Three weeks.
Three fucking weeks in Moscow.
For three weeks, I've been playing an exhausting game of hide and seek
—just to avoid Khalib
Every chance I got, I avoided him.
Luckily, he had business to attend, in Milan. So at least I can free myself just a minute from.
I lay sprawled across the vast western yard of the mansion, arms and legs stretched wide like a fallen star. The snow beneath me is mercilessly cold, seeping through fabric, kissing bare skin with icy fingers—but I don't move. I let it cling to me
Above, the sky stretches endlessly.
Dark. Vast. Beautiful.
"...and here I thought I'd find you."
Hakem's voice breaks through the silence
I don't bother turning. I keep my eyes fixed on the midnight sky, tracing constellations that somehow remind me of Hong Kong—
"What are you doing here?" he asks, settling beside me. The snow doesn't seem to bother him either
"Just… mesmerizing the view." I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his expression. He looks at me like I've said something absurd.
"What's mesmerizing about it?"
Slowly, I push myself up, brushing snow from my arms, though the cold still clings stubbornly to my skin. My eyes met him for a brief moment before drifting back to the sky.
"Everything is mesmerizing…" I murmur softly "It just depends on the person who's view it."
I could feel his eyes on me.
"You know, Irana… you seem different."
I froze, then slowly turned my head toward him.
"How so?"
He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to peel something off me—
"I don't remember much about you," he said. "The only memory I have is you trying to kill me… by pushing me into the pond."
I blinked, caught off guard. Wow… Irana, you were something.
"Really?" I forced a small smile, masking the flicker of surprise.
"We were kids—probably around six."
"Then I apologize," I said lightly, shrugging. "I… don't remember it."
"Really?" He tilted his head, still watching me. "Now I'm curious. What kind of life did you have outside Russia?"
A laugh slipped out of me—this time, real. Unrestrained.
"Why?" I asked.
His gaze didn't waver.
"You want to go outside Russia, ehh?"
I leaned back, placing both hands behind me for support, the cold seeping through my palms.
"Then you should convince your brother to do so" I said teasingly.
"Tsk."
My eyes widened slightly at his reaction before I let out a quiet chuckle.
"What?" he said.
"Nothing—You just remind me of someone."
Nigel.
The name surfaced and speaking of that bastard… he's probably still mad. Haven't heard a single thing from him since I got here.
"You know what," Hakem suddenly said, shifting closer, voice lowering like he was offering trouble itself. "Why don't you come with me?"
I looked at him, knitting brows slightly.
"Where?"
"Going bar hopping. Want to come?" he said casually.
I raised a brow, studying him.
"Come on," he added with a faint smirk. "I know you're bored—that's why you're out here."
The bass hit—
Lights—neon blues, violent reds, flashes of white—cut through the darkness in sharp, blinding streaks. The air was thick with heat, perfume, alcohol, and something electric…
Bodies moved everywhere, a sea of strangers pressed together under the rhythm, swaying, grinding, losing themselves to the music.
The DJ stood elevated above the crowd, the beat dropping harder, faster. The floor vibrated beneath my boots, each thump crawling up my spine.
I stayed on the second floor of the bar, leaning slightly against the railing.
From here, I could see everything.
The wild crowd below moved like a living thing—lights flashing, bodies colliding, music echoing up to where I stood. It was loud, chaotic…
"Are you alone? Wanna dance?"
A random Russian guy appeared in front of me, a glass of wine loosely held in his hand, confidence written all over his face.
I didn't answer right away.
Instead, my gaze drifted down into the crowd
Hakem was already lost in it. he was talking to a group of men, exchanging something I couldn't hear over the music before making his way toward the lounge area.
He greeted the men seated there familiar
—before dropping into the seat beside them like he belonged.
Around their table were five men and seven women, all dressed in daring outfits—bold, eye-catching, the kind that drew attention without even trying. They moved with confidence, laughter spilling easily between them, the energy around their table louder than the music itself.
I reached out, taking a glass of wine from a passing waiter's tray, the cool stem settling between my fingers. Only then did I glance back at the guy beside me.
"I'm with my cousin… Dasirov."
He paused.
Just like I expected.
The name rang a bell.
Slowly, I pointed down toward the lounge below—toward Hakem. His eyes followed my gesture, recognition dawning almost instantly before snapping back to me.
"You still want to dance?" I asked, a hint of amusement in my voice.
He let out a short, almost nervous laugh, raising both hands in surrender. I could tell he'd had a bit too much to drink.
"Nah… I'm good."
I gave a small nod, taking a sip of my wine as he backed off and disappeared into the crowd—
I leaned against the railing of the bar, letting the cool metal press against my arms as I shifted my attention back to the young Dasirov once more.
Below, he was already lost in indulgence.
His lips were pressed against some random girl, careless, unbothered—while his other hand wandered boldly beneath another girl's skirt. Laughter, desire, recklessness…
Seems the younger one is even wilder than the second… huh?
Slowly, I lifted my glass, taking a measured sip of wine as the music pulsed through the air. The taste lingered—rich, sharp—while my gaze remained steady, observing…
Hakem rose from his seat just as another girl reached out, grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the dance floor. They melted into each other immediately, lips messing up, bodies swaying to the pulsing beat.
But then—chaos.
Another guy pushed through the crowd toward them—
And then—
A sharp punch landed straight across Hakem's face.
The impact snapped his head to the side, sending him stumbling hard onto the ground. Gasps rippled through the dancers nearby, the music still pounding like nothing had happened.
A small, almost amused breath slipped past my lips.
Hmm… let's see how Hakem handles this, I thought, swirling my wine slowly in the glass.
The men he'd been sitting with earlier.
They just watched.
Interesting… So he was on his own.
The man who threw the punch roughly grabbed the girl Hakem had been kissing, yanking her back to his side
Another punch.
Hakem barely had time to recover before it connected.
"Hold him," the man barked, calling over two others.
They moved in immediately, grabbing Hakem by the arms, dragging him up just enough to keep him steady—just enough to hit him again.
I tilted my head slightly, gazing sharpening.
I steadied myself on the railing, eyes following them from the second floor.
The crowd below had already started pressing closer, curiosity fueling their little whispers and gawking. But then—Hakem was thrown hard again.
Before the chaos could escalate further, two bouncers intervened, grabbing both men and throwing them outside.
What a mess,
I muttered, finishing the last of my glass before heading down and stepping out into the cold night.
But the fight wasn't over.
Outside, the men had dragged Hakem toward a narrow alley. Drunk and off-balance, he could barely defend himself as their fists rained down.
"You should stop if I were you," I called, turning their attention toward me.
They glanced up, surprised.
"Huh?" one of them said.
"He's Dasirov, you know," I added
"So what?" another scoffed.
"What are you doing here, miss? Don't tell me you're planning to help this bastard," one sneered.
I shrugged.
"The only thing about him, is because he is Dasirov" he continued.
"Just go back inside, miss," he warned.
"Or, instead of clinging to this guy—" he kicked Hakem sharply, "why don't you come with me?"
"I have a great dick, than him anyway," he added, gesturing crudely.
The other guy laughed.
I looked down at his pans.
"Yeah, totally agree—" Then I shifted my gaze upward, fixing him with a cold stare. "—You're a dick," I said.
His laughter died down, replaced by a flicker of seriousness.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
"I said…you are a huge dick," I shot back sharply.
Piss off, he suddenly lunged at me, grabbing my arm. But I caught his wrist, twisting hard before delivering a punch to his chest. He doubled over from sudden force.
I didn't hesitate. Using the opening, I gripped his air and drove my knee into his head, and slamming his head against the brick wall three consecutive times with full force.
The other man froze, bewildered—but only for a second. He stepped forward, first raised, aiming for me. I moved before he could react, countering with precision…
I launched forward, my knee driving into his ribs, followed by a sharp elbow to the jaw. He stumbles on the ground, blinking in disbelief, barely keeping himself upright.
I took a step forward—and they froze. Then, as they scrambled backward, disappearing into the shadows of the alley.
I let out a long, frustrated sigh, my gaze falling on Hakem. He was slumped against the wall, completely passed out, his breaths shallow.
"So… how am I supposed to get him back to the mansion now?" I muttered under my breath, my eyes scanning the bruises forming across his face along his arms.
Damn.
How the hell was I going to explain this mess?
I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at it in exasperation.
Fuck…
"Thanks, sir." I handed over my payment to the Uber driver before steadying Hakem in my arms. He was half-dozing, the bruises and alcohol weighing him down into a drunken stupor.
A guard glanced our way, squinting, before recognition crossed his face.
"Sir? And… Miss Irana?"
It was Mikael—the one who usually patrolled the gate yard.
"Need a little help, yeah," I said, and he moved quickly to my side, carefully supporting Hakem as we made our way through the quiet mansion grounds.
By now, it was already three in the morning. The night air was crisp, the silence broken only by our footsteps on the cobblestones. Mikael didn't speak; he simply followed, steadying Hakem as we entered the mansion.
The moment we stepped through in the entrance—I froze.
There he was.
Khalib.
Impeccably dressed in a tailored business suit, a glass of whiskey in hand. He sat in the lounge, legs spread wide, the gold of his Rolex catching the lamplight filtering through the massive glass walls.
He leaned forward slightly, resting both elbows on his knees, the glass of whiskey cradled between his hands as he rolled it lightly back and forth. The lamplight flickered across his sharp figure casting shadows that made him look even more dangerous.
His posture screamed control and…
… dominance.
Double fuck.
His eyes flicked briefly to his brother before slowly settling on me.
And in that instant, the air seemed to thicken.