Katarina sat cross-legged on the floor of Zara's living room, sunlight pooling around her in muted gold. The evidence folder lay wide open between them, its contents spread across the carpet like the aftermath of a dissection—photographs, sketches, printed notes, timestamps.
The scene of her grandfather's death.
Her eyes traveled from corner to corner, cataloging every detail with the cold precision she had trained into herself over the years.
Angles of the study.The window frames.The floorboards.The overturned glass.The body.
And then—
The rose.
Her rose.
Except… something felt wrong the moment she stared at the picture.
She picked it up, bringing the photo closer to the light. Her breath stilled.
"No," she whispered. "This isn't mine."
Her mark was always precise—meticulous down to the last millimeter. A left petal folded inward. A stem snapped cleanly at the exact angle she calculated. The placement always two inches from the victim's dominant hand.
But this rose—
The petals were uneven.The stem broken jaggedly.The placement sloppy.
Too far, too random.Too careless.
Someone copied her.
Badly.
Katarina's jaw tightened. "Someone is framing me."
"Obviously," Zara muttered from the couch, stuffing another chocolate chip cookie into her mouth. "If they were actually trying to impersonate you, they could have at least studied your vibe properly."
Kat didn't bother responding. She flipped through the photographs, her mind sharpening into that familiar cold clarity—the assassin's instinct sliding back into place like a blade being sheathed.
Window latch: forced from inside.Floorboards: clean—no dirt, no mud.Door lock: picked professionally, no scratches.Footprints: one set… only one.
Her brows furrowed. It didn't align with a normal break-in.
Then suddenly, everything clicked.
"They didn't break in," she said quietly. "Someone was already inside."
Zara's cookie froze halfway to her mouth. "Inside? As in… hiding behind a curtain like a discount horror villain?"
"Inside as in waiting," Kat said softly, the words chilling her even as she spoke them. "Grandpa wouldn't have let anyone in at night. And the study only locks from the inside. Whoever did this was already there when the door was closed."
An insider.
Someone with access.Someone who knew the layout.Someone her grandfather didn't consider a threat.
Her hand trembled around the photograph.
Her grandfather—murdered by someone who knew him.Someone he let close.
Her breath shook. "I need to go back. To the manor. I can't hide here forever."
Zara immediately grabbed her wrist. "He's going to be waiting for you."
Kat's gaze didn't waver. "I know."
"Kat—"
"My brother asked me to meet him tonight," she said quietly. "I need answers. This isn't something I can solve from here."
Zara closed her eyes for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. "Fine. But if something smells weird—even a little—you call me. Actually, don't call. Scream. Yell bloody murder."
Kat managed a small smile. "I'll survive."
"You better," Zara said, pointing a cookie at her like a weapon. "If you die, I—your emotionally unstable best friend—will resurrect you just to kill you myself."
The Dragunov manor looked even darker when she returned, as if the shadows themselves had grown thicker since the last time she'd stepped through its gates.
The moment she entered, she sensed him.
Her father.
Mikhail Dragunov sat in the center of the foyer like a king on a stolen throne, one leg crossed, a crystal liquor glass in hand. The chandelier light hit the emerald ring on his finger, casting a cold gleam across his sharp features.
His mouth curved into a cruel smile the moment he saw her.
"Oh look," he drawled. "The princess returns from her emotional parade. Did you enjoy your dramatic little vacation?"
Katarina didn't react.
His smile sharpened. "Good. Because I have news for you."
She didn't blink.
"You," he said, voice dripping with authority he didn't deserve, "will be attending the bride-selection gala for the Valenti heir."
"No." The answer left her instantly. "I'm not doing that."
He rose from his seat slowly—like a predator stretching before the kill.
"You will," he whispered, leaning in until she could feel his breath on her cheek. "If you want the people living in this house to continue living."
Kat's blood turned to ice.
"You wouldn't dare," she breathed. "Your own son lives here."
Mikhail leaned in further, his voice low, almost bored. "Do you honestly think I care about him?"
Behind him, Nikolai stood rigid, eyes wide—silently begging her not to push further.
A small shake of his head.A warning.
Not now.
Not here.
Kat swallowed every burning retort, every explosive truth she wanted to throw in her father's face.
Mikhail smirked at her silence. "Good girl. Be sure to keep that obedience when you meet the Valenti heir."
Her fists curled so tight her nails broke skin.
But she said nothing.
Tonight.The garden.She would get answers.
The moon hung low by the time she slipped out of the manor, her breath frosting in the night air. She moved like a shadow toward the old secret garden behind the east wall—once filled with roses her grandfather planted, now overgrown with wild bushes and tangled vines.
Nikolai stood waiting by the old stone bench.
His shoulders were tense, exhaustion etched into his face. When he saw her, something in his expression cracked—relief, sadness, guilt all tangled together.
"You came," he whispered.
"Of course." She stepped closer. "Tell me everything."
Nikolai took a shaky breath. "The night it happened… Grandpa sent me to the warehouse to check inventory. When I came back, he was already—" His voice broke. "He was gone."
Kat swallowed hard. "There was no one else in the house?"
"None." He rubbed his face. "I tried calling you. But my phone… died. Completely. And it's been glitching for months. Father won't let me leave the manor to fix it."
Kat stiffened. "Why is he keeping you here?"
"Because ever since you left for Europe, he's been tightening control," Nikolai whispered. "On everything. Grandpa tried to stop him. And now…"
His fists clenched.
"He wants everything. Every branch of the family. Every piece of power."
Kat's stomach twisted. "He's always been like this. He abused us when we were kids. Grandpa took us away to protect us."
"And now he's trying to lock us in again," Nikolai said softly. "This time, permanently."
He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, grounding her.
"Look at me."
She did.
"We will figure this out," he said firmly. "But not if we're dead."
Kat's throat tightened. "He wants to marry me off. To gain power."
Nikolai nodded. "If the Valentis don't pick you, he'll push you toward someone else. Anyone useful."
She swallowed painfully. "And you? You're fragile, Niko. If he finds out what you've been doing—"
Nikolai actually laughed—soft and exhausted. "I'll survive. Stop worrying about me."
But his eyes said everything she feared:
He wasn't fine.Neither of them were.
And the danger circling them was growing.