The tides turn

The days following Anton Vasiliev's press conference were marked by a surge of media coverage. News anchors dissected every word, tabloids speculated on Marina's whereabouts, and social media buzzed with hashtags demanding her safe return.

Inside the Castellano estate, the atmosphere grew heavier with each passing hour. Marina spent most of her time in her room, avoiding Viktor and the growing sense of entrapment she couldn't shake. Yet, she wasn't sure if it was her father's calculated lies or Viktor's domineering presence that unsettled her more.

Viktor sat in his private study, the large mahogany desk before him covered in papers and reports from his trusted network. Dimitri and Matteo were seated across from him, their expressions grim.

"This is a trap," Dimitri said, his tone firm. "Anton doesn't care about Marina. He's using this to bait you into making a mistake."

Viktor leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on Dimitri. "You think I don't know that?"

Nikolai, ever the pragmatist, poured himself a glass of scotch from the bar in the corner. "The question is, how do you plan to respond? Anton's painted himself as the grieving father. If we stay silent, he controls the narrative."

Viktor's jaw tightened. "We don't play his game. Let him stir the pot. When the time comes, we'll make our move."

Matteo raised an eyebrow. "And Marina? You think she'll just sit quietly while her father drags her name through the mud?"

At the mention of her name, Viktor's expression softened—just slightly. "She's stronger than she looks. She'll handle it."

Dimitri exchanged a glance with Matteo but said nothing.

That evening, Marina wandered the estate's sprawling gardens, her thoughts a chaotic swirl. The cool night air did little to calm her racing mind. She felt trapped, like a pawn in a game she didn't understand.

The sound of footsteps behind her made her stop. She turned to see Viktor approaching, his tall frame illuminated by the moonlight. He looked impossibly striking, his black suit tailored to perfection, his movements fluid and confident.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.

Marina crossed her arms, her gaze wary. "Hard to relax when the world thinks I've been kidnapped."

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "Your father is using this to his advantage. He doesn't care about you, Marina. He never did."

She looked away, the truth of his words cutting deeper than she cared to admit. "And you do?"

Viktor's eyes darkened, and for a moment, the mask he always wore slipped. "I didn't take you in out of kindness. You know that. But that doesn't mean I'll let him destroy you."

The intensity in his voice made her heart skip a beat. She wanted to hate him, to resist the pull he had over her, but it was impossible. He was magnetic, a force of nature she couldn't escape.

"You think you have all the power," she said, her voice trembling with anger. "But you don't own me."

He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers. "Don't I?"

The challenge in his tone made her pulse race. She should have stepped back, but instead, she stood her ground, her breath hitching as he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"You can hate me all you want, Marina," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "But you can't deny what's between us."

Her heart pounded in her chest as his hand lingered near her face, his touch sending shivers down her spine. She hated how easily he unraveled her defenses, how his presence consumed her thoughts.

"You're infuriating," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His lips curved into a faint smirk. "And you're irresistible."

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the moonlit garden.

But just as quickly as the moment ignited, it ended. Viktor stepped back, his expression unreadable.

"Get some rest," he said, his tone reverting to its usual command. "Tomorrow, things will get more complicated."

Marina watched as he walked away, her emotions a storm she couldn't control. She hated him, wanted him, and feared him all at once.

One thing was certain—Viktor Castellano was more dangerous than she had ever imagined.

Back at the Vasiliev estate, Anton sat in his office, his fingers steepled as he listened to the latest updates from his informant.

"She's still at the Castellano estate," the man reported, his voice steady.

Anton's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Good. Let her think she's safe. When the time is right, we'll strike."

He leaned back in his chair, his mind already crafting the next move in his deadly game. Marina may have escaped his grasp, but she was still his pawn. And Viktor Castellano would soon learn that no one crossed Anton Vasiliev and lived to tell the tale.