CHAPTER ONE
SHADOWS OF THE PAST
Rain beat onto the windows of Anna Petrescu's cramped, dilapidated apartment, a rainstorm that had taken on many of the delirious colors swirling in her own head. Cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by painting brushes, pencils and palettes scattered around. A candle flickered on the windowsill, throwing vague dark shapes around the room; she was almost seemly in her refined features and ghost circles under eyes. When Anna broke free from her nightmare of a marriage only two years ago, it was to claim back the cage she once fled and the heart-attack-inducing marriage that had been left behind. The bruises were gone, the scars however the nightmares haunted her as she ever did every time she closed her eyes. Life in Bucharest was not glamorous but she had it. And here she could just breath—even if only barely.
The distant ringing of the magnifying loupe click from the jeweler in Anna's compact, but accustomed workspace. In her workshop bonanza of brilliant-tinted gems and half-drawn sketches that became an anchor of hope. But even in the midst of the gorgeous gems and designs Anna's attention was far away — locked in memories she had buried.
With a steady, nimble touch Anna used two fine tweezers to straighten a pinhead diamond that had not moved an inch. She took deep breaths and immersed herself totally in her mission, earphones on to shut off the world. This was where she could feel like she was in control, where there was no longer any chaos of what happened before.
Anna had always found solace in the meticulous art of crafting jewelry. Each piece she worked on was more than a product; it was an escape, it was her baby. But even here, buried deep in her sanctuary, she couldn't fully escape the ghosts of her past. The darkened scar beneath her wrist was a constant reminder of where she had come from, and why she could never afford to go back.
A knock on the door startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. She froze, the sound too sharp and insistent to belong to her only friend, Elena. Heart racing, Anna rose to her feet and approached the door cautiously, her hands trembling as she unlocked it. "Anna, it's me!" Elena's voice called out, muffled by the door. Relief washed over Anna as she swung it open to reveal her friend's familiar, freckled face framed by wild red curls.
"You scared me," Anna murmured, stepping aside to let her in.
"It's late."
"And you're still working, as usual," Elena quipped, setting down a brown paper bag on the tiny kitchen counter.
"I brought food. Don't argue." Anna managed a small smile and closed the door.
"Thanks. You didn't have to."
"You're right, I didn't," Elena teased, unpacking the bag.
"But someone has to keep you alive right? What have you eaten today?"
Anna shrugged, avoiding the question. Her gaze drifted back to the sketches scattered on the floor. They were her lifeline, the only thing that kept her going when the weight of her memories threatened to crush her. "So," Elena began, leaning against the counter.
"Have you thought about it?"
"About what?" Anna asked.
"The gala. The one at the Volkov estate." - Elena said briskly
Anna's stomach churned at the mention of the name. Volkov. The family's wealth and influence were legendary in Romania, but so were the whispers of their criminal empire. "No. I'm not going."
"Anna, this could be your opportunity. The most influential people in Bucharest will be there. You might meet someone who…" Elena's voice faded, her gaze softening. "You know…Who could really help you."
Anna shook her head firmly. "I don't need their help. I've come this far on my own."
Elena let out a sigh but chose not to push the issue. Instead, she settled down on the floor next to Anna, examining the sketches. "You're incredible, you know that? These designs… they're… they have a life of their own. You're going to change the world one day."
Anna's lips curled into a slight smile, but the heaviness of doubt in her heart wouldn't go away. The thought of entering the world of the Volkovs felt like inviting darkness back into her life. She had spent years escaping from it. The last thing she wanted was to willingly step into its embrace.
Luca Volkov was that type of man if he so much as looked you way, you would flutter your eyes and pretend to be looking somewhere else. He was 26 and you breathed down (in) at this boy with an undiluted, raw magnetic energy that was difficult to look at. Standing at 6''3', he was broad shouldered and powerfully built like a man of stone having been forged in years of presiding over the Volkov family's business in seedy underbelly alleys and high stakes deals. His chiseled jaw and always slightly stubbled face endowed him with a very tough-hard edge that just made him more attractive. He had striking gray eyes cold and calculating but would flare with a dangerous heat when irritated, or when he was interested in something. There was engraven a thin scar of his best combative past along his right eyebrow, a signal that something dangerous was going on in the life as a rule. He had his intimidating stature, but a truant quality about the type that instilled fear and the willing charm of recklessness. . Luca's voice was a deep, gravelly baritone, the kind that sent chills down spines and commanded attention without needing to raise its volume. His eyes was blue like his mother's and he walked graciously like his father. He moved with the grace of a predator, each step purposeful and filled with confidence. His wardrobe, while simple, exuded understated luxury: tailored black suits, leather jackets, and rolled-up sleeves that revealed forearms marked with faint scars and the inked lines of a tattoo that vanished beneath his cuff. He bore the weight of his family's legacy with a blend of defiance and loyalty, a duality that made him unpredictable and dangerous. To those who crossed him, he was ruthless. To those he protected, he was unerringly loyal—a storm wrapped in steel, always hanging on the brink of chaos. Luca entered the bath tub with a towel wrapped around his torso revealing his absolutely shredded upper body.
Alexander and Luca have a love-hate relationship, they grew up separately for the first fifteen years of their life. Alexander was born four years before Luca in Bucharest to the billionaire Viktor Volkov who is the second son of a billionaire lineage. The name Volkovs was a major name in Romania's finance. The conglomerate cuts across multiple sector including Pharmaceuticals, Real Estate, Medicine, weapon manufacture, Oil and Arts. The Volkovs companies had dominance in Europe, Middle East, Asia and North America. Luca was raised by his mother, Grace Volkov after her departure from his father Viktor three years after Luca was born and has not looked back since until her death from a prolonged illness when Luca was 15. Luca returned to his father and Alexander has had to deal with him ever since then.
It was said that the Volkov's fortune began with a shrewd patriarch many centuries ago, a man who rose from obscurity to claim vast swaths of land in Transylvania. Over the years, the family diversified, their wealth flowing from industries as varied as textiles, mining, oil, pharmaceuticals and later, real estate. By the time Viktor Volkov inherited the family empire, their assets were nearly incalculable.
Viktor was a man of sharp intellect and an even sharper tongue. He was not one for public displays of wealth, though the family's immense fortune was impossible to hide. He rarely appeared at social gatherings, preferring to operate from the shadows, pulling strings with an efficiency that both fascinated and terrified his peers.
To the outside world, the Volkovs' were an enigma. Their wealth was undeniable, their influence stretch across all the country and abroad, but whispers followed them wherever they went. No one could pinpoint the source of the rumors, but they were persistent: stories of underhanded dealings, connections to shadowy figures, and fortunes built not only on legitimate businesses but also on secrets too dangerous to uncover.
Viktor never addressed the rumors, which only added to their allure. "Let them talk," he was known to say when questioned about the family's reputation. "Wealth attracts envy; power attracts fear." Viktor's elder brother Jamie was said to have died from natural causes although no one can really tell the cause of his death in the public, it's said that a rival billionaire family called the Dragomir's might be related to his death but no one can say for sure.
Despite Alex being the elder one, Luca was more popular among their business associates due to his charisma and his business minded nature. Since he entered the business fully at the age of 21, the business has blossomed and more lucrative deals has been signed with him as the frontman. He has been busy with Shea his secretary who has been planning on the DGMIL 1.0 signifying the empire's first delve into the world of Art and jewelries. The empire has already secured lucrative deals with agencies and exporters and are ready to see what innovative artists have to offer in their premiere gala.
Anna was about to retire to bed, Elena has just left and she has time to bury herself in books and simply enjoy the night before she sleeps off. Other than being a skilled artist, she owns a jewellery line - well, more like a jewellery shop-. Proceeds from her store are only enough for her to live a low income lifestyle. She left an abusive marriage two years ago and most of her finances went into resolving her divorce with her previous husband. Her husband was a well to do man who was also in the art industry but owns a well established jewellery line - at least so he claimed- he inherited from his parents. She has tasted wealth, now she has to get used to her present life. Elena was the only one who stayed, financially and emotionally she has been present but there's only so much she can do. Her rent is expiring soon and she need money, fast.
The sound of her phone vibrating on the counter pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen and saw the name of her longtime friend, Camille. "Anna, darling, you have to come to the Volkovs gala this year," Camille's voice bubbled through the phone. "It's not just about the art anymore. Trust me, there will be some… quite interesting people there. And I heard Viktor's sons will be in attendance." Anna's stomach twisted at the mention of Viktor, the notorious mafia kingpin whose name was spoken in whispers and with fear. He was a figure she had tried to avoid for as long as she could. The mere mention of him brought memories of the dark parts of her past, the ones she had worked so hard to escape. But Camille wasn't wrong. The gala was an important event, and it wasn't every day that Viktor's sons, Alex and Luca, would make an appearance. And now it's two people on her neck pressuring her to be present, Elena and now Camille.
"Camille, you know how I feel about that world," Anna replied, her voice cautious. "I'm not getting involved in any of their games. We know the rumour behind the Volkovs"
"Oh, come on. It's just a gala. No strings attached. Besides, Viktor's sons are both... quite the catch. And maybe this will be the moment to finally introduce you to the right people. You can't keep hiding forever, Anna. You're too pretty a flower to be covered by bare hands". Camille can never change, she thought. She's the life of the party and can't just accept that everybody can't be social like her. But to be honest, Anna is pretty, at least that's what most people around her says. She had a very brief modelling career before she went to pursue an interest in other things, she was a catch of the eyes of both males and females growing up but that was then, she's more like a shadow of herself now.
Anna didn't answer immediately. Camille's words lingered in the air. She had worked so hard to build a life that was separate from everything Viktor and his family represented. Her last husband was an abusive drug dealer and if the rumors about the Volkovs were true, well she did not want to think about it. The last thing she wanted was to be tied to them in any way. But she also couldn't deny that the gala presented an opportunity she couldn't ignore. If she wanted her designs to be taken seriously, she needed to make connections, and this was the place to do it.
"Fine," Anna said, her voice firm. "But I'm only going to focus on the art. No personal drama."
Camille laughed lightly. "We'll see about that. I'll save a seat for you, darling. Trust me, you won't regret it."
It's now two people inviting her to the same gala right in the heart of the country, it can't be a coincidence, can it? As Anna ended the call, she sighed deeply. She hadn't made a decision yet, but one thing was certain—whether she wanted it or not, she was about to step into a world where secrets and power would collide in ways she couldn't yet comprehend.
Later that night, Anna sat by her bedroom window, staring out at the dimly lit streets. The gala invitation that Elena dropped lay on the small table beside her, untouched. A glass of wine sat next to it, still full. Her thoughts were not on the event but on the memories it stirred.
Her life had not always been about crafting beauty. The name Volkov carried weight—one she had spent years trying to shed. She had grown up in a household that valued power over everything else. Her father's cold, calculating nature had made her to run, but it had also left her constantly looking over her shoulder.Her father, a man whose shadow stretched far beyond their small town, had demanded perfection. Anna learned early in her life that love came with conditions, and mistakes had consequences.
Her escape had not been a bed of roses. She had scars, both visible and hidden, from the night she had fled. From her father to her husband, Anna has never had a fully loving relationship with a man that comes with no strings attached. Romania had always been her home, but its streets often felt more like a labyrinth of ghosts than a place of safety. She wondered if accepting the gala invitation would put her on a path back to the life she had fought so hard to leave behind. "But I need the money" - she thought, her rent will be due very soon and thoughts of paying the next one clouded her mind. Elena volunteered to house and keep her company but she just won't bulge. She loves her silence and will do anything to protect it.
Anna rolled lazily on her bed, her arm stretched across her forehead as the pale morning light filtered through the thin curtains shining on her brown eyes. Thoughts from the past clouded her mind, refusing to let her rest. It wasn't the first time memories haunted her, but they always seemed sharper in moments of quiet.
Her childhood had been anything but serene. Her father, Ion Petrescu, was a man of rigid discipline and ironclad rules. A retired military officer who served his country duly, he demanded perfection in everything—Anna's grades, her posture, even the way she spoke. To Ion, life was a battlefield, and Anna was a soldier in training he kept ringing that in her ears every morning.
"Emotions are a weakness, stop being a girl about everything " he would bark, his voice cold and unyielding. "If you can't control your emotions, they'll take control you. Be logical not emotional "
As a child, Anna had adored and worshiped her father, mistaking his severity for love, believing his sternness for care, that was the love she knew as a child. But as she grew older, the warmth she craved never came. Instead, she learned to measure her worth in achievements—an A on a test, a trophy at a competition, a perfect dress, a perfectly recited speech in front of the Reverend Father on Sunday. Mistakes were met with sharp words or the stinging crack of his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through their quiet home like a gunshot and on days when he's not feeling too happy, multiple lashes on her back and the back of her palm. She had to be better than everyone else. Her Sisters, her classmates, children of other parents in church, it never mattered. She had to be better than everyone else or there would be consequences. She had to be better.
Her mother, a timid woman with soft eyes and a quiet voice, rarely intervened. She'd sit in the corner, wringing her hands, murmuring weak protests that Ion easily shrugged off or even threatened her if she dared talk back at him. Anna didn't blame her—her mother had been broken long before Anna was born.
It was no surprise that when the opportunity to escape came in the form of a charming suitor, Anna leaped at it. At only twenty-one, she married Adrian Dragomir, a man who seemed like the antithesis of her father. He was charming, attentive, and full of promises of a life filled with love and freedom. But beneath the polished surface lay a darkness Anna wished she had seen until it was too late.
Adrian's love was intoxicating at first—grand gestures, expensive gifts, exclusive dinners, whispered declarations, and a whirlwind romance that made her feel like she was in a love novel, a fairy-tale. But once the vows were exchanged and the honeymoon glow died, his true nature finally emerged.
The first time he hit her, it had been over a spilled glass of wine at a dinner party. She'd apologized profusely, her cheeks burning with shame, while he'd offered a tight smile to their guests and whispered venomously into her ears, "Don't embarrass me again. You won't like yourself"
Anna had convinced herself it was a one-time thing. It had to be. But one time became two, then three, until the bruises became as regular as the apologies that followed. Adrian was a sweet man who always knew the right words to say, the perfect travel dates to take her to, the perfect gifts to buy to keep her tethered. "You make me so angry sometimes, Anna. But I can't live without you, you're my world" he'd say constantly even after beating, while massaging the bruises he caused, his tone laced with a manipulative tenderness that left her questioning if it was her fault- It had to be her fault. For pouring the cocktail on his gold color suit even when he was the one that pushed her, for breaking the chinaware when he was the one that injured her the previous night, for not having Jenna Ortega's flat tummy, for being on her period and rejecting when him when he was burning with sexual passion. Everything, everything was always her fault. It has always been.
The nights were the worst. Adrian, fueled by alcohol after coming back from partying with his 'colleagues' who were usually models in strip clubs , would stumble into their bedroom, his words slurred and his temper volatile. He was a room filled with petrol, he was ready to explode every second. On some nights, he'd collapse into bed without a word. On others, his rage would erupt, and Anna would brace herself for the storm.
For years, she endured. The fear of her father's judgment, the stigma of a failed marriage, and the belief that she couldn't survive on her own kept her trapped. But the turning point came one rainy night when Adrian's anger turned into something more dangerous than usual. He came home reeking of drugs and alcohol She'd fought back, her desperation giving her strength she didn't know she had. She lost a 3 month old pregnancy she had been looking for since the first two years of marriage. Multiple bruises and burns all over her arm, her neck. The next morning, she packed her belongings and fled.
She left everything behind—the house, the money, even her identity as Adrian's wife. She moved to another part of Bucharest with nothing but a suitcase and a dream of starting over. But starting over was harder than she'd imagined. Even after spending years as the wife of a rich man, she had no money or even a bank to her name. Adrian Dragomir had assured her that it's better if everything remained in his name. 'Whatever is mine is yours, my love' - he'd say on days when his human side prevailed.
Adrian Dragomir was the 12th child of 14 of the Dragomirs family. His family, just like the Volkov's has been rumored to be in shady business although they claim to be in the Real Estate and Importation industry with art and jewellery being their side hustle. Adrian being the 8th son out of 9 was asked to manage the family's jewelry line while his elder brothers take hold of the more important and lucrative industries the family own. The Dragomir's themselves were wealthy with the Volkov's probably the only ones who is richer than they are. But it was never about the money for Anna, it never has been. She had to run for her life or she won't even have a life to run for.
Now, as Anna lay in her tiny apartment, the ghosts of her past lingered around. Her father's stern face, Adrian's drunken rage, the constant feeling of inadequacy—they were weights she around carried every day.