"The most dangerous temptations are not the ones we surrender to. They are the ones we almost choose."
—-
The city glittered beneath Aurélie Delacroix's penthouse like scattered diamonds.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Deceptive.
.
Much like the woman standing beside the floor-to-ceiling windows watching the preparations unfold.
Candles glowed softly across the rooftop terrace.
Crystal glasses reflected golden light.
Champagne chilled in silver buckets.
Music drifted through hidden speakers.
Romantic.
Lavish.
Dangerous.
Exactly as intended.
Aurélie smiled.
Tonight was not merely dinner.
It was an experiment.
A test.
And perhaps a little revenge.
Behind her, Mirela stepped onto the terrace, wearing a black silk dress that seemed to be poured onto her body.
She carried the same dangerous elegance Aurélie did.
Only hers burned hotter.
Like temptation wrapped in fire.
Mirela studied the setup.
Then laughed.
"You're not hosting a dinner."
Aurélie lifted a brow.
"No?"
"No."
Mirela reached for a champagne glass.
"You're setting a trap."
A slow smile appeared on Aurélie's lips.
"Perhaps."
Mirela shook her head.
"Poor men."
Aurélie glanced toward the skyline.
"No."
Her smile deepened.
"Poor us."
---
Nikolai knew something was wrong the moment he stepped from the elevator.
The atmosphere alone confirmed it.
Candles.
Music.
Champagne.
Luxury.
Manipulation.
He immediately regretted coming.
Then he saw her.
Mirela.
Standing beside the terrace railing.
Black silk.
Golden hair.
Dangerous smile.
For one brief moment—
Years vanished.
Paris.
Moscow.
Hotels.
Arguments.
Passion.
Mistakes.
Far too many mistakes.
A flood of memories struck him without warning.
Nikolai stopped walking.
Mirela smiled.
Slowly.
Knowingly.
Then crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him.
"You look surprised."
Nikolai stared at her.
"I should have stayed home."
Mirela laughed.
The same laugh he remembered.
And somehow that made everything worse.
---
A few moments later, another elevator opened.
Mikhail emerged.
He immediately understood he had been deceived.
His gaze swept the terrace.
Candles.
Champagne.
Mirela.
Aurélie.
Nikolai's expression of suffering.
Everything made sense.
His eyes landed on Aurélie.
And stayed there.
She wore a wine-colored lace gown.
The dress revealed her back completely.
Elegant.
Provocative.
Sin disguised as sophistication.
Aurélie noticed his attention.
Of course she did.
She always noticed.
Her lips curved slightly.
Not enough for anyone else.
Enough for him.
Mikhail immediately looked away.
Which only amused her more.
"You're angry."
She appeared beside him carrying two glasses of wine.
"I was told this was dinner."
"It is dinner."
"It looks like an ambush."
Aurélie smiled.
"Perhaps it can be both."
---
Hours later, the atmosphere had become strangely comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Conversation flowed.
Wine disappeared.
Old stories resurfaced.
Even Nikolai had begun speaking normally.
Though every time Mirela touched his arm, his jaw tightened visibly.
Aurélie found this endlessly entertaining.
Across the table, Mikhail remained guarded.
Watching.
Calculating.
The predator never truly rested.
Which was why he noticed the stranger.
Immediately.
A man dressed entirely in black.
Dark glasses.
Unfamiliar face.
Moving carefully through the guests.
Too careful.
The man's smile never reached his eyes.
Mikhail's instincts sharpened.
Something about him felt wrong.
Very wrong.
---
Meanwhile—
thousands of kilometers away—
Maria stood inside a private hospital room in Romania.
Her heart pounded violently.
The room smelled faintly of medicine and lavender.
Machines hummed quietly.
And lying in the bed—
fragile.
Older.
Thinner—
was her mother.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Neither moved.
Then tears appeared in her mother's eyes.
"Maria."
The single word shattered something inside her.
Maria crossed the room immediately.
Taking her mother's hand.
Holding it carefully.
As though she might disappear.
"Mom."
The older woman smiled weakly.
But fear lingered in her eyes.
The same fear Helene had described.
The fear of someone running out of time.
Maria swallowed hard.
Then asked the question that had haunted her for weeks.
"The Dragunovs."
Her mother's hand tightened.
"The Pakhan."
A visible tremor crossed the older woman's face.
Maria saw it.
And instantly knew.
There was truth there.
Painful truth.
---
Back at the penthouse—
The stranger moved toward a quieter section of the terrace.
Mikhail followed.
Not openly.
Carefully.
Watching.
The way predators watched.
Aurélie noticed him leave.
And followed shortly afterward.
The city stretched beneath them.
Lights glowing endlessly.
The night air is cool against their skin.
"You don't trust my guest."
Aurélie appeared beside him.
Mikhail didn't look at her.
"No."
"Good."
That answer finally made him turn.
Aurélie smiled.
Mysterious.
Dangerous.
"I don't trust him either."
---
The stranger stood near the far balcony.
Alone.
Watching.
Waiting.
His dark glasses concealed a tiny hidden camera.
Recording everything.
Every conversation.
Every interaction.
Every weakness.
Especially one.
His gaze settled on Mikhail and Aurélie.
A slow smile appeared.
Exactly as planned.
---
Near the edge of the rooftop—
Aurélie slipped something into Mikhail's pocket.
A folded note.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Mikhail immediately felt it.
His eyes narrowed.
"What are you doing?"
"Improving your evening."
"Aurélie."
Her smile deepened.
The city wind caught her hair.
For a brief second, she looked exactly like every mistake he had ever failed to regret.
Dangerously beautiful.
Unforgettable.
His hand lifted instinctively.
Cupping her jaw.
Her breath caught.
The world seemed to narrow.
Candles.
Music.
Night.
Nothing else.
Their faces moved closer.
Too close.
The same dangerous distance as before.
One decision away from disaster.
One choice away from chaos.
Aurélie's pulse accelerated.
Mikhail's control strained.
Then—
His gaze shifted.
Past her.
The stranger.
Watching.
Recording.
Waiting.
Everything snapped back into focus.
Immediately.
The predator returned.
Cold.
Precise.
Merciless.
Mikhail stepped away.
Aurélie's smile disappeared.
Only slightly.
"You saw him too."
"Yes."
The single word carried danger.
Real danger.
Not romantic danger.
War.
---
Much later—
Maria finally gathered the courage to ask.
"Did Pakhan love you?"
The room fell silent.
Her mother's eyes filled with tears.
For several painful seconds, she couldn't answer.
Then finally—
a whisper.
"No."
Maria exhaled.
Until her mother continued.
"He loved her."
The words struck like lightning.
"He destroyed everyone because of her."
Maria froze.
Her mother's trembling hand reached toward her.
Then she whispered something else.
Something even worse.
Something that turned Maria's blood cold.
"The night your aunt disappeared..."
Her voice cracked.
"He wasn't the only one looking for the children."
---
At that exact moment—
back in France—
Mikhail unfolded the note Aurélie had slipped into his pocket.
His expression darkened instantly.
The note contained only one sentence.
One line.
One warning.
One nightmare.
**THE MAN WITH THE CAMERA WORKS FOR SOMEONE INSIDE THE DRAGUNOV BLOODLINE.**
Outside, thunder rolled across the city.
And somewhere in the darkness—
Someone was already watching.