The wedding arrangements were underway.
Efficient. Private. Controlled.
Ignite's staff moved with discreet urgency. Documents were finalized. Security protocols updated. Invitations nonexistent.
It was not a celebration.
It was a transaction.
Aansi stood outside Leonid Voss's office, summoned to finalize signatures before the ceremony scheduled for the following morning. Her heartbeat had not found a normal rhythm in two days.
She knocked.
"Get in."
But the man inside was not Leonid.
He stood near the window, his back to her, the city stretched beneath him like something conquered and forgotten.
Black clothing. Stillness. Controlled presence.
He turned.
Recognition struck before logic.
The corridor.
The collision.
The voice.
Her breath stalled.
He watched her as if he had expected this exact moment.
Slowly, deliberately, he approached.
Each step unhurried. Each movement precise.
The air seemed to tighten.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"So," he said, voice low and edged with quiet authority, "you are Aansi."
Her throat went dry.
"I… yes."
His gaze lingered — not admiring, not curious — assessing.
Cold.
"I am ZaidVoss," he said, lifting a hand slightly as if acknowledging a formality he found unnecessary. "Your fiancé's only heir."
Her eyes widened despite herself.
"And I'm certain we've met before," he added. "Haven't we?"
The corridor flashed in her memory.
She extended her hand hesitantly.
His hand closed around hers.
Warm.
Large.
Immovable.
A shock of sensation shot through her palm and up her arm — not pain, not heat alone — something startling enough to force a sharp inhale.
She pulled back instinctively.
"Why are you hurting me?"
His expression didn't change.
"End this drama."
The words landed like metal.
"I will give you whatever amount you want," he continued calmly. "And don't insult me by pretending you love him."
Her pulse spiked.
"I know your kind," he said. "Money is the only language that matters."
"No— please," she whispered. "You don't understand—"
He stepped closer.
Too close.
Her back met the wall before she realized she had retreated.
His hand rose — not striking, not frantic — but firm enough at her throat to immobilize her. His grip wasn't wild.
It was controlled.
Absolute.
Air thinned instantly.
"My mother…" she struggled, fingers tightening around his wrist. "She's in the hospital… critical… I need the money…"
His eyes remained steady, searching her face as if testing the truth of each word.
"End this fucking thing now," he said quietly, leaning closer, his voice lowering to something more dangerous than anger. "And I will give you more than he promised."
Her lungs burned.
"I can't breathe…"
"I won't repeat." he murmured.
His grip tightened just enough to command her full attention.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
"I will," she gasped. "I swear… I will… just let me go…"
A beat passed.
His gaze held hers — measuring, weighing, deciding.
Then, abruptly, he released her.
Air rushed violently into her lungs as she collapsed to her knees, coughing, dizzy, shaking.
Above her, his voice fell cold and final:
"Then go," he said. "And end it."
His footsteps retreated without urgency.
By the time she looked up, he was already at the door.
He paused only once.
"If you don't," he added without turning, "I will make your living worse than hell, Onyx."
The door shut behind him.
Silence flooded the office.
Aansi remained on the floor, breath trembling, pulse racing.
Tomorrow she was supposed to marry Leonid Voss.
But now the heir had entered the game.
And he did not negotiate.