Planters line the edges in neat rows, vibrant flowers in deep purples and soft whites, fresh herbs in clay pots that brush against my fingers as I walk past. Basil, rosemary, thyme. A small lemon tree in one corner, its leaves glossy under the soft string lights strung overhead.
Someone clearly tends to all of it with care. I suspect it’s Alexey himself, though he’s never mentioned it. But I've never encountered hired staff in the penthouse. No maid. No gardener. No one.
Just me and Alexey.
I trail my fingertips over the soft petals of a white rose; the texture is velvet against my skin. The city hums far below, distant and unimportant. Up here, it feels like another world, quiet and contained. Beautiful in its simplicity. My long hair lifts slightly in the evening breeze, and my mind drifts.
What would it be like to be Alexey’s girlfriend for real? Not the pretend version we perform for cameras and Fadir’s jealous eyes. Not the arrangement we agreed on that first night. But actually his.
The thought should feel ridiculous. He’s much older than me and steeped in a world I once swore I’d never touch. Yet the image settles in my chest with surprising warmth. I picture waking up to the smell of ginger tea he somehow knows I need on stressful mornings.
Sunday dinners at the Sokolov estate, where Tikhon claps me on the shoulder like family and Arina teases us both without mercy. The quiet safety of knowing he would never raise his voice, never make demands beyond what I’m willing to give.
He’s been such a gentleman to me from the very beginning. Every touch during public appearances is calculated and respectful as his hand is light on my back, never lingering too long, never crossing into possession.
He anticipates my silences without making them feel like pity.
I hate to admit it, but I wonder how it would be to kiss him.
The thought sends heat rushing to my cheeks. I pluck a small sprig of rosemary and twist it between my fingers, inhaling the sharp, clean scent.
What would it feel like if the careful distance between us disappeared? If instead of releasing my hand after that brief, tender moment over his scar, he pulled me closer?
If those brown eyes lost their business-only sense, and looked at me with something warmer, something real? His mouth on mine, but patient at first, then deeper. The same quiet competence that defines everything he does translates into a kiss that would probably ruin me for anyone else.
My stomach wavers dangerously at the image. Tall, broad-shouldered man with that steady presence that makes powerful men measure their words around him. He’s nothing like Fadir’s chaotic manipulation or the loud, brutal cohorts from my childhood.
Alexey is honorable in his own way. The kind of man who would do anything to protect what matters, but never raises his voice to the woman under his roof.
I lean against the terrace railing, staring out at the glittering skyline. Revenge is still burning inside me as I watchfirsthand his empire crumble piece by piece, and it has been more satisfying than I ever imagined.
But these quiet moments are becoming harder to ignore. The way my walls crack a little more every day. The way I catch myself wondering what it would feel like to belong here, not as a business partner in a revenge plot, but as someone he actually chooses.
The wind picks up, carrying the scent of the herbs and flowers around me. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the fantasy linger just a little longer.
Then I push it down hard, crushing the rosemary sprig between my fingers.
This is temporary. I lost everything because she trusted the wrong man. The deal is clear: business only. When Fadir is destroyed, I walk away with enough money to start over anywhere but here.
Yet as I turn back toward the sliding doors, the excitement in my chest refuses to die completely. It lingers like the scent of rosemary on my fingertips. It’s sharp, clean, and stubbornly persistent.
The thought about not being sure I want it to disappear takes over my mind.
Chapter 14 - Alexey
The routine background sweep is supposed to be a standard procedure, nothing more than tying off loose threads before they can snag on the larger operation. I run it myself at two-thirty in the morning while the penthouse sleeps around me, the only light coming from the glow of my laptop screen and the distant city skyline beyond the windows.
Fadir’s accounts are going down, one by one; his suppliers are pulling back, and his public image beginning to crack under the weight of the carefully seeded leaks. Everything is progressing exactly as planned.
Then Anja’s name appears in a subsidiary ledger.
Viktor Kuzmin, her father, still owes a small residual amount to one of our older collection arms. Not a massive sum, but enough to keep it active in the system. The kind of loose end that can become leverage for someone like Fadir if he ever digs deep enough into her past.
A single phone call, a quiet threat, and the man who has already tried to sell his daughter once can be used as a weapon again.
I stare at the screen for a long moment, fingers hovering over the keys. Clearing it isn’t strictly necessary for the immediate war against Fadir. But loose ends are bad for business. They create openings. Weaknesses. And I refuse to let anything from Anja’s past give that bastard even the smallest opening.
I also consider how those phone calls to Anja are becoming burdensome to her. If I want her entire focus to be on Fadir and his demise, I need to rid her of outside conflicts and distractions.
