Mikhail's POV

Mikhail leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of whiskey, eyes dark with irritation.

He was done waiting.

Sebastian's interference had ruined his plans. First, he had Luca and Valarie cornered, and then that bastard had slaughtered his men like they were nothing.

And now, because of some obsessive infatuation, Sebastian had warned him to keep Valarie unharmed.

Mikhail's lips curled into a cruel smirk.

Like hell he would.

He turned his attention to the bloodied figure in the corner of the dimly lit room.

Elijah Carter.

Valarie's lover.

He was barely conscious, hanging limply from the chains binding his wrists to the ceiling. His shirt was shredded, revealing bruised and slashed skin, a map of pain drawn onto his body.

Mikhail sighed dramatically. "You've held up well, Carter. Most men would have broken by now."

Elijah laughed hoarsely, blood dripping from his split lip. "Go to hell."

Mikhail grinned. "Not before I take you with me."

He pulled out his knife, its blade gleaming under the dim light. Without hesitation, he plunged it into Elijah's side.

Elijah gritted his teeth, a sharp gasp of pain leaving him.

Mikhail watched, thrilled at the way he twitched in agony.

"You know," Mikhail murmured, twisting the knife slowly, "you're actually quite useful to me. Even more than I expected."

Elijah spat blood at him. "Fuck you."

Mikhail wiped his face, amused. "Tsk. Such a dirty mouth." He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Let's see how Valarie feels when she watches you scream."

Elijah's eyes widened.

Mikhail stepped back, gesturing to the man holding the camera. "Send it."

The man nodded, hitting send.

A torture video of Elijah, bound, bloodied, and screaming, was now making its way to Valarie Ivanov.

Mikhail smirked.

He could already imagine the rage, the horror, that would fill her when she saw it.

She'd come running.

Right into his trap.

And then, after her... Luca.

And finally...

Damien Volkov.

Mikhail threw his head back and laughed.

******* Valarie's POV

Her hands were shaking.

The video played on repeat, Elijah's screams echoing in her ears.

Blood. Chains. His body writhing in agony. The way he tried to stay strong, but his pain cracked through his voice.

Her chest burned.

Mikhail.

That bastard.

Valarie exhaled sharply, pressing her thumb and index finger against the bridge of her nose.

She knew it was a trap.

Of course, it was.

Mikhail wanted her to come running, to walk straight into his hands, and yet...

She was still going.

She had to.

Elijah was her boyfriend .

Her mind screamed at her to be logical, to call for backup, to be patient. But her heart raged louder.

She grabbed her gear.

A knife strapped to her thigh. A gun tucked under her leather jacket. Two extra magazines. A small earpiece, connected to a private channel.

She wasn't going in blind.

She'd tear through every single one of Mikhail's men if she had to.

She pulled her hair into a high ponytail, face hardening as she stared at herself in the mirror.

"You're not dying today," she muttered. "And neither is he."

With one last deep breath, Valarie grabbed her keys and walked out.

Into the trap.

But this time...

She was ready.

******* Gunfire rang in her ears.

The scent of gunpowder and blood filled the air as she tore through Mikhail's men like a woman possessed.

One shot. Right between the eyes. Another. A knife to the throat.

Bodies dropped around her, but no matter how many she took down, more kept coming.

She had underestimated the sheer numbers.

There weren't just a few dozen guards. There were nearly five hundred.

Her body burned from exertion, her ammo running dangerously low. Her breathing was sharp, controlled, but she knew-

She wasn't getting out of this.

Not without help.

Before she could reach her earpiece, something heavy slammed into the back of her skull.

Pain exploded in her vision.

Her knees buckled. The world tilted.

The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

Hands gripped her arms, yanking her up roughly as she struggled against them. But her limbs felt weak, sluggish.

Footsteps echoed. Slow. Calculated. Mocking.

Then a familiar voice, thick with amusement-

"Well, well... Look what we have here."

Mikhail.

Through her blurry vision, she saw him step forward, dressed in a crisp suit, not a single wrinkle, not a single drop of blood.

Meanwhile, she was covered in his men's blood.

Valarie snarled, trying to move, but rough hands pinned her down.

Mikhail crouched, a smirk curling on his lips.

"Tell me, little Ivanov," he murmured, gripping her jaw painfully tight, tilting her face up. "What is it about your family, hmm?"

His dark eyes glowed with sadistic amusement.

"How is it that the two most powerful, most ruthless men in the underground are obsessed with you and your dear brother?"

Valarie's glare was pure fire.

Mikhail chuckled. "Sebastian slaughters my men for you. And Damien burns my empire for Luca."

He let out a cruel laugh, shaking his head.

"You must tell me, Valarie," he whispered, leaning in close. "What's so special about the Ivanovs?"

His fingers dug into her skin, and Valarie gritted her teeth.

She refused to answer.

She wasn't giving him the satisfaction.

Instead, she smiled.

Bloodied. Defiant.

And then she spat in his face.

Mikhail froze.

The room went silent.

Then-

A sharp slap cracked through the air.

Valarie's head snapped to the side, pain blooming across her cheek.

Mikhail let out a slow exhale, wiping his face with a silk handkerchief, his lips curling.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his tone dangerously soft.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"You have no idea what I'm going to do to you."

Valarie's heart pounded.

Not in fear.

But in rage.

She wasn't done yet.

"******* Sebastian’s POV

Sebastian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse in another city, his grip white-knuckled.

The city lights stretched below him, but his mind wasn’t here.

It was with her.

His Valarie.

A cold storm brewed in his chest, a violent, seething rage clawing to break free as he watched the video sent to his phone.

She was caught.

Surrounded.

but still glaring like the fierce little thing she was.

And Mikhail—**that bastard—**had put his filthy hands on her. Even though he warned him .

Sebastian’s breathing was eerily calm, but the glass in his hand shattered under the pressure.

Blood dripped from his palm, but he barely felt it.

That filthy rat.

He had planned this.

He knew Sebastian was out of the city.

He had waited for this moment.

Sebastian had been gone for less than a day.

And in that short time, Mikhail had already dared to touch what was his.

He was going to slaughter him.

No, torture him.

Make him suffer so much that he’d beg for death.

But Valarie—

She was just as much to blame.

His jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth.

That stubborn, impulsive, reckless woman.

He knew she was fierce. He loved that about her.

But this?

This was too much.

She walked straight into a trap, knowing it was one, without backup.

Because of her damn ego.

Because she thought she could handle it alone.

She needed to be punished.

Not just for risking herself.

But for underestimating him.

Did she really think he wouldn’t find out?

That he wouldn’t tear apart the entire city to get her back?

Sebastian exhaled slowly, calm, controlled, deadly.

He was coming for her.

And once she was safe?

Once she was back where she belonged—

She was going to learn exactly what happens when you defy Sebastian Vasiliev.

*****

The private jet sliced through the night sky, but Sebastian barely noticed.

He sat in the dim cabin, elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. His mind was a storm, a violent, raging thing, yet his face remained eerily calm.

He should be calculating. Strategizing the cleanest, most efficient way to wipe Mikhail off the map.

Instead—

His thoughts kept circling back to her.

Valarie Ivanov.

The woman who had driven him to madness.

He almost laughed—except there was nothing funny about it.

A Vasiliev, ruthless and cold-blooded, now chasing a police officer.

How ironic. How... pathetic.

He should’ve been above this. He had spent his entire life controlling his wants, ruling over them with an iron will.

And yet, when it came to her—

No control. No logic.

Just obsession.

His fingers curled into fists as he exhaled slowly.

Where had it even started?

The first time he saw her, she had been all sharp edges, narrowed eyes, and lethal grace. A perfect disaster of a woman, wrapped in that sinful body, her movements precise and deadly.

But it wasn’t just her beauty.

It was her fire.

The way she defied him, even knowing who he was. The way she glared up at him like she wasn’t standing in front of one of the most feared man in the underworld.

The way she fought—like the world itself had to bend to her will.

He should’ve crushed that defiance.

Instead, he had fallen for it.

Hard.

And now—

Now he was chasing after her like a man possessed.

A Vasiliev, raised in blood and violence, risking everything for a damn officer.

A cruel smirk played on his lips as he leaned back into the leather seat.

How fucking fairy tale.

Except there were no heroes here.

And when he got his hands on her—

She wasn’t getting a prince.

She was getting a monster.

******