The rubberized track springs beneath my feet. My breath stutters, my heart hammers in my temples. I'm running. Running too fast—as if I can outrun the thoughts that won't leave me alone. The sun is no longer gentle; it presses down, scorches my skin.
Giselle runs beside me. She moves lightly, demonstratively—as always—with that mocking grace of hers, as if sport isn't effort but a way to humiliate everyone else.
The lap ends. I slow, bend forward, brace my hands on my knees.
Inhale. Exhale.
And there it is.
"So, Victoria…" Giselle drawls with a sly smile. "You've found yourself a boyfriend?"
I don't even look at her. I already know what comes next.
"And why Christian, of all people?"
"Because he looks grown-up and unshakeable," I say, straightening up. "And…" I pause, "he's powerful."
Giselle snorts, pulling a face.
"Uh-huh. Awakens your animal desire. Grrr."
"Stop teasing me," I laugh—but too quickly. Too nervously.
And then—a voice behind us.
"Hi, girls."
Everything inside me turns cold. I know that voice. Too calm. Too confident.
I turn.
Sophia Blackmore.
She stands there as if she's always been here. Black leggings, hair perfectly gathered, not a drop of sweat—as if she doesn't run, only observes.
"How did you end up here?" I ask sharply. "Are you stalking me?"
"I like working out too," she answers softly. Too softly.
"But you never came here before," Giselle notes at once.
Sophia lifts an eyebrow slightly.
"What's wrong with you? Aren't you glad to see me? We had such a nice time at the Angel Club."
Angel.
The image flares on its own.
The dance floor. The music. My body moving closer to Christian than it should have.
Andre's eyes—dark, hungry.
And Sophia. Still. Watching. Understanding far too much.
You can't fool this girl.
"So what do you want, Sophia?" I ask directly. No games.
She smiles, tilts her head a fraction.
"I want to be your friend, Victoria." A pause. "I'm inviting you to relax on my father's yacht. Just the two of us."
My heart gives a strange lurch.
"Sounds like a romantic proposal," I grimace. "But I have a boyfriend."
"Christian, if I'm not mistaken," she уточняет calmly.
Of course you're not mistaken.
"And Andre, as you remember, is my fiancé," Sophia continues. "Three months until the wedding."
Giselle whistles softly.
"We'll just relax," Sophia says, stepping closer. "Talk about our boyfriends. Clear the air."
I feel uneasy. Too many words. Too precise.
"And what about me?" Giselle cuts in. "We're together, you know."
I seize the moment. Cling to it like a lifeline.
"Yes. I'll accept your invitation, Sophia." I look her straight in the eyes. "But only if Giselle comes too. That's… safer."
A second of silence.
Sophia laughs. Lightly. Almost sincerely.
"Do I scare you?"
"A little," I answer honestly.
"I'm sorry." She takes a step back. "I have only good intentions."
A chill runs down my spine.
The most dangerous phrases always sound exactly like that.
I watch Sophia walk away and realize:
whatever awaits us on that yacht—
it won't be rest.
And it definitely won't be just a conversation.
**
And at that moment—
"Victoria."
I flinch, as if my name isn't a sound but a touch against a bare nerve.
I turn.
Christian Grayson is walking toward us—confident, unhurried, as if the space itself parts for him. My heart instantly accelerates, traitorously. I smooth my hair without thinking, straighten my back, as though he's appraising me every second.
Giselle and Sophia notice.
Of course they do.
Both smile. Differently.
Giselle—with sly amusement.
Sophia—with interest.
"Lovely day, ladies," Christian says evenly, sweeping us with a glance.
"And where's Andre?" Sophia asks bluntly.
"Definitely not with me," Christian smirks, not even blinking.
A jab.
Not at me—at her.
And yet, for some reason, I feel it.
"Victoria," he shifts his gaze to me, "I'm inviting you to have lunch with me."
There's no question. Only an offer you can't refuse.
"I accept," I answer too quickly.
"See you on the yacht, Victoria," Sophia calls after me.
Her voice feels like an anchor thrown into the future.
**
I get into the car with Christian. The space immediately tightens. The scent of his cologne—warm, deep, dangerous. I lean toward him without thinking, expecting a kiss as naturally as air.
He meets me halfway.
He kisses me so intensely my toes curl. The world dissolves—there's only the warmth of his lips, the pressure, the promise. I almost forget where we are.
And then—he pulls away.
Sharp. Controlled.
Starts the engine.
Oh. So that's how it is.
Control—his favorite game.
We drive through the streets of Santerra. I stay silent, pulling myself back together. He drives as if nothing happened. We stop at a small café. Cozy. Too ordinary for a conversation like this—and therefore unsettling.
We sit down. Order food.
"So how is it working at Solaris Dominion Group?" he asks suddenly.
The question lands on the table like a knife.
"Everything's great," I answer carefully. "I'm very grateful to you for the opportunity."
"It was Andre who put in a good word for you with his father, Edward."
"I'm grateful to Andre as well."
"Excellent."
Too calm.
Too smooth.
The first dishes arrive. Christian eats as if we're discussing the weather. I follow suit, but my appetite is gone.
"What do you think of Sophia and Andre?" he asks casually.
"They're a couple planning to get married in three months."
He smiles.
"A diplomatic answer. Good girl."
A pause.
"But off the record… Andre isn't exactly enthusiastic about this union."
I look up.
"So what?"
"This marriage is very important to his father. Edward." He watches me closely. "Why? What for? He won't explain it to his son."
The silence thickens.
"You, Victoria, work at Solaris Dominion Group. Find out why he needs this."
I set down my fork.
"You want to turn me into a spy?" My voice is steady, but everything inside tightens. "So I can bury my career for good?"
"No. No. Not at all." He leans slightly toward me. "You'll just help Andre sort through some company documents. Maybe… that's where Edward's secret is."
"And what do I get in return?" I ask quietly.
"Andre's gratitude. The company's heir. And career advancement."
I smirk.
"Sounds dubious. You're pulling me into some kind of scheme."
He smiles—lazy, dangerous.
"No risk, no champagne, Victoria. Your help is needed."
The way he says it…
I feel the danger. Clearly. Almost physically.
And yet…
I catch myself thinking I've already almost agreed.
Maybe I just like risk.
Or…
Maybe I like him.
I lift my eyes—and realize there may already be no way back.