Chapter 6
Two days later…
Kara
The suite was too bright. Morning slid through the floor-to-ceiling windows in a polished gold that hurt my eyes, glittering against the mirrored walls and the endless marble.
I’d been awake for hours, wrapped in a hotel robe that still smelled faintly of lavender and starch, staring at the skyline that shimmered beyond the balcony.
At every moment of the day, Dubai screamed obscene wealth.
Roman had gone under exactly as planned. The drug worked. I’d slipped out before the first hint of dawn with what I’d come for and left nothing except the ghost of perfume on his sheets. By now, ARCHEON’s extraction team should have the data in transit. I should have been free.
But freedom was never that simple.
Before I’d left, I’d allowed myself a minute longer than I should have, making a latte and wandering through his rooms, cataloguing the details the way I always did: the piano polished to a mirror shine, the half-empty decanter of scotch.
But I’d stopped when I’d noticed the photograph tucked into the corner of his bookshelf.
Three brothers.
The middle brother with his cold, military precision. I didn’t know his name. Roman, the eldest, beautiful and careless. I definitely knew him. And the youngest—Lev.
Lev Markov.
The sight of him had hit me like a bucket of icy cold water. For a second I couldn’t breathe. ARCHEON’s files hadn’t mentioned anyone other than Roman, so the pieces hadn’t come together until now. The years between us collapsed, folding into the corridors of a boarding school half a world away.
He’d been the boy with winter in his eyes, always immaculate in his uniform, always watching. The faculty adored him; the students feared him. He’d known how to twist the world with a glance, a smirk, and an unspoken threat.
And I’d made the mistake of fighting back.
The memory of him rose without permission: the tangy scent of tangerine soap and damp tile, the shower room empty except for the hiss of water and my anger.
I’d confronted him—again—over some taunt, some whispered rumor that had spread like wildfire.
I’d called him a coward, and he’d cornered me in the showers of the locker room where I’d lingered alone after school.
I’d been fully naked. He was fully clothed.
He’d smiled that razor-edged smile and stepped forward, until my back found the cold tile wall.
He reached out and shut the water off, his eyes fully locked on me.
He didn’t look down. Had I wanted him to look down?
Even now, I didn’t know the answer to that.
“You should be careful, Kara,” he’d said, voice low enough that the steam almost swallowed it. “You don’t know what kind of men you provoke.”
“Maybe I do,” I’d answered, though my pulse betrayed me.
He’d braced one hand beside my head, close enough that droplets from condensed steam on his sleeve brushed my cheek.
I’d wanted to hate the way the warmth of him closed around me, the way the space between us burned even with a layer of uniform and pride keeping it decent.
He’d tilted his head, his breath ghosting my ear, and for one unbearable second, I’d thought he might actually pin me against the wall and have his way with me.
Instead, he’d whispered, “If you’re not careful, you’ll learn.”
Then he’d walked away, leaving me trembling, not with fear, but with rampant arousal.
Even now, remembering, my stomach tightened.
It had been years since I’d allowed myself to think about him, to admit how easily he’d gotten under my skin.
The world had changed; I’d changed. I’d been trained to bury feelings, to use people as tools, and yet one old photograph and I was seventeen again, furious and fascinated by the boy who’d known exactly how to get under my skin without even touching me.
I poured a glass of water, forcing my hands to stop shaking. I couldn’t afford nostalgia. Still, the thought of him lingered—his cold certainty, the promise in his voice. I wondered if he still carried that same darkness, if he’d learned to control it or if it had consumed him.
The tablet on the table chimed once. A coded message from ARCHEON flashed across the screen: Package received. Awaiting confirmation. Next phase pending.
Next phase.
I was supposed to disappear now, take a new name, and get a new passport, but the image of the three brothers wouldn’t leave my mind.
The tablet’s screen went dark. I took a deep breath and crossed the room to the sliding glass doors. When I stepped out, the air hit me like velvet heat.
The balcony curved around the entire top floor, wide enough for a small garden, a bar, and a pool that looked like a slice of sky.
Beyond that, the flat circle of the private helipad shimmered in the sun, painted with the hotel’s crest. It was extravagant, even by Dubai standards.
ARCHEON always booked me into places like this, giving me an illusion of control.
“You’ll have everything you need,” they’d said. And they’d meant it.
Everything except choice, anyway.
I walked the length of the railing, the wind teasing the hem of my robe, the scent of salt and sand brushing against the faint perfume I’d worn last night.
Below me, the city pulsed and glittered, a clockwork of money and ambition that never slept.
I wondered if any of the Markov brothers were looking at the same view.
Roman’s face flickered through my mind—his lazy smile, the easy confidence that hid his much darker intent.
I’d drugged him, but part of me hated that it had been so simple.
He fascinated me more than he should have.
There’d been something magnetic in his arrogance, a charisma that made him dangerous in a different way.
I turned back inside. The suite was still cool from the air conditioning, all marble and shadow and quiet.
I walked into the massive master bathroom and drew a bath for myself, watching the steam rise in perfect curls from the running water.
The smell of the bath oil—amber and citrus—filled the air.
This was supposed to be a victory. ARCHEON was satisfied, the data secured, but somehow it felt hollow.
They owned me. They had from the beginning. They’d needed an agent and they forced me to be one. The evidence they’d fabricated against me was more than enough to chain me to their cause. One mission after another, each darker than the last.
But that’s the way blackmail worked, didn’t it?
The Markovs were just another job. That was what I reminded myself, again and again, but the thought of both Roman and Lev lingered in my chest, feeling heavier than it should have.
I shut off the water and sank to the floor beside the tub for a moment, the tiles cool beneath my bare legs.
Lev would be methodical. Roman would be unpredictable. And I didn’t know enough about the middle brother to know what he would do.
I drew a breath, slipped off my robe, pulled down my panties, and stepped into the bath, the heat closing over me like a soft blanket. For now, I let myself float, the surface trembling around me, pretending for a few stolen minutes that I was free.
My mind, as it always did, betrayed me. The water was too warm, the steam wavering through the air too reminiscent of that long-ago shower room and the boy who had turned my anger into a kind of terrifying want.
A shiver traced its way up my spine, a sensation that had nothing to do with the water.
The image of Lev as he’d been in that photograph—older now, sharper, colder—refused to leave me.
It was one thing to take back the power from a man like Roman and turn it into a tool for my own ends.
It was another thing entirely to face the boy who had once been my undoing, the one who had understood me without needing to try.
My fingers brushed the surface of the water, and the fantasy of him bloomed there, vivid and unwanted. He wouldn’t be like Roman. He wouldn’t be loud, or teasing, or lost in his own pleasure. He would be silent. Precise. A surgeon with a scalpel.
The fantasy grew, intense and dangerous in the quiet heat of the bathroom.
I wouldn’t be in control. Not this time.
He would find me. Of course he would. Not in a club, not in a bar, but somewhere quiet, where the walls were thick and the world was shut away. A hotel room, maybe. Maybe this one.
He wouldn’t knock. The lock would click open under his hand, a sound as certain as a bullet chambering.
He would step inside, his presence filling the space long before his shadow touched me.
He’d be wearing an expensive, luxurious suit, dark and severe, his movements predatory in nature.
He would look at me, and I would see it in his eyes—that same winter ice I’d seen at the boarding school, but now it would be a full-blown blizzard.
He would know. He would know everything. Not just that I had drugged his brother, but who I was. What I was. And he would not be angry. He would be… satisfied.
“It’s been a long time, Kara,” he’d say, my name a soft rumble stripped of all its warmth.
I would stand my ground. I always did.
He would cross the room in three strides, his hand closing around my throat. Not to choke me, not yet. Just to hold me still, his thumb pressing against my pulse. He would lean in, his breath cool against my ear.
“You’ve been a very bad girl,” he’d murmur, the words a caress and a threat at the same time. “Did you really think you could play games with my family and get away with it?”
I wouldn’t answer. I would just glare, my chin held high, my body a wire pulled taut with defiance and rebellion.
He would smile that razor-edged smile. “You still haven’t learned.” His other hand would find the tie of my robe, tugging it open. The silk would whisper against my skin, parting like the Red Sea. “It’s time you were taught a lesson.”