In the mysterious morning light, Alia discovered a new side of Victor. As she looked into his face, she saw his famous eyes—now looking like transparent, ice-cold blue crystal. There was no malice in them, only a profound, long-standing thirst.
Unable to restrain herself any longer, driven by the lingering oil and a sudden surge of emotion, Alia took the initiative. She cupped Victor's chin with her soft hand and suddenly pulled him into a deep, passionate lip-lock kiss.
This spontaneous act stunned Victor. The ruthless Emperor of Russia, who only knew how to command, had never expected to be surrendered to like this. As the warmth of Alia's lips melted his icy exterior, he pulled her closer with renewed strength. The diamond anklets on her feet chimed softly as the ice finally melted under the heat of her fire.After the intense night, the penthouse was cloaked in a deathly silence. Time slipped away as the morning light turned into the harsh glare of mid-day. By 2:00 PM, while Moscow was buzzing with life, the world on the 44th floor remained frozen.
Alia was still fast asleep Her disheveled hair was spread across the pillow, and the marks Victor left on her fair skin shimmered in the sunlight. Her golden anklets lay silent, tangled in the silk sheets.
Victor had woken up shortly before, but he didn't move. He kept one arm wrapped around her waist, watching her sleep with his ice-cold eyes, now remarkably calm. He noticed that even in sleep, a faint crimson glow remained on her lips a souvenir of the oil and their deep union. Alia stirred slightly in her sleep, but her exhaustion was too profound to break.As the harsh midday sun pierced through the heavy curtains, the scene inside the room grew even more mystical. Victor and Alia—neither of them wore a shred of clothing. Their bare bodies were draped only by a massive red fur blanket. Beneath that crimson fur, their glistening forms looked like a royal oil painting brought to life.
In the profound silence of 2:00 PM, though Victor was awake, Alia remained lost in the depths of a heavy slumber. Very carefully, Victor slid his hand beneath the blanket, wanting to feel every curve of her body.
Victor slowly slid his firm, warm hand from Alia's arm all the way down to her waist. Beneath the red fur, his touch sent a strange, silent tremor through her silky skin. As his fingers came to rest at the curve of her waist, he could still feel the slick residue and lingering heat of the "Devil's Crimson" oil on her skin.
Even in her sleep, Alia winced slightly at his touch, her breathing growing heavy. Victor noticed one of her hands peeking out from under the blanket, the expensive bracelets on her wrist now still. Beneath the fur, the red ruby on her navel seemed to glow anew as his fingers brushed against it.
Victor leaned in, bringing his face close to her hair. He didn't want her to wake up just yet. He wanted to freeze this moment where the Dark Lord of Russia and his captive were fused as one under a single red fur blanket.Victor's inner artist and his inner demon awoke at once. As Alia lay unconscious in her deep sleep, Victor decided to immortalize this moment. To him, Alia was no longer just a woman; she was his personal masterpiece.
Victor cautiously picked up his high-end phone, ensuring it remained silent so as not to wake her. Against the contrast of the midday sun and the red fur blanket, Alia looked like an ethereal goddess.
Victor took 10 pictures, one after another.
He captured the marks on her skin, her sleeping face with swollen lips, the curve of her waist under the red fur, and the diamond anklets that had been slightly bent during the night's intensity. These 10 frames were not just photos; they were trophies of his conquest. He looked at the screen with a dark, satisfied smirk, knowing these images would haunt and bind Alia forever.Taking advantage of Alia's deep, unconscious state, Victor lay down beside her limp body. Beneath the red fur blanket, the warmth of their bare skin combined with the midday silence created a hauntingly surreal atmosphere. He pulled out his phone and switched on the front camera.
Victor brought his face incredibly close to Alia's. Wrapping one arm firmly around her while holding the phone up with the other, he took a selfie. The frame captured a stark contrast: on one side, Victor's ice-cold, victorious eyes, and on the other, Alia's disheveled hair and face flushed with exhaustion where the traces of the night's intense madness were still vividly clear. This single image seemed to tell the entire story of their dark, unequal bond. The warmth of the red fur and the lingering presence of Victor had vanished by the time Alia opened her eyes. The penthouse was deathly silent, and Victor was nowhere to be seen. Finding an incredibly expensive, royal-grade dress laid out for her, she quickly put it on and rushed out, desperate to breathe air that didn't feel like a cage.
Outside, the Moscow streets were desolate, and ice was falling (snowing) heavily. Alia walked aimlessly, her expensive gown dragging slightly against the frozen pavement, the cold wind biting at her skin. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the vibration of her phone. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the caller ID—Victor.
With trembling hands, she answered. Victor's voice came through, deep and ice-cold, cutting through the winter air.
Victor: (In a calm yet piercing tone) "Did you think my absence meant your freedom, Alia? That expensive dress looks exquisite against the falling ice. But remember, no matter where you walk, my eyes are always on you."
Alia spun around, looking at the empty, snowy streets, but saw no one. Her blood ran cold. She realized that even out here, she was still trapped in his invisible web.
Victor: "Turn around and come back now. Or I shall make sure the white ice beneath your feet turns crimson with your blood."Victor's cold threats and blood-chilling warnings didn't break Alia this time. After the intimacy of the night and seeing Victor's tears, she realized she held a power over him that no one else did. She knew the key to the Dark Lord's heart was now in her hands.
Alia stopped in the middle of the snowy street and let out a mocking laugh. She spoke into the phone, her voice loud and full of newfound confidence:
Alia: "You fool! Did you think I was running away? I just came out for a walk, and you're already panicking? And listen, you idiot (Gadha), this is my house too now, understand? I'm walking here because I want to, not because I'm afraid of you!"
On the other end of the line, Victor fell silent for a moment. No one in the Moscow underworld had ever dared to call the most feared Dark Lord a "fool" or an "idiot." Alia's defiance and her bratty scolding instantly turned Victor's rising anger into a strange, twisted sense of amusement.
Victor: (With a low, dark chuckle) "You certainly have nerves, Alia. Calling me an idiot in my own territory? Fine... I'll accept your audacity for now. But remember, this 'idiot' is the one who keeps his eyes on you twenty-four hours a day."
Alia gathered the hem of her expensive gown and began to walk back with a sense of pride. She knew Victor's men were watching her from the shadows, but for the first time, she felt like a queen rather than a captive.In the middle of the snowy street, Alia encountered a shocking sight. A 6-month-old baby was crying inside a luxury basket. Alia instinctively picked the child up, but her heart raced as she realized the truth. This was Lord Marcos's child—the fruit of a past betrayal.
Before becoming Victor's current captive wife, Alia was already Victor's spouse. At that time, Marcos was Victor's closest friend within the group and the Lord of Italy. Marcos was breathtakingly handsome, with a light golden glow to his skin, golden hair, and transparent green cat-eyes. Alia had been drawn into a secret affair with him behind Victor's back. When Victor discovered this, their friendship turned into a blood-feud.
Now, looking at the baby's eyes, Alia saw the exact same green cat-eyes of the Italian Lord.
Victor's voice growled through the phone: "Alia! Don't touch that child! That is the blood of the traitor Marcos. I know you're thinking about that golden-haired devil right now. Drop the child and get back to the palace immediately!"Alia's confession was like a volcanic eruption in the freezing Moscow air. Clutching the baby to her chest, she screamed back at Victor through the phone.
Alia: "No, Victor! Don't even think about me leaving him. This is my baby! My own blood!"
A deadly silence followed on the other end, followed by Victor's thunderous roar.
Victor: "Your baby? You mean the harvest of your sin with that Italian scoundrel, Marcos? You, my wife, dare to claim another man's child as your own?"
Alia: "Yes, mine! You can imprison me, but not my motherhood!"
Meanwhile, inside the Dark Palace, Victor was engaged in a decadent session with his servants/mistresses. Upon hearing Alia's words, he violently pushed the woman beside him away. He smashed his expensive crystal glass against the floor and fired a shot into the ceiling, sending his mistresses fleeing in terror. His ice-cold eyes turned a vengeful crimson.
Victor: (Whispering into the phone with terrifying intensity) "If you step into my palace with that illegitimate child, Alia, remember this I will destroy it, and then I will destroy you. Your diamond anklets will chime for your funeral today."In the middle of the snowy street, a silver sports car screeched to a halt in front of Alia. From it stepped a man who made the very air feel heavy—Lord Marcos. His golden hair shimmered against the falling snow, and his green cat-eyes were fixed on the baby in Alia's arms.
Alia stood frozen. Before her was the handsome Italian Lord she once risked everything for.
Alia: (Trembling yet firm) "You? Why are you here, Marcos? Go! Leave right now! Take this baby and never come back to Russia. I... I don't like you anymore, Marcos. I belong to Victor now!"
Marcos stepped closer, a faint, cunning smile playing on his golden-toned face. He stopped inches away from her.
Marcos: (In a low, Italian-accented voice) "You don't like me, Alia? Is that what you truly believe?"
He gently tilted her chin up, staring deep into her gaze with those emerald eyes.
Marcos: "Your mouth says you hate me, but your eyes are lying, Alia. I can still see the old spark in them. This child is our bond. Can you really turn away from this golden light and return to Victor's ice-cold darkness?"