It was 12 midnight. Everything was silent except for the whistling of the bone-chilling Russian blizzard outside. Alia and Viktor were both fast asleep in the royal bed. After the day's exhaustion and emotional roller coaster, Alia was sleeping peacefully in Viktor's arms.
Suddenly, Viktor's body jolted. A sharp, agonized cry escaped his lips
Viktor: "Ahhh!"
It felt as if a white-hot rod had been driven into his back. His entire body arched in unbearable pain, and beads of sweat instantly broke out on his forehead.
The sound of his suffering woke Alia up. She sat up with a start. In the dim darkness, she saw Viktor recoiling in agony.
Alia: (Panic in her voice) "Viktor? What happened? Why are you doing this?"
Alia quickly switched on the bedside lamp. As the light flooded the room, she saw Viktor's face had turned pale with pain. He was clutching one side of his back, breathing heavily.
Alia: "Viktor, tell me where it hurts! Is it an old injury? Or did something happen back in the armory?"
Viktor tried to compose himself, but the pain was so intense that he could only groan through gritted teeth.
Viktor: (In a muffled voice) "Alia... my back... it feels like fire is bursting out... Ah! It feels like my bones are being crushed..."
Alia didn't waste another second. She tried to move his shirt to see if there were any signs of injury. She remembered that Viktor had many enemies in the underworld could it be poisoning or an internal injury? Her eyes welled with tears, but her brave writer's spirit helped her stay strong. While Viktor was writhing in pain, Alia didn't lose her cool. Even though she was born in America with a Russian mother, her father's Bengali roots and traditions awoke at this moment of crisis. She knew that in a freezing climate, when pain seeps into the bones, a Bengali's best friend is mustard oil Alia quickly fetched a bottle of pure mustard oil. She carefully removed Viktor's shirt, poured the oil onto her palms, and rubbed them together to create some warmth. Then, with deep care, she began to massage the painful area on Viktor's back.
Viktor was startled at first; he had never imagined such a humble, traditional remedy inside a luxurious Russian palace. But as Alia's soft touch and the pungent warmth of the oil began to work, the intensity of his pain slowly started to fade.
Alia: (Focusing on the massage) "My father used to say, when the body freezes or pain gets into the bones, there's no medicine like this oil. I grew up in America, but these lessons from my father are part of my blood."
Viktor gradually relaxed. There was magic in the way Alia was caring for him. The sharp scent of mustard oil filled the room, bringing a strange sense of comfort on that freezing night.
Viktor: (Whispering as he felt relief) "Alia... you have a strange power within you. On one hand, you know how to handle a gun, and on the other, you know exactly how to soothe pain. Your father truly raised you with the heart of a 'Bengali daughter'."
Alia didn't say a word; she just continued the massage with pure devotion. There were no tears in her eyes now, only a sincere sense of duty toward her husband. In that midnight hour, within a Russian palace, the pain of a ruthless lord began to dissolve under the touch of a girl with a Bengali spirit. As Alia continued the massage, the sharp pain in Viktor's back somehow transformed into a deep, intoxicating pull. The warmth of the mustard oil and the magic of Alia's touch stirred something primitive within him. While Alia was focused on her task, Viktor suddenly turned around.
Before Alia could react, he reached out and swept her into his lap, holding her close.
Startled, Alia instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. Viktor's hot breath fanned against her throat as he began to press soft, lingering kisses on her neck. The pungent scent of the oil mingled with Alia's fragrance, creating an intoxicating atmosphere in the room.
Alia: (Blushing deeply and gasping in surprise) "Ahhh! Viktor, what are you doing? Aren't you sick? Your back was just hurting!"
Viktor buried his face in the crook of her neck and whispered in a gravelly voice
Viktor: "The pain isn't in my back anymore, Alia; it has reached my heart. The touch of your 'Bengali daughter' hands is making me crazier instead of curing me."
Every touch of his lips made Alia shiver. Her brave mafia god mother and agent s persona was melting away into that of a shy woman. She realized that this version of Viktor was more potent than any medicine. On that freezing Russian night, the temperature inside the room felt like it was rising rapidly.
Alia tried to push away slightly from his chest and spoke again
Alia: "Viktor... let go! You're not well, you should sleep."
But Viktor only tightened his grip around her waist. His blue eyes held a fiery glow that spoke only of passion and possession. In the deep silence of the night, the pungent warmth of the mustard oil and primal desire merged into one. Viktor's back pain had now transformed into an intense passion. He moved Alia from his lap toward one side of the bed.
Alia was still flushed with shyness and desire. Viktor turned her around and guided her to hold onto the bed railing. As Alia leaned forward, gripping the railing, her silk dress clung to her curves, creating an enchanting silhouette. Viktor moved in from behind, pressing his hot chest against her back.
Viktor's warm breath fanned against Alia's ear. Without wasting any time, he placed his powerful hands on her waist and began their physical union once again.
Alia: (Closing her eyes in ecstasy, let out a soft moan) "Viktor... ugh!"
Alia's grip on the bed railing tightened. Every movement of Viktor's was as rhythmic as it was intense. In that freezing Russian night, there was a raging fire inside the room. The slickness of the oil and the sweat of their bodies created a strange intoxication. Viktor wanted to claim Alia as his own with all his authority and love.
Alia's hands on the railing were trembling, but Viktor's embrace kept her grounded. In the dark room, only the sound of their heavy breathing and Alia's occasional muffled whimpers echoed. No identity or hidden secret stood as a barrier anymore; there was only the frantic desire of two people wanting to possess each other completely. As the intensity of the moment reached its peak, Alia was trembling with exhaustion and overwhelming sensation. Her hands were still tightly gripping the bed railing, but her body could take no more.
Alia: (In a faint, broken voice) "Viktor... let go now... I can't do this anymore."
Hearing her soft plea, Viktor immediately stopped. His frantic energy calmed down instantly. He realized that Alia was completely spent. Gently, he loosened his grip on her waist.
Alia slowly let go of the railing and sank onto the soft bed. Her back and body still shimmered with the glow of the mustard oil and beads of sweat. Viktor lay down beside her and pulled her tenderly against his chest.
The only sound in the room was their heavy, synchronized breathing. Viktor brushed her tangled hair away and pressed a long, loving kiss on her forehead. Alia's eyelids were heavy with sleep; without a word, she tucked her face into his chest and finally closed her eyes in peace.
In the darkness of the night, far away from the luxury and the cold eyes of the mafia empire, the two of them simply drifted away, belonging only to each other. While the passion between Alia and Viktor burns deep within the palace's private chambers, a hidden and forbidden romance is unfolding in the shadows of the servant quarters.
Maria, the loyal maid who sees and hears everything, has found herself caught in a dangerous game of the heart. She has fallen deeply in love with one of Viktor's elite bodyguards a man whose job is to be a soulless machine of protection, but who becomes someone entirely different when he is with her.
The Secret Encounter
Under the cloak of the 2:00 AM silence, after the masters of the house have finally fallen asleep, Maria slips out of the back entrance. She moves like a ghost through the marble corridors until she reaches the darkened balcony of the west wing.
There, standing in the shadows with his back to the wall, is the bodyguard. He is tall, imposing, and dressed in a sharp tactical suit, his eyes usually scanning for threats. But as soon as Maria appears, his posture softens.
Maria: (Whispering anxiously) "You're late. I thought the Captain had assigned you to the perimeter patrol."
Bodyguard: (Stepping closer, his voice low and rasping) "I traded shifts. I couldn't go another night without seeing you. The palace feels like a tomb when you aren't around."
Maria: "If Viktor finds out, he'll have your head. And Alia... she is sharp. She notices the way I look at the door whenever you're stationed there."
The bodyguard reaches out, his rough, calloused hand gently cupping Maria's face. The contrast is stark the man trained to kill, touching the girl meant to serve with the utmost tenderness.
Bodyguard: "Viktor is too distracted by his own secrets and his obsession with Alia to notice us. And as for Alia... perhaps she would understand. After all, she is a writer of tragedies, isn't she?"
He pulls her into a firm embrace. For a few stolen moments, they aren't a maid and a soldier; they are just two people seeking warmth in a cold, heartless empire.
The Risk
In the world of the Russian Mafia, loyalty to the Boss is the only law. Personal relationships among the staff are often seen as a liability or a distraction. If their love is discovered, it could be seen as a betrayal of the palace's security.
The Conflict: Will Maria choose to stay loyal to Alia, or will she help her lover if a coup ever happens within the ranks?
The Tension: Every time the bodyguard stands outside Alia and Viktor's room, Maria has to keep a straight face while serving tea, knowing that just hours ago, they were whispering promises of escape.
Maria: (Looking into his eyes) "One day, we leave this place. No guns, no masters. Just us."
Bodyguard: "I promise you, Maria. Even if I have to burn this palace down to get you out."
The forbidden romance adds a new layer of tension to the household. While the "Royals" play their high-stakes games of power and identity, the "Ordinary" are planning a revolution of the heart. The plot thickens! It turns out Alia isn't just a skilled writer or a mother of five—she is a master strategist. She already knew that Maria and the Bodyguard weren't who they claimed to be. They were both undercover agents.
The Revelation:
While Maria and the bodyguard thought they were being clever by hiding their romance and spying on Viktor, Alia was watching them all along. She knew that in this palace, nothing happens by chance.
Alia realized they were likely working for an international agency or a rival syndicate. Instead of exposing them to Viktor, she decided to use their "secret" and their "romance" as leverage for her own plans.
The Confrontation:
One afternoon, as Maria was tidying up the room, Alia spoke in a calm, chilling voice without even looking up from her coffee.
Alia: "Maria, the CCTV in the corner of the garden works quite well. Especially at 2:00 AM when you're meeting someone."
Maria froze. The linen she was holding slipped to the floor.
Alia: (With a faint smile) "Don't be afraid. I haven't told Viktor. I know both of you are here on a mission. It doesn't matter who you're agents for. What matters is that your lives are now in my hands. I could hand you over to Viktor in a heartbeat."
Maria dropped to her knees, trembling. She realized that the woman she thought was just a housewife was actually a dangerous mastermind.
Alia: "Whatever your mission is, you work for me now. Keep an eye on Viktor, but report to me. In exchange, I'll keep your secret and eventually give you both a chance to escape this hell."
Alia has now turned the agents into her own private spies. The chess pieces are moving, and the " is finally taking control of the real-life story.