now. And escaping an FSB officer is impossible, even for someone as skilled as you."Alia sat up on the bed, pointing a defiant finger at him. "Viktor Alexeyevich! You aren't just an FSB officer; you're a ruthless Mafia Lord! You are too much... you want to control everything!"
The moment Viktor heard his full name—Viktor Alexeyevich—his expression shifted. Not many dared to use his patronymic so boldly. He paused, then let out a sharp, dark, and deeply sarcastic laugh that echoed through the royal suite.
He leaned in so close that his breath fanned across her heated skin. His voice was a mocking, dangerous purr:
"Ahhh... what was that? Say it again, Alia."
His tone was dripping with irony as he tilted her chin up. "Mafia Lord? FSB? Are you forgetting who you're talking to? Do you think those labels intimidate me?"
He lowered his voice to a lethal whisper. "A Mafia Lord takes what he wants by force. An FSB agent dismantles his target bit by bit. Do you want to find out which one I am standing before you right now?"
Alia shivered for a split second, but she didn't look away. It was this very danger, this high-stakes game, that made her heart belong to him in the first place.