As the mysterious woman in the VIP room remained absorbed in the files, the heavy door opened silently. Viktor entered. The agony of that rooftop scream from three weeks ago had changed him, but his dominance remained unshaken.
Viktor was no longer in his royal velvet cloak or high-collar tunic. He wore a white formal shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Around his neck was a light-colored tie, not tied traditionally, but loosely draped—an expression of somber elegance.
The most striking change was in his eyes. Viktor wore a new pair of glasses. The frame and style were different from before; they featured a modern, distinct design on the sides. Behind these lenses, his blue eyes appeared colder and more vigilant than ever.
Viktor: (In a deep, grave voice) "Who are you? How did you find the audacity to touch my private files without my permission?"
When Viktor came face-to-face with the orange-haired girl on the sofa, he froze for a moment. The girl wore those familiar slim-framed glasses—the exact style Viktor used to wear. From behind his new glasses, Viktor began to observe her with a piercing intensity.
On one side of the VIP room stood Viktor in his white shirt, while on the other sat the mysterious woman in her dark shirt and tie. This contrast (White vs. Dark/Black) signaled the start of a new war. After losing Alia three weeks ago, Viktor thought everything was over, but this girl's gaze reignited his old "primal sense of possession."
The Girl: (With a cold smile, without looking up from the files) "Permission? A King who cannot protect his own Queen doesn't deserve to be asked for permission to enter his empire, Viktor."
Viktor's jaw tightened. Beneath his white shirt, his heart thundered. Was this voice familiar? Or was it just a delusion of his mind? The father of five now stood before a strange, dangerous puzzle. Viktor rolled up the sleeves of his white formal shirt and stepped slowly toward the sofa. Though his steps carried the same old dominance, a deep curiosity and doubt flickered behind the newly designed glasses he wore today. The memories of three weeks ago still haunted him, and this girl's uncanny resemblance to Alia was making him increasingly restless.
He stopped right in front of her. The girl remained seated with immense confidence, dressed in her dark brown shirt and loose-fitting tie. Viktor leaned down to look into her eyes. The slim-framed glasses she wore identical to his own previous style sent his heart rate into a frenzy.
Viktor: (In a low, gravelly voice) "I am impressed by your courage. But my patience has limits. The contents of these files belong only to the ruler of this empire. Now tell me what is your name?"
The girl slowly looked up from the files. Her vibrant orange hair glowed like a flame under the ceiling lights. She adjusted her glasses slightly on the bridge of her nose and looked directly into Viktor's new lenses. That same mysterious smile played on her lips.
The Girl: (Letting out a cold sigh) "What is in a name, Viktor? A name is just an identity. Sometimes people change them, and sometimes the name itself becomes a curse."
Viktor noticed the small tattoo beneath her white lace choker. A familiar scent reached his nose one that had vanished three weeks ago on that snow-covered rooftop. His 'primal sense of possession' urged him to grab her hand, but he restrained himself.
Viktor: "I won't ask a second time. Who are you? And why are you sitting in front of me wearing my old style of glasses?"
The girl stood up from the sofa. In her modern attire of grey formal trousers and a black belt, she stood at the same height as Viktor. She stepped dangerously close, pretending to fix a button on his white shirt.
The Girl: "People call me 'Oriniska'. But to you, I might just be the 'shadow' you lost three weeks ago." Viktor sat back on the sofa, a deceptive calmness settling over his powerful frame, though a devastating storm lurked beneath the surface. He rested his left hand on the armrest, where a luxury Diamond Rolex shimmered, its diamonds announcing a cold, ruthless elegance under the VIP room lights.
From behind his newly designed glasses, Viktor looked at the mysterious girl and let out a strange laugh—one laced with both mockery and a profound, hidden truth.
Viktor: (Gazing at his Rolex with a cold smile) "Hummm... BE REAL. BE YOU. When you finally return, Alia Isrovona will come back with a fire of terrifying vengeance, just like me. But the question is... are you that Alia?"
The girl didn't hesitate for a second. She leaned in dangerously close to Viktor, her vibrant orange hair spilling over his white shirt. Looking directly into his eyes, she gave a crooked, daring smile.
The Girl: "Maybe... Viktor Alexeyevich. Maybe I am the nightmare that you created yourself."
As she spoke, her hand shot out with lightning speed, gripping Viktor's loose tie in her fist. With a sudden jerk, she pulled him toward her. Viktor's white shirt collar crumpled, and the frames of their glasses nearly touched.
The room crackled with tension. On one side was Viktor's diamond Rolex and aristocratic pride; on the other was the indomitable courage of the mysterious 'Oriniska.' Holding his tie, the girl brought him within the reach of her breath.
The Girl: "You speak of vengeance, Viktor? Vengeance has only just begun. The Shadow that once walked behind you now stands before you, capable of seizing you by the throat."
Viktor didn't move an inch. That mysterious smile remained etched on the corner of his lips. It was as if he had been waiting for this very moment for three weeks. The father of five finally realized that his Queen was no ordinary woman—she was an invincible Empress. The high-tension atmosphere of the VIP room shifted into a moment of profound intimacy in the blink of an eye. When Alia had gripped Viktor's tie to pull him close, she never expected him to make such a counter-move.
Viktor suddenly slid his hand—the one adorned with the Diamond Rolex—inside Alia's (or the mysterious Oriniska's) dark brown formal shirt. As he felt the familiar warmth of her skin and the frantic thrum of her heartbeat, his gaze transformed. A flicker of genuine shock and wonder crossed Alia's confident face, her eyes widening behind her slim-framed glasses.
With a sharp tug, Viktor pulled Alia even closer to his chest. Her vibrant orange hair spilled across the shoulder of his white shirt. Without a word, Viktor claimed her lips in a deep, thirsting kiss.
In the intensity of that kiss, the three weeks of separation, rage, and humiliation seemed to wash away. Releasing her slightly, Viktor leaned in to whisper against her ear
Viktor: "Didn't I tell you, Alia?This body, this scent, and this heartbeat—these things can never lie. Call yourself Oriniska or a shadow, but this hand of mine never fails to recognize its Queen."
Alia was still breathless, her formal shirt slightly disheveled and her tie still crumpled in Viktor's fist. She adjusted her glasses and looked into his eyes, her expression of shock melting into a bewitching smile.
Alia: (In a trembling voice) "You are as disobedient as ever, Viktor Alexeyevich. I thought my new persona would strike fear into you. But you... you are still blinded by that same primal sense of possession."
Viktor withdrew his hand from her shirt and gently touched her chin. The mother of five had revealed herself once again the loving yet formidable Queen standing before her Emperor. The "last day" they spoke of three weeks ago now felt like the prelude to a brand-new beginning. The breathless atmosphere of the VIP room has now transformed into a surge of primal and intense passion. Without a moment's delay, Viktor pinned Alia against the wall near the window in one swift motion. Between the icy touch of the wall and the searing heat of Viktor's body, Alia felt herself being consumed by his presence.
Viktor moved behind her. His hands, with the sleeves of his white formal shirt rolled up, began to deftly undo the buttons of Alia's dark brown shirt, one by one. Her vibrant orange hair spilled out in disarray under the touch of his fingers.
With one hand, Viktor gently brushed aside the white lace choker around her neck and gripped her throat with a firm, possessive hold. This was that familiar "primal sense of ownership" that always kept Alia in a strange, hypnotic trance. With his other hand, Viktor completely removed his own loose tie and used it to bind Alia's hands against the wall in a symbolic tether.
Viktor: (Breathing heat against the nape of her neck) "Three weeks... twenty-one days... five children... and this royal empire. Did you really think I could handle all this without you? Today, there is no Oriniska. Today, there is only my Alia."
Alia's back was pressed hard against the wall, her body trembling under Viktor's touch. Her slim-framed glasses had slipped slightly down her nose from the intensity of the moment. She tilted her head back, surrendering completely to his madness.
Alia: (In a gasping cry) "Ahhhhh... Viktor... do you have any idea how much I've suffered for this moment?"
Viktor: (Pressing a finger to her lips) "Shhhhhh... Alia. No more words tonight. Tonight is only for our union and the end of the three-week ache that tore us apart." The intensity in the VIP room reached an absolute peak of raw, untamed passion. As Viktor pressed Alia against the cold wall, their ragged breaths heavy in the air, his every touch became more forceful, driven by that relentless "primal sense of possession."
Viktor lowered his face to the crook of her neck, crushing her against his body with even more power. Alia's slim-framed glasses were now on the verge of falling off.
Viktor: (In a low, gravelly whisper against her ear) "Tell me, Alia... how does it feel? Is the thirst of these three weeks finally being quenched? Haaa?"
Alia couldn't find the words; her disheveled orange hair simply spilled over Viktor's shoulder. In that moment of their intense union, a deep sound of fulfillment (Hummmm) broke the silence of the room.
From behind, a striking sight was revealed. Viktor was still wearing his white formal shirt, but in the heat of the moment, it had bunched up and slumped down his back. Through the opening of the shirt, a large, mysterious Butterfly Tattoo emerged on Viktor's back. This tattoo acted as a hidden symbol of freedom, concealed beneath his rugged, cold mafia exterior.
Viktor then used both hands—one still adorned with the Diamond Rolex—to firmly grip Alia's slender waist. The remnants of her dark brown shirt were crumpled within his fists. The father of five, forgetting all the tensions of his empire, was desperate only to reclaim his Queen.
Viktor: (Tightening his grip on her waist) "You are going nowhere from this day forward. Don't try to spread your wings like this butterfly, Alia. Because today, your wings are trapped within the palm of my hand."
Alia rested her head on Viktor's shoulder, closing her eyes as she surrendered to the sensation. The fear of death from three weeks ago had finally transformed into the warmth of a new life.