The rain started before midnight.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Violent — like the sky itself had lost patience.
Artyom stood on the balcony of his private wing, shirt soaked, hair clinging to his forehead. The storm blurred the city into nothing but shadow and distant lights.
His father hadn't abandoned him.
He had been erased.
The truth should have brought relief.
Instead, it brought anger.
At Sergei.
At Andrei.
At himself.
Behind him, the balcony doors opened.
He didn't turn.
"I wondered how long you would stand in the rain before getting sick."
Viktor's voice was calm, but closer than usual.
Artyom exhaled slowly. "Why are you here?"
"You left the gala without security."
"So?"
"So you're being watched."
"By who?" Artyom turned finally. "Your family? Mine? Or him?"
The lightning illuminated Viktor's face briefly — sharp, unreadable.
"All of them," Viktor answered.
Artyom laughed bitterly. "Of course."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hostile.
"You knew," Artyom said quietly.
Viktor didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I suspected."
"And you didn't tell me."
"It wasn't my truth to expose."
"It was my life."
That hit.
Viktor stepped closer, rain hitting both of them now.
"You think I wanted you to find out like that?" Viktor's voice dropped. "In front of a hall full of vultures?"
Artyom's anger flickered.
"I don't know what to think anymore."
"That's fair."
The honesty caught him off guard.
Another crash of thunder.
"You're not a pawn," Viktor said.
Artyom's lips trembled faintly. "That's funny. Everyone else seems to disagree."
Viktor's jaw tightened.
"My father used you as leverage. Your father tried to secure you power. Morozov is rebuilding an empire around you."
"And you?" Artyom asked softly.
The question landed between them.
Viktor stepped closer — too close.
"I don't use people I care about."
The words were quiet.
But undeniable.
Artyom's breath hitched.
"You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because they make this harder."
"This was never easy."
For a second — just a second — Artyom leaned forward slightly. Not intentionally. Just instinct.
Viktor noticed.
He always noticed.
But before anything could shift further —
A phone vibrated.
Dmitri's name flashed across Viktor's screen.
He answered immediately.
"What."
Dmitri's voice was tight. "Morozov just acquired Krestov Logistics."
Artyom froze.
Krestov Logistics was one of Sokolov's primary international distribution chains.
"That's not possible," Viktor said.
"It's done. Signed twenty minutes ago."
Artyom felt the air leave his lungs.
"He's targeting them," he whispered.
"No," Viktor corrected quietly.
"He's targeting the balance."
The storm suddenly felt smaller compared to what was coming.
Viktor ended the call.
"He's forcing your family into a defensive position."
"So they'll retaliate."
"Yes."
"And you?"
Viktor's eyes darkened.
"My father will not remain neutral if trade routes collapse."
Artyom looked at him slowly.
"So no matter what happens…"
"We could end up on opposite sides," Viktor finished.
The truth sat there.
Raw.
Artyom swallowed.
"If that happens," he said softly, "will you hesitate?"
Viktor stepped into his space fully now. Close enough that the rain felt irrelevant.
"Yes."
No calculation.
No strategy.
Just truth.
That scared Artyom more than anything.
Because he knew —
He would hesitate too.
Inside the Sokolov estate, alarms began activating — emergency board meeting notifications.
Across the city, Morozov Group's stock spiked.
At Volkov headquarters, executives scrambled.
And somewhere in the middle of the storm —
Two heirs stood inches apart.
Knowing the war was coming.
And neither of them wanted to lose the other.