Chapter 1 #3
The floorboards creak under my steps, even when I try to avoid the usual ones—the one outside the bathroom, the soft spot near the kitchen arch.
The hallway smells faintly of lavender and something warm from the night before.
Anna always burns oil before she sleeps, like she’s trying to soften the air itself.
I glance toward her closed door.
The faint light from under it lets me know she still didn’t go to bed. She never sleeps deeply. But she doesn’t come out.
She never asks where I’m going.
Never asks why I leave with tension in my shoulders and shadows under my eyes.
She just waits for me to come back.
I slip my coat on and wrap the scarf tighter around my neck. It’s still early—sky barely bruised with morning—but the cold cuts sharper than usual.
I open the front door with a quiet click and step out onto the porch. The moment it closes behind me, the chill wraps around me like a second skin.
And just like that, Isabella disappears.
Because today, I’m Natasha Orlova.
Poised. Sharp. Controlled. A girl with no ghosts. No blood-stained past. Just grace in her walk and steel in her spine.
As I reach the curb, Kellan leans across the front seat and pushes the door open. The interior light flicks on, washing the car in soft gold.
I slide in, pull the door shut, and instantly feel the warmth of the heater blowing across my face.
Ash is in the back. Silent. Dressed in a black crew neck, sleeves rolled, arms folded. His dark eyes flick to me but he doesn’t speak.
Kellan doesn’t turn around. Just drives.
The silence hangs there, thick and familiar.
Then he speaks.
“You ready?”
I keep my gaze forward. “Born ready.”
Ash snorts under his breath.
“Don’t do that,” I say, voice even.
“What?” he mutters.
“Doubt me.”
“I’m not doubting you,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “I just don’t like this plan.”
“You never like the plan.”
“Because the plan keeps putting you in front of the same man you’re supposed to kill, but instead, you keep not killing him .”
My jaw ticks. “You think I’m getting soft.”
“I think you’re already in too deep.”
“Then stay out of it.”
The words come sharper than I mean them to. They land heavy in the car.
Kellan exhales quietly. “Let’s not do this now.”
I lean back in my seat, trying to force the tension out of my body.
It doesn’t work.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Ash doesn’t answer, but I feel the heat of his gaze on the side of my face.
Kellan changes lanes, eyes flicking to the rearview. “So, here’s how this plays out. You show up with your forged ID and glamorous smile. You’re polite, quiet, confident. Accent subtle. Remember, Natasha worked in private estates, so she’s supposed to have poise, not attitude.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“You’re applying for cocktail service, not security, so don’t act like you’re casing the place—let them underrate you.”
“Underrating me has never ended well.”
He smirks. “Exactly.”
Ash leans in from the back. “Do not go rogue. I don’t care what you hear, who you see, or what he says to you. We’re just setting the foundation today. You’re not ready to get pulled into a war yet.”
My fingers twitch in my lap, but I nod once.
“Copy that.”
Kellan continues. “I’ll be in the surveillance room—got a guy on payroll who owes me. I’ll have cameras rerouted if needed. Ash has been assigned a temporary security role through an agency the hotel uses. He’ll be posted on the floor near VIP access.”
“And if something goes wrong?” I ask quietly.
Kellan’s voice lowers. “We pull you out.”
Ash cuts in. “We burn the whole place down if we have to.”
I glance at him. He means it.
He always does.
Kellan finally pulls into a side lot near a service entrance. It’s tucked behind a row of luxury cars, hidden from the main lobby. The real entrance for people like me. The invisible kind.
The car slows to a stop. I exhale slowly and reach for the door handle.
Ash’s voice stops me. “You walk in there like you own the damn place.”
I pause.
Kellan adds, “And remember who you are.”
I nod once.
“I’m Natasha Orlova.”
Then I step out into the cold and walk toward the lion’s den.
The doors to Hotel Obshor open like jaws—glass and steel and silence—swallowing me whole as I step inside.
For a moment, the world outside disappears. The cold. The street noise. The weight of my name. All of it vanishes beneath marble floors and golden lighting, drowning in the pulse of something colder.
Luxury always smells the same. Expensive. Artificial. Clean in a way that hides the filth just underneath the surface.
My heels are silent as I walk across the lobby, each step echoing softly in the vastness of it. The chandeliers glimmer like distant stars, casting a soft glow over velvet seating, polished brass, and faceless staff who move like shadows. Controlled. Unseen.
I blend in easily.
That’s the trick.
I’m a nobody. And a nobody doesn’t gets noticed.
Not unless someone wants to notice you.
I smooth down the front of my coat as I approach the information desk. A tall woman with sleek blonde hair and red lipstick barely glances up from her tablet.
“Name?” she asks, her voice as flat as her expression.
“Natasha Orlova,” I say.
She scans her screen, taps something, then nods toward the left corridor. “Take the private elevator to the fifteenth floor. Office 15B. Don’t be late.”
I nod once and turn.
Each step toward the elevator feels slower than the last, like the floor is dragging me back.
Or maybe it’s me. Maybe a small part of me knows what I’m walking into.
Not the interview.
Not the job.
Him.
Even if I haven’t seen him up close yet, he’s already in this place. In the silence. In the eyes of the staff. In the chill that doesn’t come from the air conditioning.
Rafael.
His name sits heavy in my chest, tighter than it did on the rooftop.
The elevator dings softly, and I step inside, pressing the button for the fifteenth floor.
The ride up feels like forever, and I use the time to breathe. One breath in. One breath out.
Natasha Orlova isn’t scared. Natasha is calm. Elegant. Quiet. A girl who never held a rifle. A girl who never lost everything.
The doors open to a quieter hallway—softer lighting, plush carpet, dark wooden doors with gold-plated numbers. The air smells like cedar and money.
I find 15B and raise my hand to knock, but the door opens before I touch it.
A man steps back to let me in.
He’s tall. Mid-thirties. Dressed in all black. Not just tailored— weaponized . His hair is dark, slicked back, and his jaw is carved with cold precision. The only thing sharper than his posture is the look in his eyes.
I know a killer when I see one.
This man has bled for someone else’s sins.
He gestures to the chair in front of the desk without a word.
I sit.
He walks around the desk slowly, like he’s sizing me up from every angle. When he finally lowers himself into the chair opposite me, he rests his forearms on the desk and steeples his fingers like he’s bored already.
But I know he’s not.
He’s watching. Studying.
“Natasha Orlova,” he says. His voice is smooth but detached, like he’s reading my name off a list of names he plans to forget.
“Yes,” I answer calmly.
He glances at the folder in front of him. “Twenty-five. Fluent in Russian, French, and English. Experience in high-profile service. No criminal record. No red flags.”
He looks up, and his eyes cut through me like glass. “Almost too clean.”
I hold his gaze. “I’ve had to be.”
He closes the folder and leans back. “This floor isn’t just for high rollers. It’s for people who have power. Money. Enemies. You’re expected to be invisible unless spoken to, fast without spilling, and smart enough to keep your mouth shut.”
“I understand.”
“If one of them touches you, what do you do?”
“Smile. And step away.”
“If one of them offers you a tip you didn’t earn?”
“Refuse it.”
“If one of them offers you a night in their suite?”
I meet his gaze. “Make sure it’s not mine.”
His lips twitch. It’s not a smile, but it’s something close.
“I’m Nikolai Kotov,” he says finally. “I answer only to Mr. Romanov. If he notices you, it’s because he let himself notice you. Understand?”
“Yes.”
He stands. “Shift starts tomorrow night. Black uniform. Hair tied. No jewelry except what we provide. Show up clean. Don’t be late.”
I rise slowly.
“Welcome to hell,” he adds, voice flat, almost amused.
I let myself smile, just faintly.
“Thanks for letting me in the fire.”
The moment the door to 15B closes behind me, my lungs tighten, but I don’t let it show.
Not in my walk. Not in the lift of my chin or the pace of my heels against the carpeted hallway. I walk like I belong here. Like I’ve done this before. Like I didn’t just look a killer in the eye and lie without flinching.
Nikolai Kotov.
I’ll remember that name.
He’s not just muscle. He’s more. He was reading me like a page in a book he’s read before—slow, careful, with a part of him already guessing how it ends.
But he bought it.
Or at least, he bought just enough.
Still… I felt it.
The shift in the air. The silence behind the glass walls of the casino. The weight in the corners of the room that didn’t belong to Nikolai.
Someone else was watching.
Him.
I press the elevator button and feel a tremor in my fingers.
Even without seeing him, I know he was there. I could feel his presence crawling under my skin like smoke. I didn’t need eyes on him to know it.
He’s the kind of man who doesn’t enter a room—he changes the temperature of it.
The elevator doors open and I step in, inhaling deep.
I let the walls close around me. The silence. The calm.
But it’s not calm. Not really.
Because for the first time in a long time…
I’m not entirely sure who is hunting who .
Kellan’s SUV is already waiting near the staff entrance, engine running, windows dark. I open the back door and slide in, letting the scent of leather and faint cologne anchor me back to something real.
Ash turns his head first.
“Well?”
I exhale slowly. “I start tomorrow.”