I let out a slow breath and grabbed my phone, checking my notifications. Still nothing from Aisha. I felt like I was balancing on a tightrope, waiting for a push in any direction, forward, backward, into the abyss.
I needed coffee. Something strong. A reason to step away from my desk and feel like a human being for five minutes.
I slipped out of my office, moving down the corridor lined with glass and steel. For the first few steps, it was eerily quiet... no heavy footsteps, no shadow lurking behind me. Did the bastard finally leave me alone for once?
A flash of reckless defiance flared in me. I slowed my pace, eyeing the stairwell exit just ahead. If I could just get outside for five minutes, grab a coffee from the street vendor, breathe without Viktor's suffocating presence—
"Going somewhere, sir?"
His voice slid over my shoulder like ice. I froze, feeling the oppressive weight of Viktor's presence materializing behind me, so close I could feel his breath stir the hair at my nape.
I sighed, not bothering to turn around. "Of course not," I muttered. "Wouldn't dream of it."
I kept walking, the weight of Viktor's silent steps a ghost behind me. I didn't turn around. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. The corridors of K-S Continental's main tower felt like a gilded cage, every polished glass surface reflecting back the image of a man pretending to be in control.
I slipped through the side corridor, swiping my ID over the discreet security pad. The private exit led to a covered driveway, where high-end cars idled in the morning light. Instead of taking one, I kept walking, crossing the quiet street. I could still feel him behind me, Viktor's presence was like gravity, impossible to escape.
On the other side of the street, a sleek little café waited. It wasn't just any coffee shop; this place looked like it was designed for billionaires with minimalist taste. Chrome and glass panels, mood lighting that made everyone look ten percent hotter, and soft jazz humming in the background. Even the baristas wore tailored black aprons that wouldn't look out of place at a five-star restaurant.
I stepped through the glass door, and heads turned. A ripple of recognition passed through the crowd, some murmuring, others giving me the once-over, trying to place where they'd seen my face before. My mouth twitched upward in a thin smile. Kairen Alexei Kurov-Shin, public scandal, heir apparent, the one who defied his father and made it back alive.
I was halfway to the counter when the glass door behind me whispered open. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Conversations paused, eyes flicked away from me toward the doorway and I didn't have to turn to know why.
I clicked my tongue sharply, irritation flaring. Of course. Him.
I stepped up to the counter, eyeing the barista. She was young, maybe early twenties, her glossy hair pulled into a tight bun, her hands trembling as she fiddled with the touchscreen. She looked new, out of place in the polished perfection of the café. Maybe it was her first day. Maybe she was as lost in this world as I was.
I smiled, slow and deliberately charming. "You don't have to be so tense, sweetheart," I murmured, letting my voice drop just a shade lower, silkier. "It's just coffee, not brain surgery."
She blinked up at me, her cheeks coloring faintly, lips parting as she tried to form words. But her eyes didn't stay on me, they flicked over my shoulder, widening in something close to panic.
I didn't need to turn to know Viktor was standing there, his silent, looming presence filling the space like smoke. My teeth clenched.
I leaned forward, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ignore the beast lurking behind me," I said, brushing my fingers lightly across the back of her hand as she fumbled for my order. "He won't bite. Unless you're me."
Her breath hitched, and her cheeks flushed a deeper pink. She barely had time to react before a deep voice rumbled behind me, low and laced with amusement.
"Doesn't this count as sexual harassment, sir?"
I froze, my lips parting as my pulse gave a traitorous jump. I slowly turned my head, locking eyes with Viktor. His mouth was tilted in that damnable smirk, his cigarette still smoldering between his fingers.
"I'm not a piece of shit like you," I snapped, my words sharper than I intended.
His smirk widened, cigarette between his fingers, and it made my blood boil. His presence was suffocating, overshadowing me, leeching the oxygen from the air.
Before we could dive into the usual back-and-forth, the poor barista let out a quiet, shaky cough. "S-sorry… um… what would you like to order?" she asked, her voice trembling as her eyes darted between us, clearly begging the universe for this nightmare to end.
I sighed and shot Viktor a withering look before turning back to her. "I'll take a caramel macchiato. Hot. Extra drizzle," I said, my voice softening just a little. Sweet, comforting, the opposite of the knot tightening in my chest. "And make it extra hot, if you can."
She nodded, tapping the order in with shaky fingers. "And for you, sir?" she squeaked, glancing nervously at Viktor.
I opened my mouth to dismiss him, but Viktor spoke first, his voice as smooth as sin. "Black Americano. Extra bitter."
I stared at him, my brow arching. "Of course," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I stepped away from the counter. "How fitting of you. A bitter drink for a bitter man."
Brushing past him, I made a beeline for a table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunlight slicing through the glass too bright for my taste. I dropped into the seat with a huff, pulling my phone from my pocket like it could shield me from the heat of his gaze.
But of course, Viktor followed. He slid into the seat across from me, his movements slow and deliberate, folding into the chair like a predator settling into his den. His eyes, those sharp, icy eyes—tracked every move I made.
The sunlight streamed through the windows, too harsh and blinding for a Monday morning. The sky was a perfect, obnoxious blue, and the city outside buzzed with people too eager to get their lives in order while mine felt like it was splintering at the edges. I squinted against the glare, hating the way it turned everything brittle and too bright.
His silence stretched between us, thick and unbearable, until I snapped.
"Are you undressing me in your head or something?" I demanded, leaning forward across the table, my voice low and bristling.
Viktor's lips curved, that infuriating half-smirk playing at his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out with casual arrogance. "I'm simply watching for any nearby threats," he said smoothly, his tone almost bored.
"By staring into my soul?" I hissed, my heart hammering in my chest.
He gave a lazy shrug, the cigarette now crushed out in the ashtray. "Maybe."
I glared, the heat crawling up my neck, my pulse a chaotic mess. "Besides, you're not even my type," he added coolly, his gaze flicking away as if dismissing me entirely.
I narrowed my eyes, my voice lowering into something sharp and honeyed. "Oh? And what is your type, then?"
I leaned in, elbows on the table, feigning interest like a cat playing with its prey. His jaw tightened just a fraction, but his eyes gleamed with dark amusement. He was silent for a beat longer than necessary, like he was weighing how much rope to give me before yanking it tight.
"Well," he said softly, voice like velvet and smoke, "I'll let you know when I see it."