Volkov's Web

The corridor of the Grand Vesterra Hotel smelled of old carpets and ozone from the rain beating against the third-floor windows.

Cassian Ashcroft had walked past a dozen doors just like this, all of them were identical and closed. His feet had slowed Infront of Room 314.

This was it.

Cassian was dressed in a classic grey button-down shirt, the shirt had a chest pocket with a subtle contrasting white trim, and the sleeves were casually rolled up to his elbows. The top buttons were undone. On his waist were relaxed-fit beige cotton completed with Suede Loafers.

He stood in front of Room 314, his rain-dampened coat heavy against his shoulders. He was thirty-nine years old, but as he stared at the tarnished metal numbers on the door, he felt a century older. His hands, rough and calloused from decades of working espresso levers, wiping down wooden tables, and dragging heavy crates of coffee beans, were shoved deep into his pockets to hide the slight tremor in his fingers.

He shouldn't be here. Every instinct he possessed—every shred of dignity he had managed to preserve through the worst years of his life was screaming at him to turn around, walk down the stairs, and let the storm soak him on the way home.

But there was no home to go back to if he walked away.

By eight o'clock tomorrow morning, the bailiffs would arrive at The Golden Bean.

They would slap a bright yellow

repossession notice on the front glass—the very glass his late wife, Annelise, had spent hours polishing, the glass their son had drawn silly faces on with steam when he was small. The café was the last physical anchor keeping Cassian from dissolving into the ghost of his past. And the debt collectors had been merciless. Thirty million Vesterrach Shillings. An impossible sum, accumulated over nine years of medical bills, predatory interest rates, and desperate loans to keep the business afloat.

Then came the message. The anonymous invitation had come through his lawyer: "An interested party was willing to settle the debt on the Golden Bean in full, under the following terms. Cassian had almost thrown the letter out the first time he read it, the letter had every shape of scam one could imagine and right now, he wasn't in any position to be scammed of money he didn't even have.

The letter had no company letterhead. No name. Just a hotel, a room number, a date circled in his lawyers pen and three lines of terms that Cassian had read so many times the words and started to blur into something meaningless.

"It's not a scam" his lawyer had told him, not sounding convinced himself. "Since you refused to go meet them in Aschenburg, they said they'll be flying in, Cassian they're flying in just for this. I don't think there's anyone this passionate about 'scamming' "

'Flying in'. As if he was the one being done a favour, rather than the one about to handover whatever dignity he had left in exchange for money.

He had spent the whole drive rehearsing the version of himself that would turn around and not walk into that hotel. Maybe he had let the bank and loan sharks fight over who gets the café while he struggled to keep himself intact and continued pushing through life.

Yet he hadn't turned around.

Every text exchanged to arrange tonight had come from a single name "Roma" So Cassian had assumed without much thought that it belonged to a woman.

"I haven't done this in years" he murmured before swallowing down the bitter taste of bile in his throat.

He pulled a hand from his pocket and raised it, his knuckles hovering an inch from the dark wood. His jaw set into a hard, cold line. He didn't speak much these days. Words felt like wasted energy when your life had already collapsed.

Just do it, he told himself. Sell what's left.

He knocked three times.

For a moment, there was only the hum of the air conditioning. Then, the click of a lock turning. The door swung open.

Cassian's breath hitched, his cold exterior cracking just enough for shock to register in his eyes.

Cassian first thought was that there had been some mistake. "Did I get the room number wrong?"

He had expected an old woman. A bloated, wealthy predator with graying hair. Not only was the figure standing in the doorway a man but he looked as though he had stepped straight off a luxury magazine cover.

He was young. Terribly young. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three.

Broad-shouldered, tanned and tall, draped in a tailored black silk shirt with the top buttons casually undone, he radiated a weird power. His dark, wild hair framed a face sculpted with sharp, aristocratic angles, and a single beaded earring glinted in the warm hallway light.

Cassian instinctively took a step back, his brow furrowing. "I... have the wrong room," he muttered, "My apologies."

He turned to leave, his pride flaring like a dying ember. He was nearly forty years old; he wasn't going to be toyed with.

"You're in the right place, Cassian," a voice called out. It was smooth and deep.

Cassian froze, his heel hovering over the worn carpet. He turned back slowly.

"I was told I would be meeting a---"

Sasha cut him off "A woman?"

The young man was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. A smirk spread across his lips, revealing a sharp canine.

Cassian nodded

The young man grinned "Now what could have possibly given you that absurd notion?"

"I can't.....I just can't do this" he folded his fist. He was still trying to understand what was happening, whatever this was, it didn't make any sense to him and in this confusing moment he had finally found the zeal to 'turn around'. He took a step back towards the elevator.

"Thirty Million Vesterrach Shillings," the young man said casually, tilting his head. "Held by the Falkenrath holding group. Due by sunrise. You walk out that door right now, Mr. Ashcroft, and the wrecking ball hits your precious little café before you even finish brewing your morning roast. Is your pride really worth more than the last thing you have left of them?"

Cassian felt as if the air had been kicked from his lungs. The mention of his café—the casual threat wrapped in that smooth voice hit him like a physical blow. But what confused him more how did he know about the importance of the café?

He pushed a stray lock of raven hair out of his eyes, his pale, silver gaze tracking Cassian's move"You could walk away, but the offer expires the moment you do"

Cassian went still, his hands trembling.

Inside the room, hidden behind a smile Sasha Volkov watched the older man shudder.

After all these years... Sasha thought, after everything...you still refuse to let it go. Cassie, you're ready to destroy yourself for that little café.

To the rest of Vesterrach, Sasha was Roman Ivanovich Volkov, the brilliant heir to Ironline Construction—a multi-billion-Shilling empire that secretly ran the country's most dangerous illicit arms network. But to himself, in this room, he was simply Sasha. The boy whose favourite pastime was staring at Cassian, envying the warmth Cassian gave to everyone else. The boy who had systematically dismantled Cassian's life, piece by piece, brick by brick, just to drive him into this exact room.

"Step inside," Sasha said gently, "Or leave. The choice is entirely yours."

Cassian stood motionless in the corridor for five seconds. His mind raced, searching for an exit, a miracle, anything. Finding none, he closed his eyes, took a silent breath, and stepped across the room.

The door clicked shut behind him. The sound of the latch sliding into place sounded like a cell door locking.

His senses were assaulted by the scent of expensive amber cologne.

The room was an ultra-modern master suite defined by dramatic angles and expensive taste. A towering, sloped ceiling of dark wood slats stretched towards a wall of expansive skylights. A low-profile platform bed upholstered in pale gray velvet with a tall, channeled headboard framed in gleaming brass, layered with crisp white linens and a sage green throw.The king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, its white sheets smooth and untouched, the room was dimly lit by cylinder pendant lights that hung low like glowing drops of crystal. Deep charcoal rugs softened the concrete flooring, while an adjoining open-plan lounge area.

Cassian was lost for words, he didn't know what a "master suite" looked like but he was more than certain this was it. His shock didn't last long as his mind subconsciously reminded him of why he was in this hotel with someone who looked young enough to be Leo's age.

Cassian kept his back stiff, standing near the entry table, refusing to move any further into the space. He kept his eyes lowered, unable to look directly at the young man who was supposed to be "Roma".

Sasha walked past him, like a cat pacing its cage. He poured two fingers of liquor into a crystal glass at the side table.

"You look tense," Sasha murmured, turning around. "Look at me, Cassian."

Cassian reluctantly lifted his gaze, But as he finally looked directly into the young man's face in the light of the room, he caught his breath.

The young man's eyes were wrong.

They weren't brown, blue, or green. They were a striking, eerie, liquid white—iridescent like mother-of-pearl, catching the ambient light of the lamps in a way that looked unearthly. They held a strange depth that made Cassian's skin crawl.

"Your eyes..." Cassian blurted out before he could stop himself, "Are you... are you blind?"

Sasha paused, his glass halfway to his lips. Then, the sharp edges of Sasha's expression melted away, replaced by a soft, almost vulnerable innocence. He lowered his gaze slightly, tilting his head towards the sound of Cassian's voice rather than his face, one hand lifting as though he wanted to feel the air around Cassian. "Sorry....I can't quite.....where are you standing exactly"

So he's indeed blind..... Cassian thought

"Sensory degradation," Sasha said, his voice dropping into a sad tone. "A genetic anomaly from birth. I can only see vague shapes and light."

He took a slow step closer to Cassian, stopping just a foot away. Cassian could feel the heat radiating off the younger man's body.

"I won't even be able to see your face," Sasha added softly, his iridescent eyes staring blankly over Cassian's shoulder. "If that makes you feel any better about... whatever shame you're carrying."

A sudden wave of relief washed over Cassian. The humiliation that had been building in his chest loosened its grip, just a fraction. He wouldn't be looked at. He wouldn't have to bear the filthy gaze of this stranger while he degraded himself to save his café.

"I see," Cassian whispered, his posture relaxing slightly. "Thank you for... telling me."

For two seconds, the room was dead silent.

Then, a loud sound broke the stillness.

It started as a low chuckle in the back of Sasha's throat. The sound grew, turning into a loud melodic laughter that vibrated through the quiet room.

Cassian's heart cold-plunged into his stomach. "What?"

Sasha raised his head. The blank, unseeing look in his eyes vanished instantly, Those white, iridescent eyes locked directly onto Cassian's pupils, tracking the slight tremble of his lower lip with precision.

Sasha leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of Cassian's ear as he spoke.

"I'm kidding, Cassian," Sasha purred, "My sight is absolutely perfect. I can see every single detail of you. The hairs at your temples...the million freckles on your face...the rain on your collar... the way your pulse is beating right here in your neck."

Cassian recoiled, horror dawning over his face as he realized he had been played like a fool. "You—"

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" Sasha interrupted, stepping back and taking a sip of his drink. He leaned his hip against the edge of the desk, folding his arms. The playful facade was gone.

"I didn't pay thirty million Shillings to touch a man in the dark," Sasha said, his grin stretching wider as he watched the blood drain from Cassian's face. "I paid to see what I bought."

Cassian stood frozen. He felt exposed, foolish, and deeply disgusted with himself for believing, even for a second, that there was a shred of mercy in this room.

"Take off your clothes," Sasha commanded, setting his glass down on the desk, "Slowly. I want to watch every single second of it."

Cassian's breath rattled in his throat. His instincts screamed at him to wipe the arrogant grin off the boy's face, to turn around, to smash the glass on his head. But the image of his café—the last remnant of his son Leo, of his wife Annelise—flashed in his mind like a burning sign.

For them, he thought bitterly. Just survive this.

Slowly Cassian began undressing, He reached up. His hands, usually steady when holding a portafilter or fixing a broken chair, were trembling. His demeanor was shattered, leaving only the exposed nerves of a man who had hit rock bottom.

He unzipped his coat, letting it fall to the carpet. Then, his numb fingers moved to the remaining few buttons of his shirt.

Sasha didn't move a muscle. He sat back, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes glittering like crushed diamonds in the lamplight. A deeply satisfied smirk curved his lips as he watched the older man unravel, savoring every drop of Cassian's shame.

I have dreamt about this day for as long as I can remember. Sasha thought, his heart dancing with joy.