Watch Sebastian Clarke Burn

Morana's Point Of View

The crisp morning air felt foreign against my skin as I stepped out of Nikolai's house. I pulled the soft fabric of my dress tighter around me, inhaling deeply as if I could shake off the strange warmth that still clung to me from the night before.

I needed to leave.

Now.

The house itself was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside me. My heels clicked against the polished marble as I walked toward the entrance, aware of the weight of his presence behind me.

I didn't need to turn around to know he was following me.

Nikolai Volkov.

I had made a mistake last night. A terrible, foolish mistake.

And now, I was running.

I forced myself to keep my voice steady. "Where's my car?"