Preparing for the Volkov Banquet

As we stepped out of the club, the cold night air felt lighter—at least for me. For Gregory? Not so much.

He still looked a bit shaken from watching me break Irena without even needing to use my full strength.

I pulled out a cigarette, lighting it before turning to him with a smirk.

"Let's go buy some clothes."

Gregory blinked. "Huh?"

I took a drag and exhaled. "Your dad's organizing a party, right? It would be shameless to show up looking like some runaway hostage."

Gregory looked down at himself—his torn shirt, bloodstains, and bruises still fading from my healing. He sighed. "Tch. You have a point."

I flicked the cigarette away, stepping toward my Maserati MC20 and unlocking it with a click.

"Get in."

Gregory hesitated for a second before sighing and following.

I pulled up in front of one of the most expensive men's boutiques in the city. The kind of place that catered only to the rich, powerful, and people like me who didn't give a damn about price tags.

Gregory looked around as we stepped inside. "Damn. Could've just gone to a normal store, you know."

I smirked. "Do I look like a normal person to you?"

A well-dressed attendant immediately approached, bowing slightly.

"Welcome, Mr. Gebb. Mr. Volkov. How can we assist you today?"

Gregory shot me a look. "They know your name?"

I smirked, glancing at the attendant. "Give us your best. Black tux, tailored fit. And shoes that match."

The attendant nodded. "Right away, sir."

Gregory emerged from the fitting room in a sleek, custom-tailored black tuxedo, a crisp white shirt underneath.

His disheveled, hostage look was completely replaced with that of a polished, powerful heir.

He looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting the cufflinks. "Damn. Didn't realize I could clean up this well."

I chuckled. "Try not to look too impressed with yourself."

Gregory turned to me. "What about you? Not gonna change?"

I smirked, adjusting the cuffs of my own dark fitted suit.

"Already ahead of you."

My signature all-black ensemble—sleek, intimidating, and fitting for someone who didn't just attend parties… but owned the room the moment he walked in.

Gregory whistled. "You really live like this, huh?"

I exhaled, stepping toward the counter and swiping my black card without hesitation. "Luxury isn't a lifestyle. It's a mindset."

As we walked out of the boutique, Gregory stretched his arms.

"Alright, we're ready. Time to go see my old man."

I smirked.

"Yeah. And maybe cause a little trouble while we're at it."

(Abigail's POV)

The grand ballroom of the Volkov estate was bathed in golden light, the chandeliers casting a warm glow over the crowd of powerful elites.

The air buzzed with conversations, laughter, and the clinking of crystal glasses as the city's most influential figures mingled, forming alliances that could make or break industries.

And in the center of it all…

Abigail Bardot.

Dressed in a midnight-blue silk gown, fitted perfectly to her curves, she stood with the poise of a queen, her chin lifted, her lips curled in the faintest of confident smirks.

Her arm?

Looped through Joshua Lenin's.

The renowned film star, the face of countless luxury brands, and a man adored by millions.

Tonight, he wasn't just a celebrity.

He was her statement.

A reminder to the world that Abigail Bardot had everything.

Power. Wealth. Influence. And a man every woman dreamed of having.

Or at least, that's what she wanted them to believe.

Step One – Making an Entrance

As they stepped further into the ballroom, all eyes turned.

Whispers started.

"Is that Joshua Lenin?"

"Of course, he's with Abigail Bardot. They make such a stunning couple."

"They've been seen together a lot lately. Maybe she's finally moving on from that husband of hers."

Abigail's smile didn't falter, but inside…

A flicker of irritation sparked at the mention of Samuel.

That man refuses to disappear from my shadow…

Joshua, ever the charming actor, leaned in with a smirk. "Enjoying the attention?"

She turned her gaze to him, offering a polished smile. "It's expected, isn't it?"

He chuckled, his hand tightening around hers. "Well, let's give them a show, then."

With effortless grace, he guided her through the room, their presence commanding admiration and envy alike.

They stopped near Mikhail Volkov, the host of the evening.

The powerful Russian magnate greeted them with a knowing smile. "Miss Bardot, Mr. Lenin. A pleasure."

Abigail offered a polite nod. "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Volkov. Your events are always… unforgettable."

Mikhail's sharp eyes flickered with amusement. "I do hope tonight is no different."

Joshua extended a charming handshake. "Mikhail, I've always admired your empire. Perhaps one day, you'll let me play you in a biopic."

The older man chuckled. "If you can capture the weight of ruling a kingdom, Mr. Lenin, I'll consider it."

As they exchanged pleasantries, Abigail caught sight of several CEOs and investors glancing her way, gauging her next move.

This wasn't just a social event.

This was a battlefield.

And she was winning.

As they moved toward the champagne table, an elegant woman approached—Seraphina Langley, the CEO of a major media conglomerate.

Her red lips curled into a smirk. "Abigail. Always a vision. And with Joshua Lenin, no less. You do know how to make a statement."

Joshua smirked, sipping his drink. "Am I a statement, or just arm candy?"

Seraphina chuckled. "Why not both?"

Abigail's smile was polite, but she knew what this was.

A test. A probe.

These people wanted to see if she was truly in control—or if she was just playing pretend.

She lifted her glass, meeting Seraphina's gaze without flinching. "I don't need to make statements, Seraphina. People just happen to listen when I speak."

A flicker of amusement passed through Seraphina's eyes. "Spoken like a true queen."

Abigail took a slow sip of champagne. "I am."

Joshua smirked, clearly enjoying the exchange. "And what does that make me? The king?"

Abigail turned to him, tilting her head. "Would you like to be?"

Joshua chuckled, playing along. "Well, I do enjoy ruling hearts."

Seraphina laughed, clearly entertained. "Then I suppose you two are a perfect match."

As the night went on, Abigail danced, drank, and played her role flawlessly.

But as Joshua stepped away for a moment, talking with another celebrity, she let herself pause.

She glanced at her reflection in the golden mirror across the ballroom.

Perfect. Flawless. Untouchable.

And yet…

Something was missing.

Her fingers tightened around her champagne glass.

Samuel.

She hated that his name still lingered at the back of her mind, even on a night like this.

He should have been here.

He should have been watching.

He should have seen her winning.

Instead, he was nowhere to be found.

And for some reason, that irritated her more than anything else.