1
Alexei's POV
The punch landed harder than I meant it to, the smack of leather on flesh echoing through the gym's high ceiling.
Stefan staggered back, breathless, grinning like a maniac. "Trying to knock my head off, Sokolov?"
"You duck too slow," I shot back, rolling my shoulders before circling him again. Sweat slid down my temple, the air thick with the smell of rubber mats and the faint metallic tang of blood, his, not mine.
We'd been doing this for years. Stefan Nikolić, CEO of the tech empire he's built from zero. Needed somewhere to unload the stress his board meetings didn't fix. I needed an outlet for everything else.
But under the gloves and bruises, we understood each other better than anyone else could.
"Your head's somewhere else," Stefan said between jabs. "Not that I'm complaining."
I blocked, jabbed, then let his words hang. My head was somewhere else. Somewhere I couldn't name.
"Work," I lied.
He laughed, low and knowing. "Yeah, sure. And I'm Jesus. Anyway, speaking of work-"
He dodged my hook, smirking.
"There's this fundraiser next week. I'm going. You should come. Might be good for you to meet someone who could actually survive talking to you for more than five minutes. Considering your lawyer quit-"
I punched him.
"Pass," I muttered, though my curiosity flickered.
"Suit yourself," he said, swinging again.
I didn't answer. Didn't tell him about the way my gut had been restless all week, like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn't see. I didn't want to go. Not because I'm antisocial, but because that fundraiser wasn't just any party. It was a stage where every move mattered.
But he was right. My last lawyer did quit. Said she doesn't work with assholes.
I'm not an asshole. I was just having a bad day.
Stop gaslighting yourself, Alexei.
But then again, I didn't have plans for tonight. Other than work like I always do.
Fuck it.
"Fine." I said. "I'll come."
Stefan grinned. "It's settled then. Match over. I won."
"No you didn't. I was ahead by two points."
"Yeah, sure."
Arguing with him was useless. He was one thick-headed, stubborn bastard.
"Same time next week?" He asked.
"Looking forward to beating your ass properly, Nikolić."
Irina's POV
The room was thick with quiet murmurs as the presentation unfolded. I was halfway through outlining our strategy when Jonathan, a senior partner with a knack for stirring the pot, cut in.
"Are we sure that the risk on the Henderson deal has been fully accounted for? Because I'm not seeing a comprehensive assessment here," he said, scanning his notes with a skeptical brow.
Before I could respond, Margaret, a longtime board member and someone who respected the work I'd put in, didn't hesitate.
"She already covered that, Jonathan. On slide seven, the risk factors were broken down in detail."
Jonathan blinked, clearly caught off guard. His cheeks flushed slightly as the room shifted uncomfortably.
I simply smiled, calm and collected.
"Thank you, Margaret. And just to add, the mitigation plans are already in motion with our legal team. We're ahead of schedule."
Jonathan cleared his throat, nodding stiffly.
I sipped my coffee, a smirk plastered on my face.
Being a corporate lawyer was exhausting.
This was going to be fun.
~~~~
I had just curled up on the couch, laptop on my knees, hair barely held together in a sad bun, when a sharp knock rattled the door.
“Who is it? If it’s the landlord again about recycling-” I muttered.
Another knock. Louder. Cheerful. Annoyingly cheerful.
“Open up, you hermit, before I use my emergency key!”
I groaned. Only one person would threaten illegal entry with that much flair. Dragging myself off the couch, I cracked the door.
Kataleya barreled in like she owned the place, heels clicking, perfume announcing her arrival, a whirlwind of energy. She immediately stole my mug of tea.
“Cold,” she declared dramatically, swirling it like she was inspecting wine. “You were going to drink this? Tragic.”
“Hey!” I reached for it, but she pirouetted away, grinning.
She flopped onto the couch and snatched my laptop like it was a toy.
“I was working,” I said flatly, gesturing toward the screen.
“At eight p.m.? In sweatpants?” she gasped, eyes wide. “God, Irina, one of these days I’m staging an intervention. Contracts. Thrilling. Truly the romantic life you deserve.”
I rolled my eyes, secretly loving the chaos she brought in like a storm that smelled faintly of mischief.
“So,” she said, tossing my laptop aside and poking me in the cheek, “Fundraiser. Tonight. You’re coming.”
Of course. That fundraiser. I got an invite, yes, but I had work to do.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have deadlines.”
“You have no social life. I refuse to let my sister fossilize.” she said, tugging at my bun until it toppled free and strands fell everywhere.
I swatted her hand away, laughing despite myself. “Kat, the last time you dragged me to one of your events, you left me stranded at the dessert table while you eloped with a jazz saxophonist for three hours.”
“Correction: almost eloped. And you’re welcome, you got free macarons for a month.” She winked.
I shook my head, exasperated, but warmth crept into my chest. This was Kataleya’s way, bulldozing through my solitude with laughter until I couldn’t remember why I wanted to be alone in the first place.
“Come on,” she said, tugging me by the arm, then my ankle, practically dragging me towards a bag I didn't notice she was carrying. “Pick something that doesn’t scream mourning the death of your social life.”
Of course I had a social life. But not the kind my influencer, fashion designer sister had.
I sighed, defeated, but the smile lingered. This was her. My sister. My chaos. And somehow, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
She was one stubborn goat. So if she set her mind on something, there was no changing it.
~~~~
The fundraiser was black-tie attire.
One of the dresses Leya unzipped from the bag she was carrying? Drop dead gorgeous.
A navy blue gown that glitters with every step, the sequins catching the light like a thousand tiny stars. The bodice is sculpted to perfection, strapless, structured, and tailored to hug every curve before cascading into soft, draped folds that flow to the floor.
A daring thigh-high slit adds just the right amount of drama.
My hair is neatly put into a bun, a few strands out to frame my face. Lips painted berry-pink.
I feel like a real-life princess in it.
Kataleya definitely knew what she was doing when designing it.
I stepped out of my bedroom.
Kataleya started jumping.
"Oh my gosh! You look soo pretty!"
"What can I say, my sister is a very talented fashion designer. I can introduce you to her if you'd like." I replied with a bow.
She laughed.
"Come on," she said, grabbing my hand. "My driver's waiting, we can't be late now, can we?"
"I'll be right back," Stefan muttered, already turning away before I could reply.
I nodded, took a slow sip of champagne, and let my gaze wander the room.
CEO's, celebrities, influencers, the list goes on.
I hated these rooms.
The chandelier light, too bright. The laughter, too rehearsed. Deals were brokered here with handshakes disguised as charity pledges. Every smile was a mask, every toast an investment.
Chatter and glasses clinking clouded my hearing.
Just then, my gaze snagged on someone.
Dark blonde hair, sleek and soft, a navy gown glittering like it had stolen the night sky. But what intrigued me, were her eyes. Cold, detached, calculating the room.
My gaze stayed on her longer than it should have. Too long.
Just then, a woman I vaguely recognized as a fashion designer leaned in to speak to her.
"You're going to burn a hole through her if you don't stop staring," Stefan's voice came from behind me.
"Who is she?" I kept my gaze on her.
"Why?" he asked, tone smug, as if he'd caught me doing something I'd deny.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to give him a look that said don't push me. "Answer the damn question, Stefan."
If there was one person that knew everyone, and I mean everyone, it was Stefan.
He sighed. "Irina Abeleva. Corporate lawyer. Works high-profile cases. Reputation's bulletproof. And she's-"
"What firm?" I cut in.
"Grayson Holt & Co."
Interesting.
I finally looked away from her, let the crowd swallow her again. Or tried to. But my eyes betrayed me, seeking her out every few minutes, as if testing if she was still there.
Stefan didn't ask me why again. He knew better than to ask questions he wouldn't get the answer to.
I just don't know why I asked.
