Chapter 3
ISABELLA
T he uniform feels like a lie against my skin.
It clings in all the right places, black fabric sleek and tailored, the kind of luxury that masks control beneath glamour. The skirt falls mid-thigh, subtle slit on one side. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to keep eyes lingering longer than they should.
The blouse is fitted, high collar with silver buttons, sleeveless, pressed so perfectly it looks like I’ve never sweated a day in my life. They paired it with a thin waist belt and polished heels just shy of torturous. A small name tag pinned to the left reads: Natasha.
I stare at myself in the full-length mirror, fingers curled slightly at my sides.
Dark brown hair pulled into a clean, low bun. Light brown eyes rimmed with just enough liner to cut, lips painted in a neutral gloss that looks expensive.
Everything about me screams poised. Controlled.
Forgettable enough to slip through.
Beautiful enough to stay in the room.
They made this uniform for ghosts.
Behind me, Kellan exhales loudly from the couch.
“I still say we bring a knife. Something small. You know, just in case one of those sick bastards forgets his manners.”
Ash, leaning against the wall near the window, snorts. “Or better yet, let her bring the same rifle she didn’t use the other night. That’ll make a statement.”
I glance over my shoulder at them, eyebrow lifting. “Are you two done?”
Kellan shrugs, sipping something dark from a crystal glass that isn’t his. “Not even close.”
Ash crosses his arms. “You know the security team will try something.”
“And I know how to end it before they do.”
Kellan watches me carefully. “You don’t have to prove anything, Iz. You could let us do this another way.”
“No,” I say, firm. “I walk in. I watch. I get what I came for.”
My voice doesn’t shake. It never does when I speak the truth.
But the truth still coils in my chest like something wild and hungry.
Because tonight… I’ll be close enough to smell him.
And I still don’t know what I’ll do when I see his face.
I turn back to the mirror, fingers brushing the edge of my collar, adjusting it just enough to stop fidgeting. It’s not nerves—it’s instinct. Preparing for war disguised as service.
“You look…” Kellan starts, then pauses, as if finding the word makes it more real. “Dangerous.”
Ash lets out a quiet laugh behind me. “They won’t know what hit them.”
I glance at both of them through the mirror, and for a moment, my expression softens.
“How do I really look?” I ask.
The question hangs in the room—not vain, not light.
It’s a weapon I’m asking them to inspect.
And when their eyes meet mine again, I know they see it too.
The silence after my question isn’t filled with compliments.
It’s filled with purpose.
Ash studies me from his place against the wall, his arms still crossed but his posture more alert now. Kellan sets his drink down on the table, eyes narrowing like he’s running through every possible outcome again.
Good.
I need them sharp. I need them on edge.
Because I am.
“I’ll be stationed outside the hallway leading to the back rooms,” Ash says finally. “The ones only high-ranking staff and security have access to. If anything feels off—if someone even looks at you wrong—I’m moving in.”
“You won’t need to,” I reply, voice quiet but sure.
Kellan lets out a slow breath as he rises from the couch, straightening his blazer. “And I’ll be in the surveillance room. I’ve already got control of one of the back monitors. Don’t ask how—I’m not explaining it again.”
I glance at him. “I didn’t ask.”
“Exactly,” he mutters.
He walks over to the kitchen counter and pulls out a small earpiece wrapped in a sleek black case. “You’ll be wearing this,” he says, holding it out. “We’re on frequency seven. No speaking unless it’s an emergency, and only if you can’t leave to get to one of us.”
I take it from him, roll it between my fingers once, then slide it into place. It fits like it belongs there.
Like everything else tonight.
“I’ll hear everything?” I ask.
“You’ll hear us,” Kellan confirms. “But we’ll hear you even better. I’ll have your position on-screen at all times.”
Ash steps closer. “And we have eyes on every floor. If someone pulls you away from cameras, I’ll know. If someone grabs your arm, I’ll know.”
“And if I go willingly?” I ask, one brow lifting.
Ash doesn’t blink. “Then I’ll still follow.”
Kellan leans back against the counter, arms crossed now. “We’re not idiots, Iz. You’re walking into this with your heart too close to the edge.”
“I’m walking in with my eyes wide open,” I correct.
“Are you?” Ash asks quietly.
I hold his gaze, throat tightening slightly—but I don’t look away.
Because yes . I am.
I’ve never seen more clearly in my life.
Rafael isn’t just the enemy anymore. He’s the last piece of a puzzle that’s kept me up at night for fifteen years. And I’m not leaving that table until I’ve looked him in the eye and know—for certain—what kind of monster he really is.
“Don’t forget,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “This isn’t about how long it takes. It’s about not walking away empty.”
Kellan shifts, something flickering behind his eyes. “You think it’ll take days?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe weeks.”
Ash’s jaw tenses.
Kellan runs a hand through his hair.
But I already know what they won’t say—because I’ve already accepted it.
It could take months.
And I’m ready for that. Even if it kills me.
Because I’ve spent too long in the dark not to burn for the truth now.
I turn toward the coat rack, picking up the sleek black trench they gave me with the uniform. It’s soft in my hands. Expensive. Lined with silk. Designed for someone far less dangerous than I am.
I sling it over my arm and grab the small black purse with the ID, lipstick, and backup blade Kellan insisted I take.
I glance once more at both of them—Ash’s silent fury, Kellan’s restless concern.
Then I exhale.
“Let’s go.”
The door clicks shut behind me with a soft finality.
My coat hangs over my arm. My heels click against the marble floor of the hallway as I walk toward the elevator, Kellan and Ash flanking me like shadows carved from war. Neither of them speaks, but I can feel the weight of their eyes on me—on my spine, my shoulders, the tension I refuse to show.
They’re waiting for me to crack. To say I’ve changed my mind. That it’s too soon. That I’m not ready.
But I don’t say anything. Because I am ready. Even if my heart is pounding hard enough to bruise bone.
The elevator dings softly. The polished metal doors slide open. Kellan steps in first, followed by me, then Ash. The second the doors close, the hum of silence wraps around us.
Three floors pass before anyone speaks.
“You know the moment he sees you,” Ash says, voice low, “he’ll remember.”
I meet his gaze in the reflection. “Good.”
“You’re not afraid of being recognized?” Kellan asks from beside me, arms crossed.
I shake my head. “He’s never seen me. Not really.”
Kellan tilts his head, watching me with narrowed eyes. “But you’ve seen him.”
“Every nightmare,” I whisper. “Every damn one.”
The elevator slows, and my stomach dips as it descends toward the underground garage. Kellan leans in a little, his voice quieter now. “We’re still not entirely sure he was behind it.”
My jaw locks.
“No,” I say. “But he was there. And that’s enough.”
The doors open to cool concrete and the low, echoing sound of a car door shutting somewhere nearby. The air down here smells like oil and electricity. Sterile. Controlled.
Ash leads the way to the car—black SUV, tinted windows, familiar. Safe, even when nothing else is.
I slide into the back seat without a word.
Kellan climbs into the passenger seat, tapping the screen in front of him as Ash starts the engine. The car hums to life like a warning.
The ride starts in silence.
City lights blur past the windows as we ascend from the garage and merge into the night. Everything outside glows in gold and crimson—autumn clinging to the edges of the skyline like a secret. People rush sidewalks with lives untouched by the kind of world I’m walking into.
I envy them.
And I hate them for it.
“Hotel’s ten minutes out,” Ash says, his hands tight on the wheel. “Surveillance is light tonight. Only one other Pakhan-level guest reported.”
“Someone Rafael would care about?” I ask.
Kellan shakes his head. “No. No one that would make him stay off the floor.”
I nod, fingers curling slightly in my lap. “Then he’ll be there.”
“You want him to see you?” Kellan presses.
“I want him to feel me,” I answer, eyes fixed out the window. “Before he even knows why.”
Silence falls again.
They don’t understand it—not fully. The hunger. The need. The years I’ve spent with Rafael Romanov’s name etched into my bones like a curse, a map, a promise. Tonight, I step into the same room as him.
And I won’t leave until he looks at me. Until his eyes tell me everything I need to know.
Kellan finally breaks the silence again. “This could take a while, Iz.”
“I know.”
“It’s not just walking in and catching him in a lie.”
“I know.”
“It could take months.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
And I mean it.
Because I’d rather spend the rest of my life inside the devil’s fire than leave without knowing if he’s the one who burned down my world.
Ash pulls up to the private valet entrance at the back of Hotel Obshor. The building looms above us, cold and silver, glittering like it’s made of sharpened glass. Every light is deliberate. Every camera a threat.
The world inside is his.
And I’m walking into it.
The car stops.
I wrap my fingers around the door handle, but I don’t open it right away.
Outside, the back entrance of hotel waits in cold silence. There are no signs here. No glittering lights. No smiles. Just cameras, reinforced glass, and a door meant for ghosts.
Kellan glances at me from the passenger seat. “You breathe yet?”
“Does it look like I have time for that?”