Isabella woke alone on the fifth morning to the sound of gulls and the low thrum of her own pulse between her legs. The bed beside her was cold. Viktor had left before dawn, summoned to the city by a single encrypted text. He had kissed her once (hard, possessive, almost tender) then locked the bedroom door from the outside.
She found the key exactly where he always hid it: taped beneath the lip of the nightstand. Arrogance or trust, she no longer cared.
The house was quiet. Luka’s boots no longer echoed in the hall; even the guards on the perimeter had been pulled for whatever emergency required the Wolf. For the first time in five days she walked the corridors unchallenged. She showered, dressed in one of Viktor’s black shirts and nothing else, and went looking for answers.
His office
