Victor's repentance vanished in an instant, replaced by the lethal coldness of the Russian Mafia Lord. The moment he heard the word "poison," the weeping son died, and the butcher was born. His obsession had a new purpose: protecting his unborn heir and slaughtering whoever dared to touch Alia.The silence of the night was shattered by the deafening roar of an automatic rifle. Victor fired a round directly into the ornate ceiling of the corridor, the plaster raining down like white ash.
"EVERYONE! DOWNSTAIRS! NOW!" Victor's roar vibrated through the very foundations of the mansion.
Five minutes later, a scene of absolute terror unfolded in the grand dining hall. Victor's father, mother, his two sisters, the head chef, and the top ten domestic staff were lined up against the long mahogany table. Victor stood in the center, his white shirt stained with Alia's tears, holding a heavy Beretta with a demonic glint in his eyes.
He walked slowly toward the Head Chef, the barrel of the gun clicking against the man's teeth.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out? Alia is carrying my heir. Who gave you the order to slip poison into her food? If I don't have a name by the time I count to three, I start the execution with you."
"One..."
The chef collapsed into a heap, sobbing, "Lord Victor, I swear by my life, I know nothing! I only cook what is ordered!"
"Two..."
Victor flipped the safety catch. He pressed the cold metal against the chef's forehead. Elena and Katrina clutched each other, trembling. His mother stood frozen, her face a mask of pale horror.
"Three..."
Just as Victor's finger tightened on the trigger, Elena screamed, "STOP! Stop, Brother! I know who did it!"
Victor whirled around, the gun now leveled at his own sister's chest. His voice was a low, guttural growl. "Tell me the name, Elena, or your silver hair will be dyed red tonight."
Elena's hand shook as she pointed toward the corner of the room. She wasn't pointing at a chef. She pointed at the Head Maid, the woman who had been the Mother's loyal confidante for over twenty years.
The Mother's breath hitched. The room went deathly silent.Victor was consumed by his own demonic fury, completely unaware that he was no longer the hunter, but the prey. The woman he thought he had broken was actually the one pulling his strings.
While the air in the dining hall was thick with the scent of gunpowder and terror, a very different scene was unfolding upstairs. Alia was no longer limp or pale. She stood by the window, wiped the fake sweat from her forehead, and looked at Dr. Mikhail with a cold, piercing gaze.
Dr. Mikhail didn't look like a terrified family physician anymore. He stood tall, adjusting his watch, which hid a high-tech CIA transmitter. He and Alia shared a dark, triumphant smirk.
"Did he buy it, Mikhail?" Alia whispered, her voice steady and sharp.
"Hook, line, and sinker," Mikhail replied, pulling a concealed CIA badge from his medical bag. "He actually believes there is a 'Petrov heir' and that his own mother is trying to kill it. The drugs I gave you worked perfectly the vomiting, the pale skin it was a masterpiece."
The Truth: Alia and Mikhail were elite CIA deep-cover operatives. There was no pregnancy. There was no poison. The "poison traces" were a lie manufactured by Mikhail to turn Victor against his own bloodline. Their mission was to dismantle the Petrov empire from the inside out by inducing total paranoia in its leader.
Downstairs, the madness peaked. Victor roared, his finger tightening on the trigger as he held the maid by her hair.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
He didn't kill the maid. Instead, he fired three rounds into the massive crystal chandelier above his family, showering them in glass shards. He dragged the maid and threw her at his mother's feet.
"You sent her to kill my child, didn't you, Mother?" Victor screamed, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "You all want my throne! Fine. From this moment on, no one leaves this house. You are all my prisoners. I am the only law here!"
Watching from the shadows of the balcony above, Alia's smile widened. Victor had just declared war on his own family. He was destroying his support system, his sanity, and his future all for a child that didn't exist.While the mansion was drowning in chaos, Victor's elder brother, Nikola, remained outside. To the world, Nikola is the disciplined, stoic warrior of the Petrov family. As the screams and gunshots echoed from the dining hall, Nikola didn't flinch. He continued his sword practice in the courtyard, his movements fluid and lethal.Nikola knows everything. He knows about Victor's losing sanity, and more importantly, he knows the true identities of Alia and Mikhail. Yet, he says nothing. As he swings his blade, the dragon tattoo on his chest seems to come alive in the moonlight.
Nikola's Internal Monologue:
"Keep going, Victor... tear the family apart. The more you descend into madness, the easier it becomes for me to take the throne. I know Alia is your downfall, and I am merely waiting for the ashes to settle so I can build my empire upon them."
Nikola isn't a hothead like Victor; he is a predator who waits. He is letting the CIA operatives do his dirty work. He is letting Victor destroy their father's trust.As Nikola practiced with his sword, the maids standing in the background began to whisper among themselves. While they felt pure terror toward Victor, Nikola inspired a deep, dangerous fascination.Every muscle in Nikola's body moved with lethal precision. With every swing of his blade, the dragon tattoo on his chest seemed to pulse with life. The palace maids, accustomed to Victor's chaotic brutality, were mesmerized by Nikola's calm yet powerful aura.
One maid leaned in and whispered to the other:
"Look at Lord Nikola... he is so beautiful! There is such a deep mystery hidden beneath those calm eyes. Lord Victor only knows how to destroy, but Nikola looks like a hero from an epic."
The other sighed and replied:
"Yes, that dragon on his chest... it looks like it's always watching. If Lord Victor is the beast, then Lord Nikola is the blue-blooded prince. But who knows what lies hidden beneath all that beauty!"
Nikola heard their whispers, but he didn't even turn his head. His expression remained unchanged. He knew his beauty was just another weapon in his arsenal. He stopped his movement with a sharp flick of the blade, his eyes fixed on the dining hall where Victor was busy digging his own grave.The morning mist was thin, and the air carried the scent of wet grass and expensive tobacco. Nikola sat on the marble balcony, his muscular frame relaxed but his mind sharp. As he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his eyesas cold as a winter sea tracked every movement Alia made.Nikola took another long, slow drag from his cigar. He watched the glowing tip burn bright before turning into ash. When he spoke, his voice was a deep, melodic rumble that sent a shiver down Alia's spine.
"Where are you going, Alia?"
Alia froze. She adjusted her silk robe, trying to keep her expression neutral. She knew Victor was a storm, but Nikola... Nikola was the deep, silent ocean that swallowed ships whole. She turned slightly, offering a tired, practiced smile.
"I needed some air, Lord Nikola," she replied, her voice soft. "The walls of this room felt like they were closing in on me after last night."
Nikola stood up. He was a head taller than her, and as he approached, the scent of cedarwood and cigar smoke enveloped her. He stopped just inches away, looking down at her with a knowing smirk.
"A delicate flower like you shouldn't be wandering the halls so early," Nikola whispered, leaning in close enough for her to feel the warmth of his skin. "Especially when my brother is under the impression that his 'heir' is in danger. It's a dangerous game you're playing, little bird. Pretending to be sick, pretending to be poisoned... pretending to be a victim."
Alia's heart skipped a beat. The CIA training told her to keep her cool, but Nikola's gaze felt like it was peeling away her skin to see the badge underneath.
Nikola blew a thin stream of smoke away from her face and chuckled darkly.
"Don't look so surprised. Victor sees what he wants to see because he is blinded by his obsession. But I? I see everything. I know Dr. Mikhail's 'medicine' is just as fake as your pregnancy. The question is... why haven't I told him yet?"Alia realized that being defensive wouldn't work with a predator like Nikola. To protect her mission, she had to strike at his ego. She took a bold step forward, closing the gap between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.Alia didn't flinch. Instead, she let a mysterious, mocking smile play on her lips. She slowly raised her hand, her slender fingers landing softly on Nikola's bare chest. She began to trace the intricate lines of his dragon tattoo, her touch as light as a feather but as sharp as a needle.
She looked up into his icy blue eyes, her gaze "enchanting" yet filled with a calculated venom. She spoke in a low, melodic purr that was designed to provoke:
"You are very observant, Lord Nikola. Unlike Victor, you think with your brain rather than your muscles. But what good is all that intelligence? In this grand palace, you are nothing but a ghost... a shadow living in your younger brother's light."
Her fingers moved down the muscles of his torso, as if she were marking her territory. Her voice dropped to a whisper, dripping with insults:
"You stay silent because you are a coward. You want your brother destroyed, but you don't have the courage to get your own hands bloody. You are actually surviving on the mercy of Mikhail and me. You're waiting for us to remove Victor so you can crawl onto that throne, aren't you? What could be more insulting than a big brother being so dependent on his enemies?"
Nikola's jaw tightened, his muscles coiling under her touch. Alia leaned in closer, her breath hitching near his ear as she delivered the final blow:
"A pretty face and a big dragon tattoo cannot hide cowardice, Lord Nikola. You are merely a spectator, while I... I am the director of this play."