The red dress was a masterpiece of blood-colored silk, a garment designed for a woman who intended to either conquer or destroy. It gripped my curves like a second skin, the daring slit up my thigh revealing just enough to be a provocation. As the maid pinned my hair into an elegant, calculatedly messy bun, I stared at the stranger in the mirror.
I didn't look like the girl from the suburbs anymore. I looked like a Volkov—polished, sharp, and lethal.
"You look beautiful, Miss," the maid whispered, her eyes downcast as if she were afraid the light reflecting off the silk might blind her.
"Beauty is just a weapon in this house. Isn't it?"
The girl didn't answer. She tucked a final pin into place and vanished into the shadows of the room. I reached into the hidden pocket of my old robe and pulled out the brass key. I needed to know its purpose before the gala. My father's letter mentioned a "digital vault," but this key was an artifact—a physical fail-safe in a world of code.
I waited until I heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of Yuri's boots in the hallway. I followed him, silent as a ghost, toward his private study. Through a sliver of space in the doorway, I watched him. He wasn't working. He stood before a portrait of his father—a man with the same predatory eyes and a mouth carved from cruelty. Yuri pressed a sensor on the frame, and the painting swung outward to reveal a terminal.
Biometric scan required, a mechanical voice whispered.
Yuri sighed, leaning his forehead against the wall. He looked exhausted, the weight of his empire sagging his broad shoulders. He reached for a glass of scotch, his injured arm trembling as he entered a manual override on a keypad hidden beneath the mahogany desk.
4-9-2-9.
My birth year. My expected graduation year. 2029. A cold shiver raced down my spine. He wasn't just using my blood; he was using my entire identity as his shield.
"Jessy?"
I jumped, nearly upending a porcelain vase. Yuri was in the doorway, his tuxedo jacket draped over his shoulders, his eyes piercing the gloom.
"I was just... checking if you were ready," I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He moved toward me, the darkness of the hall swallowing his form until he was inches away. His gloved hand traced the line of my throat, his thumb lingering on my pulse point. "You're a bad liar, Jessy. You were spying."
"I was curious," I countered, tilting my chin up. "If I'm your fiancé, I should know where the secrets are kept."
Yuri leaned down, his breath hot and smelling of expensive peat against my ear. "Some secrets are like fire, Jessy. If you get too close, they won't just warm you. They'll turn you to ash."
He grabbed my hand and led me toward the stairs. "Tonight, remember: you love me. You trust me. And if anyone tries to pull you away, you scream."
"Because I'm 'expensive'?" I asked, dripping with sarcasm.
"No," Yuri said, stopping at the top of the grand staircase. He looked at me with an expression of sudden, raw regret. "Because you're the only thing in this world that hasn't realized I'm a monster yet."
The gala was a sea of false smiles and hidden daggers, but my mind was back in the study. Later that night, the tension that had been building for weeks finally reached its breaking point. We had retreated back to the estate, the adrenaline of the evening still humming in our veins.
"I want to see the footage," I told him, standing in the center of the study. "Of the collision."
He hesitated, then swiped the silver tablet. The video was grainy, a monochrome nightmare. I saw my car—fragile and small. Then the transport appeared. It didn't swerve. It didn't brake. It hit me with the surgical precision of an execution.
"It was a hit," I whispered. "They were trying to reset me."
"They wanted to see if the trauma would lock the code forever," Yuri said, his hand covering mine. His skin was fever-warm. "They didn't care if you survived, Jessy. I did."
His gaze dropped to my lips, and the air in the room thickened until it was a physical weight. The "protection" he offered felt suddenly, dangerously intimate.
"Is that why you saved me, Yuri? Only for the code?"
He didn't answer with words. He moved with a predatory grace, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He pulled me closer until the silk of my dress brushed the wool of his trousers.
"I saved you because I couldn't let them have you," he growled, his voice a low, carnal vibration.
He leaned in, his lips crashing against mine with a hunger that wasn't calculated. It was desperate. I should have pulled away; I should have remembered the letter, the key, the betrayal. But the heat of him was an addiction. My hands found the lapels of his jacket, pulling him into me as the kiss deepened, tasting of scotch and suppressed longing.
He lifted me onto the edge of the mahogany desk, scattering the vintage maps. His hand slid up the slit of my red dress, his palm searing against my bare thigh. "You are the only thing I can't control, Jessy," he whispered against my skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my neck. "And it's driving me insane."
I gasped, my head falling back as his mouth found the hollow of my throat. In this moment, the Glass Ledger didn't matter. The war didn't matter. There was only the friction of silk against skin and the terrifying realization that I was falling for the architect of my cage.
"Then stop trying to control me," I breathed, my fingers digging into his shoulders. "And just take me."
Yuri's eyes darkened, a flash of pure, unadulterated desire breaking through his icy exterior. He didn't just want the key; he wanted the soul behind it. He moved his hand higher, his thumb tracing the curve of my hip as he pulled me flush against his heat, the intensity of his gaze promising a fire that would leave us both changed.