The Dragunov Headquarters pierced the skyline of St. Petersburg like a blade.
Glass. Steel. Silence.
—--
Mikhail
From the outside, it looked untouchable.
From the inside—
It was worse.
"Sir, the Athens investors are requesting confirmation."
The voice came through the secure line—steady, professional.
Mikhail Dragunov stood alone in the boardroom, the city stretched beneath him in cold precision. The Neva River cut through the horizon like a scar.
Everything moved.
Everything obeyed.
Everything… except memory.
"Confirm it," he said calmly.
"A private meeting. Tomorrow. Boardroom."
A pause.
Then—
"Yes, Mr. Dragunov."
The line clicked off.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't empty.
Mikhail lowered the phone slowly, his gaze drifting to the glass wall. His reflection stared back—sharp, composed, controlled.
Unshaken.
A lie.
Athens.
Expansion.
Power.
All of it aligned perfectly.
But his mind—
Was elsewhere.
Breakfast.
Maria.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Not from frustration.
From awareness.
He remembered the exact moment.
Her stillness.
Her defiance.
The way she had looked at him—not like a wife.
Like an equal.
And then—
That shift.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
When his fingers had tilted her chin—
She had shivered.
Not fear.
Not weakness.
Response.
Mikhail exhaled slowly, turning away from the glass.
He didn't indulge in desire.
He didn't chase it.
He used it.
But Maria—
She resisted it.
Fought it.
Denied it.
And yet—
Her body had betrayed her.
A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.
Brief.
Controlled.
So she felt it too.
Not enough to surrender.
But enough to lose control.
He walked toward the head of the table, fingers brushing lightly over its polished surface.
Everything in his world was structured.
Measured.
Predictable.
Except her.
And that—
That made her interesting.
—POV Maria —
The storm arrived like a warning.
Thunder rolled across the sky, low and heavy, pressing against the walls of the estate. Lightning flickered through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows that came and went like ghosts.
Maria stood alone in her room.
Still.
But not steady.
The mirror reflected her perfectly.
Composed.
Unshaken.
Untouched.
A lie.
She stepped closer.
Slowly.
As if drawn to something she didn't fully understand.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the vanity.
Cool.
Grounding.
But her thoughts weren't.
They drifted.
Uncontrolled.
The pool.
Water sliding over carved strength.
Effortless.
Commanding.
Unapologetic.
Mikhail.
Her breath caught.
No.
She closed her eyes, forcing the image away.
But it didn't leave.
It shifted.
Breakfast.
His hand was beneath her chin.
The quiet dominance in his touch.
The way the air had changed around him—
Not suffocating.
But consuming.
Her breathing faltered.
Just slightly.
Then—
His lips.
Cold.
Sharp.
Precise.
Not gentle.
Not soft.
But unforgettable.
Maria's hand lifted slowly to her neck.
Her fingertips brushing her skin—
As if the memory had left something behind.
A tremor ran through her.
Uninvited.
Uncontrolled.
Her eyes opened.
Dark.
Unsettled.
"No."
Her voice was quiet.
Firm.
But not strong enough.
"I am not supposed to want him."
A pause.
"And I will not."
Her reflection didn't argue.
Didn't comfort.
"Our marriage is a contract."
Another breath.
Uneven now.
"And contracts… end."
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Then—
Soft.
Almost invisible.
A whisper.
"You want him…"
A breath.
"But you're afraid of what that makes you."
Maria froze.
Her pulse spiked instantly.
That wasn't her voice.
That was—
Him.
Her head turned sharply.
The room was empty.
No movement.
No sound.
Only the storm.
And the echo of something that shouldn't be there.
Her chest rose unevenly.
She stepped back from the mirror.
But the feeling followed.
Wrapped around her thoughts.
Lingering.
Watching.
And then—
Her phone rang.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Cutting through the silence like a blade.
Maria stared at it.
Unknown number.
Something cold settled in her chest.
Not panic.
Not yet.
Instinct.
She answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then—
A woman's voice.
Soft.
Controlled.
Unfamiliar.
"I know your mother is in Romania."
Everything inside Maria went still.
The storm outside seemed to pause with her.
The voice continued.
Calm.
Almost amused.
"Tell me…"
A breath.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"Do you think she'll be happy to see me… mirror her?"
Maria's grip tightened around the phone.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"What are you talking about?"
The line cut.
Dead.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
Maria pulled the phone away, staring at the screen.
Call ended.
She called back immediately.
Unreachable.
Her breath hitched.
And then—
It came.
Not loud.
Not sudden.
Fear.
Quiet.
Measured.
The kind that didn't scream—
It waited.
Maria slowly lowered the phone.
Her fingers are trembling now.
Just slightly.
Then—
She turned.
Nothing.
No one.
But the room no longer felt empty.
It felt watched.
Somewhere beyond the storm…
something wasn't watching anymore.
It was moving toward her.
——
Who do you think called Maria?
or
Is it really her mother… or something else?