Standing amidst the slaughterhouse of the neon-lit lounge, right as Alia lowered her weapon from the last man's forehead, her phone vibrated violently inside her blazer pocket.
Ring... Ring... Ring...
Cutting through the deathly silence of the blood-soaked hall, the sharp ringtone echoed like an ominous warning. Calmly pulling her blood-splattered sleeve up, Alia slid the phone out and glanced at the screen.
There was no name only an encrypted, high-level security code flashing in the dark. The moment she saw it, her gaze narrowed behind her glasses. The radiant, crimson flush of her cheeks burned hotter with a sudden rush of adrenaline.
She knew instantly that this call wasn't ordinary. It could be Viktor, calling from his palace to gloat about the trap he had orchestrated in the kitchen. It could be Zhenkha, her CIA handler and ex-boyfriend, tracking her exact coordinates. Or perhaps, it was the Korean Dragon Lord, Anashia Kim, waiting to make his lethal move in this multi-layered game of chess.
With a devastating smirk, Alia swiped the screen and pressed the phone to her ear. She didn't utter a word, simply listening to the heavy, breathing silence on the other end, ready to redirect the entire gravity of the Russian underworld with a single breath. 3 Months Later
Three months had passed since that chaotic night in the Russian Federation. Inside the master bedroom of a heavily guarded palace in St. Petersburg, Dark Lord Viktor Alexeyevich was buried in a deep, restless sleep. Outside, the snow fell silently, but inside Viktor's mind, a storm was raging. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his subconscious dragged him back into a vivid, haunting flashback.
[Flashback — 3 Months Ago]
Right after wiping out the enemy syndicate at the night party, Alia had seen right through the dual trap orchestrated by Viktor and Zhenkha. The revelation led to a brutal, unyielding confrontation between the two former lovers.
Inside a desolate, rain-slicked container yard, a fierce tactical war was raging between Zhenkha's CIA operatives and Alia's elite guards. Amidst the crossfire, Alia and the German Lord Zhenkha were locked in a lethal hand-to-hand fight.
Zhenkha utilized his flawless CIA combat training, attempting to disarm and subdue her, but Alia was no longer just his academy classmate—she was the Shadow Weaver. The sleeves of her oversized white shirt were torn, and the radiant, crimson flush of her condition burned like liquid fire across her cheeks.
Parrying his strikes and dodging a lethal sweep, Alia anticipated his next move with terrifying speed. In one fluid, calculated counter-attack, she shattered his balance. Before Zhenkha could even recover, Alia reached under her harness, whipped out her automatic handgun, and pressed it flush against Zhenkha's forehead.
The world around them seemed to fall into a dead silence. The warm steel of her barrel dug into his skin. Kneeling on the cold ground, Zhenkha looked up into her eyes the eyes that once held shared secrets now reflected only the merciless resolve of a mafia Godmother.
With a cold click of the trigger safety, Alia's voice cut through the wind, trembling slightly but laced with absolute finality:
Alia: "You partnered with Viktor to put me in a cage, Zhenkha? You turned our past into a cheap trap? I am warning you for the absolute last time... Get out of here, Zhenkha! Leave Russia and cross the border forever! If I ever see your shadow near me or Viktor again, my hand will not hesitate to pull this trigger."
Staring at her lethal conviction and the haunting beauty of her flushed cheeks, Zhenkha realized he had lost his hold on her completely. Flashing a bitter, dangerous smirk, he slowly raised his hands and backed away, melting into the midnight shadows.
[Present Day]
"Alia...!"
Viktor bolted upright in bed, his eyes snapping open in the darkness. His heavy chest heaved as he drew in sharp, ragged breaths. From the raw tension inside his kitchen to Alia's final execution of Zhenkha, every memory from three months ago remained an unhealed scar. Even as the absolute ruler of Russia, the ghost of the CIA Godmother's defiance was the only thing capable of shattering the Dark Lord's sleep. As Viktor sat up in bed, trying to steady his rapid breathing, the door to the attached bathroom clicked open. The dark, violent memories of the flashback from three months ago instantly dissolved, replaced by a fresh, soothing fragrance.
Alia had just come out after taking a shower.
Her familiar, oversized white shirt was pristine now, draped loosely over her damp skin. Her glasses rested on the nightstand, and from the warmth of the shower, the radiant, crimson flush of her condition glowed with a soft, captivating warmth. A few stray drops of water escaped the towel wrapped around her hair, tracing down her bare shoulders.
Seeing Viktor startled, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, Alia set her towel aside and walked over with concerned steps. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she pressed her cool, damp palm against his burning forehead. The lethal edge of the CIA Godmother was gone, replaced entirely by raw, quiet intimacy. Looking deep into his eyes, she asked softly—
Alia: "What happened to you? Did you have a nightmare?"
Viktor stared at her damp, mesmerizing face for a silent beat. The very woman who had pressed a barrel against Zhenkha's skull three months ago and banished him from Russian soil was now standing before him, entirely serene. Pulling up his impenetrable guard, the Dark Lord quickly masked his inner turmoil. Shifting his gaze slightly to hide his vulnerability under her touch, he replied in his usual deep, composed voice
Viktor: "Nothing..."
He refused to let her know that even after three months, the memory of her lethal defiance and the shadow of his hidden alliance with Zhenkha still haunted his subconscious. Tightening his grip, Viktor pulled her slender waist back into his chest, anchoring his Symbol of Beauty close, as if to ensure that no ghost from their past could ever tear her away. Viktor's clipped "Nothing" and the erratic thumping of his chest didn't escape Alia's sharp intuition. The calculating mind of the CIA Godmother instantly decoded that the absolute ruler of Russia hadn't woken up drenched in sweat for no reason.
Flattening her cool, damp palm against his broad chest, Alia let her soothing touch absorb the residual heat of his nightmare. Looking directly into his dark, troubled eyes, she whispered in a low, deeply comforting, and hypnotic voice
Alia: "Calm down..."
Those two words, paired with the soft warmth radiating from her permanently flushed cheeks, instantly anchored Viktor's frayed nerves. The echoes of gunfire from three months ago, Zhenkha's forced exile, and the heavy burden of their underworld alliances seemed to melt away outside the frost-covered windows.
Leaning in closer, the damp strands of her hair brushed against his jawline. She knew all too well that while Viktor Alexeyevich commanded absolute authority over an entire nation, he was entirely powerless against the intoxicating serenity of her presence at this hour. Under her calming spell, When even her calming words failed to stop the heat radiating from Viktor's body and the cold sweat on his forehead, Alia refused to take any chances. The sharp, protective instinct of the CIA Godmother instantly sensed that this was more than just the aftermath of a nightmare it was a physical warning.
Slipping her glasses back on, Alia didn't hesitate to summon Viktor's highly classified personal doctor to the master suite in the dead of night.
Within minutes, the personal physician arrived with his medical kit. Standing to the side, her eyes tracking every movement, Alia watched as the doctor began checking Viktor's blood pressure and testing his blood sugar for diabetes.
After examining the digital readings and pulling away his stethoscope, the doctor's expression turned grave. Looking between the Dark Lord and the Godmother, he spoke in a low, cautionary tone—
Doctor: "Lord Viktor, your blood pressure is dangerously elevated right now. Furthermore, looking at your glucose readings... your body is showing clear early signs of diabetes. The relentless stress of your operations, immense psychological pressure, and severe sleep deprivation are finally taking a toll on your metabolism."
Turning directly to Alia, the physician added
Doctor: "Madam Alia, Lord Viktor must be placed under strict rest immediately. Having high blood pressure along with borderline diabetes is a volatile combination. He needs to be shielded from any high-stress situations or intense excitement, otherwise, it could trigger a critical medical crisis."
At the doctor's diagnosis, Alia's expression hardened behind her lenses, her permanently flushed cheeks tightening. She looked at Viktor the man whose absolute authority held an entire empire in his pocket, now facing a silent, biological adversary from within. Dismissing the doctor, Alia stepped back to the bed, a dangerous yet deeply calculating plan forming in her mind to take absolute control over the vulnerable Dark Lord's regime. Hearing the diagnosis of diabetes and high blood pressure, Alia was momentarily taken aback. However, the sharp, logical mind of the CIA Godmother refused to accept the medical report without question. Stepping closer to the physician, she interjected in a sharp, calculating tone—
Alia: "But Doctor, how is that even possible? Viktor goes to the gym every single day, undergoes rigorous physical training, and maintains a flawless lifestyle! How can these conditions suddenly trigger in his body?"
At her piercing question, the doctor lowered his head respectfully. Glancing cautiously at the silent, intimidating Dark Lord, he began to explain the underlying medical reality—
Doctor: "Madam Alia, you are absolutely correct. Lord Viktor's physical fitness and gym regimen are impeccable. However, diabetes and hypertension are not solely caused by a lack of exercise or poor diet. The real culprit here is Chronic Internal Stress."
The physician gestured toward Viktor's clinical charts and continued—
Doctor: "No matter how calm and physically fit Lord Viktor appears on the outside, his mind has been under immense pressure for the past three months. The constant underworld warfare, billion-dollar arms deals, and the psychological burden of hidden rivalries have kept his central nervous system in a perpetual state of high alert. Severe sleep deprivation and unexpressed anxiety spike 'cortisol' levels in the body a hormone that can dangerously elevate blood sugar and blood pressure, completely bypassing the benefits of daily gym workouts."
As the doctor's scientific explanation filled the room, Alia fell silent. Adjusting her glasses, she turned her gaze toward Viktor. She understood the unspoken reality immediately. The heavy aftermath of the container yard clash three months ago, his hidden alliance with her ex-boyfriend Zhenkha, and the constant stress of trying to control her had taken a silent toll on the absolute ruler of Russia.
Once the doctor dismissed himself, Alia walked over to the bed and placed her hand on Viktor's broad, sculpted shoulder. The radiant, crimson flush of her cheeks softened with a deeply calculating smirk. She realized that the Dark Lord, who could never be brought down by an enemy's bullet, was now vulnerable and the key to controlling his empire lay entirely in her hands. Hearing the diagnosis of diabetes, Dark Lord Viktor's absolute arrogance and masculine pride flared up instantly. A man who commanded the entire FSB and controlled the fate of Russia could not accept that a biological vulnerability was taking root inside his own body.
With a swift, aggressive motion, Viktor swept the doctor's prescription off the nightstand. Standing tall, his sculpted chest heaved with boiling frustration. He glared at Alia with bloodshot eyes, his deep voice echoing through the master suite
Viktor: "I don't believe it...! I don't believe a single word from this useless doctor! Alia, you test my diabetes. In this entire underworld, your hands and your eyes are the only things I trust. Test me yourself and prove this doctor wrong!"
Seeing his unyielding denial, Alia didn't argue. The calculating mind of the CIA Godmother remained completely unfazed. She calmly picked up the glucometer and a fresh testing strip from the medical kit. Stepping into his immediate space, the fresh, damp scent of her post-shower skin contrasted sharply with his raw, aggressive energy, while the permanent crimson flush of her cheeks softened under the dim lights.
Taking his massive, calloused hand into her steady grip, she inserted the strip into the device. With practiced, tactical precision, she pricked the tip of his finger. Viktor stared down into her eyes, breathing heavily, entirely confident that her reading would clear his name.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
The machine processed the sample for a few tense seconds before flashing the final numbers onto the digital display. The moment Alia glanced at the screen, her gaze froze behind her lenses.
What Alia Saw:
The digital monitor displayed a staggering blood glucose level of 16.5 mmol/L (nearly three times the normal fasting limit!). This wasn't just a borderline onset of diabetes; it was a dangerously severe case of hyperglycemia.
Alia looked up from the device, staring silently at the absolute ruler of Russia. The radiant flush of her cheeks turned incredibly grave. She realized the horrifying truth: the psychological warfare of the past three months the hidden alliances with her ex-boyfriend Zhenkha and the constant, suffocating fear of losing control over her had physically manifested as a silent assassin inside him.
Lifting the machine directly to his face, Alia spoke in a voice dropped to a calm, devastating whisper
Alia: "Viktor... the doctor wasn't wrong. Your arrogance cannot fight this. Look at the screen. Your own blood has rebelled against your absolute authority."
Staring at the flashing '16.5', Viktor stood frozen not by an enemy's bullet, but by the undeniable coup taking place within his own veins.