The night was deep. Outside, a heavy wind howled, and beyond the mansion windows, Viktor's pet owl flapped its wings erratically. Every now and then, its sharp screeches shattered the oppressive silence. Alia stood by the window, draped in a black night dress. Her excessively long hair lay scattered across the floor, casting a mysterious glow under the pale moonlight.
Suddenly, it felt as though someone was standing in the darkness just outside the window—a tall silhouette that looked exactly like Viktor. Alia's heart hammered against her chest. In a trembling voice, she called out:
"Who is there? Who is that boy? Answer me! Why aren't you speaking?"
No reply came from the void. But Alia was not one to give up easily. She knew a secret plot was brewing between Anna and Viktor. To test her theory hoping that if Viktor were hiding in the shadows, he would hear her she began to speak with raw emotion:
Alia: (In a voice choked with tears) "Please, save yourself. You don't owe these people anymore. You've given them everything."
Her words echoed through the air, drifting toward the darkened balcony. Right then, from the depths of the shadows, a voice emerged intimately familiar, grave, and as hard as stone. It was a voice that would send a shiver down anyone's spine.
Viktor (From the darkness): "Not everything, Alia. Not yet."
Alia stood frozen. Her suspicion was confirmed! Only Viktor could utter those words: "Not yet." She realized then that Viktor hadn't died; he was merged with the shadows of this very mansion, playing with her every emotion.
Clutching the window grills tightly, Alia thought to herself, "I knew you were here. You could never truly leave me. But what else do you want to take when you say 'everything,' Viktor?" Just as Alia stood frozen by the sound of Viktor's voice, the tall silhouette finally emerged from the shadows. But as the light hit his face, Alia's heart sank with a different kind of realization. It wasn't Viktor. It was an old friend of hers, someone she used to work with back in her CIA days.
He burst into a loud, mocking laugh, seeing the look of utter shock on her face. He had been mimicking Viktor's voice perfectly just to play a cruel prank on her.
Friend: "What's wrong, Alia? Still can't forget that 'Devil'? From the look on your face, you really thought you'd seen a ghost!"
Fury surged through Alia's body. She couldn't tolerate such a heartless joke in the midst of her mourning. Without a second's hesitation, she swung her hand and slapped him hard across the face.
Even after the sting of the slap, the boy didn't stop; instead, he kept laughing even louder. Having both spent years in the CIA, physical outbursts and dangerous jests like this were nothing new to them.
Friend: (Rubbing his cheek while laughing) "That was quite a hit! I see you haven't forgotten your CIA training yet."
But at that very moment, in a corner of the balcony outside the window, a real shadow flickered. While Alia and her friend were occupied with their laughter and heated exchange, a mysterious figure silently vanished into the depths of the night. This shadow was far taller and more imposing—exactly like Viktor's. But Alia didn't notice.
Still dressed in her black night dress, Alia collapsed to her knees on the floor. Her extraordinarily long hair pooled around her, wrapping her in a shroud of grief. she broke down into heavy sobs. Her friend's mockery had only made her feel more isolated. She wondered would Viktor really never return? Or was that shadow retreating into the darkness her true sanctuary? When Alia woke up the next morning, she felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, as if she had endured a long struggle through the night. As she moved to get out of bed, she was paralyzed with fear and shame upon seeing white stains on her sheets. She knew for a fact that she hadn't been intimate with anyone, so where did these marks come from?
Panic set in as she felt intense pain in her neck and hands. Running to the mirror, she gasped in horror. Her pale neck was covered in dark bruises like finger marks as if someone had gripped her with immense force. Her hands bore similar red welts. It felt as though she had been held captive in her own bed all night.
Staring at her disheveled long hair in the mirror, Alia trembled. Was this a nightmare, or had the "real shadow" from the balcony actually entered her room? She whispered to herself, "Viktor... is this you? Are you ruling me even from the grave? Or are you alive and destroying me bit by bit?" Alia, trembling, called her trusted maid Maria. Seeing Alia's disheveled state, Maria froze. "Maria, tell me the truth... did anyone enter my room last night? I feel so strange. Where did these marks on my bed come from?"
Maria looked puzzled. "No, Madam, I didn't see anyone enter. I was right outside. But... I noticed something strange. Viktor Sir's Black Panther was pacing outside your door all night. Usually, if a stranger enters the mansion, he roars and alerts everyone. But last night, a figure was moving toward your balcony, and the panther didn't make a single sound. He just watched calmly, as if that person was someone he knew very well."
Alia turned to stone. The fierce panther only obeyed Viktor. If a stranger had entered, the beast would have torn them apart. The fact that he remained silent meant the intruder was someone he recognized perfectly. Alia whispered to herself, "So he was here... he isn't dead. He came and held me with such force, and I didn't even realize." A haunting internal conflict flickered in Alia's eyes, a desperate struggle between disbelief and sheer terror. She shook her head repeatedly, trying to cast away Maria's words. Her extraordinarily long hair swayed over her shoulders like a storm wind.
Alia: (Screaming) "No, Maria! I don't believe it! I buried him myself... I saw that cold, lifeless body with my own eyes. I was the one who threw the soil onto his grave! How could he possibly return? Do dead men ever come back?"
Maria moved closer and knelt before Alia. Her face held a mysterious, heavy gravity. Taking Alia's trembling hands into hers, she spoke in an incredibly low, steady voice.
Maria: "Madam, was the man you buried truly Master Viktor? The men of the Petrov family do not die like ordinary people; they merge with the shadows. Is it possible that what you saw was merely a sculpture or a body double?"
Maria paused, glancing toward the window where the Black Panther was now basking in the morning sun.
Maria: "Don't forget, Madam, Master Viktor is called the 'Russian Devil.' Does the Devil ever stay trapped in a grave? And that panther... he only knows his master's scent. If he wagged his tail at the person he saw last night, then if it wasn't Master Viktor, it was no one else on this earth. Perhaps you only buried a corpse, but Master Viktor's soul—or the man himself—is still behind these mansion walls, listening to your every breath."
Alia fell into a profound silence. The memory of her CIA friend's cruel joke and that hauntingly deep voice flashed through her mind "Not everything. Not yet."
Alia whispered to herself, "Maria... am I living my life with a living corpse? Or is this entire mansion just one grand illusion?" As Maria left the room, Alia stepped toward the washroom with a deep sense of unease. The mysterious exhaustion from the night before still weighed heavily on her. She turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her. Her extraordinarily long hair grew heavy with moisture, clinging to the curves of her body.
Suddenly, a strange chill cut through the steam of the silent washroom. Before Alia could react, she felt a sharp, lightning-fast prick on her neck, as if from a needle or syringe.
Alia: "Ah!"
In an instant, everything before her eyes began to blur. Her limbs felt heavy and paralyzed, yet she didn't lose consciousness entirely. Through her hazy vision, she caught the reflection of a tall, dark silhouette in the fogged-up mirror.
A moment later, a pair of powerful arms embraced her from behind. That familiar touch, that unmistakable scent—it could only belong to one person. Alia tried to resist, but her body had no strength left. The mysterious man pressed her firmly against the tiled wall.
The scalding water from the shower poured over them both. Moving her wet hair aside, the man let his warm breath fall against the nape of her neck. Alia could only whisper in a broken voice:
Alia: "Who... who are you? Viktor...?"
There was no verbal answer. Only a surge of primal longing and forced intimacy began. Under the influence of the drug and the overwhelming sensation, Alia began to drift away. The pain in her neck transformed into a strange, rhythmic throb. The mysterious "Boy" held her captive in his arms, leading her into a surreal world of shadows and heat.