Chapter 18 – Vivian
I wake to the soft thrum of rain against the windows and the low murmur of voices somewhere outside the room. For a moment, I forget where I am—then Dimitri’s scent on the sheets hits me, warm and sharp, and the memory snaps back into place.
The living room. The files. His hand closing around mine.
And then…I fell asleep. Typical.
Great. I must have knocked out right on the couch like some exhausted intern. I rub my eyes, stifling a yawn as I slide off the bed. My feet touch the cold floor, grounding me, and I notice Dimitri’s coat draped over a chair.
He carried me here.
The thought unsettles something deep in my chest, something I’m not ready to name.
I grab the coat, wrap it around myself like armor, and push open the bedroom door.
The hallway is dim. Quiet. Except for the low, urgent rumble of conversation drifting from the living room.
I follow it.
As I step into the doorway, I freeze.
Sylvester and Dimitri are hunched over the glowing screen watching CCTV footage.
On it, a tall, gray-haired man stands at a bank counter, speaking calmly to a teller as if he owns the place.
Even from behind, the posture is unmistakable. When he turns slightly toward the camera, my stomach drops.
Charles Deveraux.
My family’s former financial advisor.
The man who vanished after embezzling millions.
The man my father swore had been dealt with.
The man we all assumed was dead.
My blood turns to ice.
“He worked for us,” I breathe.
Both Dimitri and Sylvester whip around.
Sylvester’s eyes widen; Dimitri’s narrow dangerously, the muscles in his jaw flexing once—hard.
“You know him?” Dmitri demands, stepping toward me.
I nod, throat tight. “He handled the Laurent offshore accounts for years. He disappeared after stealing a ridiculous amount of money. Everyone assumed he was dead.”
Dimitri’s expression hardens—colder than I’ve ever seen it. “He also worked for me.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“He managed some of my early clean ventures,” he says, voice like steel scraping. “Before I learned he was siphoning money behind my back.”
Sylvester swears under his breath. The truth hits all three of us at once.
Charles Deveraux didn’t betray one family.
He betrayed both. He played the Laurents and the Rusnaks.
He used their names, their legitimacy, their money.
And now he’s using their identities to funnel funds straight into the Koval war machine.
The room tilts.
My world—built on wealth, legacy, and the illusion of security—suddenly feels like a gilded cage of lies.
Sylvester clears his throat, voice low but steady. “What are we going to do?”
Dimitri doesn’t hesitate.
“We move fast,” he says, stepping closer to the screen, eyes locked on Deveraux’s frozen face. “Since our press conference drew them out last time, we’ll do another.”
Sylvester blinks. “Another one?”
Dimitri nods, jaw set in that lethal, unshakable way of his. “It’s clear Charles likes to act when there’s enough noise to hide behind. He thrives in chaos. Fine. We give him chaos.”
I watch him. He’s calculating, cold, but with a burn underneath it that’s almost frightening.
He continues, voice like steel.
“This time, I’ll make it appear as if I’m scared and seeking protection publicly. Enough for Deveraux to think he’s won. He’ll step forward—show his hand—because he won’t be able to resist the spotlight.”
The strategy hits me like a rush of adrenaline and dread.
Dimitri is baiting him. Using himself as the lure.
Sylvester exhales, eyebrows rising. “It’s a nice plan. Dangerous, but clean.”
Dimitri turns to him. “Send out a notification for the press conference at noon. Make it loud. Make it impossible for him to ignore.”
Sylvester nods sharply and heads for the door.
I stand there, pulse hammering.
Because Dimitri didn’t just create a plan. He declared war.
When Sylvester leaves the room, the door clicks shut with a finality that tightens the air around us. I turn to him, heat rising in my chest.
“You’re playing with fire.”
He looks up from the screen, eyes cold and unwavering. “I am the fire, krasavitsa.”
The arrogance. The fatal calm. It snaps something in me.
“That’s exactly the problem,” I snap. “You’re so used to burning everything in your path that you forget you can get burned too.”
He steps closer, jaw clenching. “I don’t have a choice. He is using your family name. He’s spoiling mine. He wants a war? I’ll give him one.”
“No.” My voice cracks on the word. “Not like this. Not by throwing yourself out there like bait.”
“What would you rather I do?” His voice rises—just a shade, but enough to cut. “Sit here and wait for the next attack? For him to come after you again?”
My throat tightens. “This isn’t just about me. Don’t be selfish.”
“Then tell me how I’m being selfish,” he challenges, eyes burning into mine.
“You’re risking yourself,” I spit back. “You think that’s selfless? You think dying for this is noble? It’s not. It’s stupid. And it’s selfish because you don’t get to leave me alone in this.”
He stiffens at that, the words hitting deeper than I meant. But I don’t stop.
“You keep acting like the world will keep spinning if something happens to you.” My voice breaks, anger folding into fear. “It won’t. Not for me.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He takes a step back like he needs space to breathe.
“I’m not dying,” he says quietly. Too quietly. “I’m ending this.”
“And what if Charles doesn’t play into your plan?” I demand. “What if he’s smarter than you think? What if he has another move waiting?”
His eyes flash. “Then I’ll make sure he never gets the chance to use it.”
“You can’t control everything, Dimitri!”
“I can control what’s mine. Your safety!”
“I’m not yours,” I whisper, but it sounds like a lie even to me.
His expression twists in anger, something like hurt, something darker.
“You are,” he says. “At least until this is over. Because if anything happens to you, Vivian—”
He cuts himself off, breathing hard.
“That’s exactly how I feel,” I whisper. “Put yourself in my shoes, please.”
He drags a hand down his face, pacing once, twice, like he’s wrestling his own instincts. Then he stops directly in front of me, eyes locked on mine.
“Okay. Fine.”
A beat.
“What do you want me to do?”
My answer is quiet but unshakable. “If we’re doing this, we do it my way.”
His jaw tics. “What’s your way?”
“That I stand by you.” I step closer, my heartbeat loud in my ears. “If you’re going to do the press conference, I’m going to be right there with you. We’re a team. You don’t get to pick and choose where I show up.”
His eyes flash with immediate rejection. “No. Absolutely not. That’s going to be the most dangerous place in the city. I can’t allow you to be there.”
“And that,” I say, voice sharp, “is exactly why you shouldn’t be there either.”
He stops breathing, just for a second. I see it—the logic hitting him, the understanding, the fear. We stand there, tension coiled between us like electricity.
Finally, he lifts his chin slightly. “If you’re beside me….” He swallows hard. “I’ll protect you.”
It’s not permission; it’s surrender.
I nod, assured of his protection, knowing he’ll do anything to keep me safe and that I’ll do the same.