It’s her.
The girl from the plane.
Fuck.
She arrives tomorrow, and she has no idea what she’s in for.
I close the file and tap it once against the desk. This office—glass, steel, and silence—was designed to keep people small. Intimidated. Off balance. It works on most. Let’s see how she handles it.
She shouldn’t be here. My father—theIvanov—wanted her protected. Sheltered. He paid for her education, her life, leaving instructions buried so deeply only I was ever meant to see them. His final act of loyalty to her father.
Keep her out of this world,he said.
I didn’t agree. Still don’t.
She should’ve been brought in years ago. Shown the truth. Prepared for the weight of her name. Instead, she grew up oblivious, naïve, and blind.
Not anymore.
A knock interrupts my thoughts. I don’t answer. The door opens anyway.
Tatiana—my former fling and current secretary—strides in, carrying a mug like a trophy. “Black, extra hot,” she says with a small, professional smile. “Just how you like it.”
“Thank you,” I reply without looking up.
She sets the cup down too close to my hand. Her perfume arrives before she does, overpriced and too sweet. She lingers, like she’s waiting for something.
I say nothing.
Finally, she shifts back toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
I grunt in a non-committal manner.
She nods then turns to go, the door clicking shut behind her.
I wait a beat, then double-lock my screen and return the file to the safe beneath the desk. I glance at the clock. Twenty-three hours until she walks through my door.
She has no idea she’s already under surveillance. Already a variable I’m accounting for in every projection. A risk. A threat.
She’s also the only woman who has ever made me forget what control feels like.
Tomorrow, I’ll find out if that was a fluke.
Or the beginning of something I can’t afford.
The conference room smells like espresso.
My brother Luk’s already seated at the head of the table when I walk in, his tie knotted in a perfect Windsor knot, tablet glowing in front of him. Lev leans against the far wall, arms crossed, looking like he hasn’t slept. He probably hasn’t.
I drop into my seat and slide the folder across the glass table. “She starts tomorrow.”
Luk doesn’t look up. “You sure about this?”
“No. But I’m doing it anyway.”
Lev finally speaks. “The Devereaux girl?”
I don’t answer. Not verbally. I simply tap a finger against the folder once.
