This was the heart of fashion. Clearly, a private show which was hidden behind discretion and steel. I didn’t doubt that it had bratva money involved behind it because this area belonged completely to different families, and every warehouse was either a storage cell for goods or enemies.
I walked away from my car and entered the whirlwind without ceremony. Even in my custom-made suit, I felt underdressed, but none of it mattered. I was only here for her, and I knew she was somewhere inside. I looked around for a few seconds and spotted her immediately.
Not because she demanded attention. Because she commanded it without trying.
Her ivory blazer was rather chic, and her beautiful hair was pulled back in a way that made her look sleek and controlled. She moved through the space like it belonged to her, leaning in to inspect a hemline, gesturing toward a sleeve, speaking animatedly to a designer about structure and silhouette.
This was truly her element. The masquerade hadn’t been an act. It had been a fragment. A part of who she really was.
This was her world. Her reality. I stayed near the back, taking a seat in shadow so she would neither see nor recognize me. I wasn’t here to announce my presence, but I was simply here to get her.
My focus narrowed as lights dimmed all around us, signaling the beginning of the show.
The first model stepped onto the runway. She had sharp shoulders and a metallic thread wrapped all around her, giving her dress an asymmetrical cut. The dress exuded power disguised as elegance. I watched as Elisse leaned forward slightly in her seat, eyes bright with concentration.
I remembered her voice in the ballroom.
Beauty without meaning is decoration. Beauty with intention is power.
She hadn’t just said it. She lived it. And for the first time since Kliment had handed me that dossier, the weight in my chest shifted from obligation to something sharper that felt almost like protectiveness. It hadn’t taken root because I thought she was weak, but because I felt she was unaware. Unaware that she had become a piece in a war she hadn’t chosen for herself.
The show built toward its crescendo as models walked out in black gowns with architectural bones. Applause erupted all around us, echoing loudly through the room. She stood, clapping and exchanging words with a woman beside her.
And then she turned, as if, just like the masquerade, she felt my presence here as well.
Our eyes locked in that moment without the pretense of any mask. There was no illusion to it, and recognition hit her first. Shock flickered across her face, quick but unmistakable, and the question formed instantly.
You?
I didn’t look away then, and I didn’t even smile. I simply held her gaze as the crowd began dispersing. I tried to keep my watch, but she disappeared into it, taking her away from where I could see her. I stood up immediately, realizing how her absence made the room feel smaller. The voices grew louder around us, and I moved through the dispersing guests with controlled urgency, scanning faces, exits, and shadows between partitions.
Just then, a hand tapped my shoulder.
It was sharp and direct, making me turn around at once. She stood there, her blue eyes blazing.
“Am I imagining things, or are you following me?” she asked, anger coursing through her voice.
She was neither confused nor frightened, but the question felt as if it mattered to her. She needed to know the answer.
“I am not following you.”
Her jaw tightened at my response, but she stayed silent.
“Don’t insult me.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Anyway, we need to leave.”
Her brows pulled together. “Excuse me?”
“Now.”
“What is that even supposed to mean? Why will I go anywhere with you?”
“Because you’re being watched.”
That landed, and her expression shifted slightly. But she still didn’t move.
“By who?” she demanded.
“I’ll explain.”
