By morning, the flash drive was gone.
Maria stood perfectly still in the middle of her room, her gaze fixed on the empty desk.
She remembered exactly where she had placed it the night before—beside the lamp, near the stack of documents Mikhail had left for her to review. The small silver drive had glinted under the light, almost harmless in appearance.
Now it had vanished.
Her fingers slowly curled against her palm.
The door had been locked.
No broken windows.
No disturbance in the room.
The bed remained neatly made, the curtains undisturbed by wind.
Which meant only one thing.
Someone had entered quietly.
Someone with access.
Someone who belonged inside the Dragunov empire.
Maria inhaled slowly, forcing her racing thoughts into order.
The recording she had watched the previous night replayed in her mind—the woman's voice trembling yet unmistakably regal.
A voice claiming to be the queen.
Mikhail Dragunov's mother.
Alive.
And now the only proof had disappeared.
Maria walked to the desk, opening drawers one by one with careful precision.
Empty.
Her heartbeat began to thud louder.
This was no coincidence.
Someone knew.
Someone had been watching.
Someone had taken the evidence before she could show anyone else.
Before she could show Mikhail.
A cold shiver slid down her spine.
Inside the most secure estate belonging to Aleksandr Viktorovich Dragunov, someone had entered her private room and removed evidence, leaving no trace behind.
Which meant the enemy was not outside the empire.
The enemy was inside it.
Maria found Mikhail in the security control room.
The large wall of monitors cast a pale glow across the dark space, reflecting sharply against the hard lines of his face.
He stood with his hands behind his back, studying the live footage streaming from every corridor of the estate.
Calm.
Controlled.
Dangerously quiet.
He didn't turn when Maria entered.
"I wondered how long it would take before you came here," he said.
Maria crossed the room slowly.
"The flash drive is gone."
Silence settled between them.
Finally, Mikhail turned.
His eyes were unreadable.
"That assumes it existed," he replied evenly.
Maria held his gaze without flinching.
"If it was fake," she said, her voice steady,
"Why steal it?"
For a brief moment, something dark flickered in his expression.
Suspicion.
Doubt.
Then the cold mask returned.
Mikhail turned toward the screens again.
"Review the recordings from midnight to dawn," he ordered the guard standing at the console.
The man immediately began typing.
Footage flickered across the monitors—corridors, staircases, security gates.
Nothing unusual.
No intruders.
No shadows.
The estate appeared untouched.
Which only made the situation worse.
Mikhail's jaw tightened slightly.
"Lock down internal access logs," he continued calmly. "Every door. Every system."
The guard hesitated.
"Sir… that will include family members."
Mikhail's gaze hardened.
"Exactly."
Maria felt the air in the room shift.
For the first time since she had known him, Mikhail Dragunov was no longer certain of the walls protecting his empire.
Someone inside had crossed a line.
Maria stepped outside the control room to clear her thoughts.
The corridor was quiet, the marble floors reflecting the dim golden light of the chandeliers.
She had barely taken a few steps when a familiar voice spoke behind her.
"Searching for something?"
Sergei Antonov leaned casually against a column, his expression unreadable.
Maria stopped.
"You seem unsurprised," she said.
Sergei's lips curved faintly.
"In powerful families," he said softly, "truth is often the most dangerous weapon."
Maria studied him carefully.
"You knew about the recording."
It wasn't a question.
Sergei didn't deny it.
Instead, he folded his hands calmly.
"Some ghosts," he said, "are buried for a reason."
Maria stepped closer.
"Did you take it?"
Sergei looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said,
"Be careful what you try to uncover, Maria."
His voice held no threat.
But the warning felt heavier than any threat could.
Before she could respond, he turned and disappeared down the corridor.
Leaving her alone with a growing unease.
Dinner that evening felt strangely tense.
The long dining table gleamed under crystal lights as servants moved silently around them.
At the head of the table sat Aleksandr Viktorovich Dragunov.
The patriarch looked as composed as always.
Power radiated from him without effort.
Maria watched him carefully.
If anyone could have ordered the flash drive taken, it would be him.
Aleksandr cut his steak slowly.
Then he spoke.
"Old rumors," he said calmly, "have begun to circulate again."
Maria's fork paused midair.
Across the table, Mikhail's eyes lifted slightly.
Aleksandr continued eating as if the statement were meaningless.
But Maria felt her pulse quicken.
He hadn't been told about the recording.
No one had mentioned it.
Yet somehow…
He knew.
Or at least suspected.
The patriarch's gaze moved between them with quiet precision.
Studying.
Measuring.
Testing.
The silence stretched until it became suffocating.
Finally, Aleksandr placed his knife down.
"Powerful families survive," he said quietly, "because they understand one rule."
His eyes briefly rested on Maria.
"Some truths are better left buried."
That night, Maria returned to her room.
The estate was quiet.
Too quiet.
Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting pale shadows across the floor.
She walked slowly toward the desk again.
Something still bothered her.
Whoever had taken the flash drive had been careful.
Too careful.
Which meant they hadn't come in a hurry.
They had taken time.
Time to search.
Time to decide what to remove.
Maria opened the drawer again.
Nothing.
Then she noticed it.
A small piece of paper was tucked beneath the corner of the desk.
Her breath caught.
She pulled it free.
Only three words were written on it.
2006 — Warsaw
Maria stared at the date.
Her heart began pounding harder.
That was the year the queen disappeared.
The year the Dragunov empire sealed every record of her existence.
The year Mikhail stopped speaking about his mother entirely.
Slowly, a realization settled in her mind.
Whoever had taken the recording had not destroyed the truth.
They had redirected it.
Because Warsaw was not just a city.
It was where the Dragunovs kept their oldest estates.
And where the patriarch still ruled from the shadows.
Maria folded the paper carefully.
Her pulse raced with a terrifying certainty.
The flash drive had been stolen.
But the truth had not been erased.
It had simply been pointed toward the place where the Dragunovs buried their deepest secrets.
And that place…
Was waiting in Warsaw.