Dimitri's private chamber was as vast as it was dimly lit. Expensive paintings lined the walls, and a white tiger hide lay across the floor. Dimitri seated Maya on a luxurious velvet sofa. Maya's eyes scanned the room, noting a small laboratory-like setup in one corner, with medical instruments neatly arranged.
An alarm bell rang in her mind. Dimitri approached, holding a silver tray. On it rested a small syringe and a vial filled with a blue liquid.
Dimitri sat beside her, gently rolling the syringe between his fingers, his voice cold and measured:
"Maya, I want to trust you. But my empire doesn't stand on trust—it stands on truth. This blue liquid," he gestured to the vial, "we call it The Blue Truth. It compels people to speak honestly."
Maya's heart raced. If she took the injection, her true identity, her DGFI mission, even Ricky's memory—everything would be revealed. Her training had prepared her to endure torture, but this drug was unstoppable.
Dimitri flicked a drop of the liquid into the air, letting it glint in the dim light. "Do not fear. It won't kill you. It will only tear down the walls hiding your mind's deepest secrets. Are you truly just an ordinary girl—or someone like Ricky? That will become clear now."
Hearing Ricky's name made Maya flinch. Had Dimitri already discovered her connection to him?
Dimitri gripped her fair hand with his left, bringing the syringe to her vein. Maya understood: one wrong move, and everything would be lost. She returned her golden eyes and a playful smile, the same mask she had worn before.
Leaning close, she placed her hand on his wrist, her voice soft but laced with intensity:
"Dimitri, if you do not trust me, you don't need the injection—kill me now. What you're seeking isn't in my blood; it's in my heart. Tell me… do you wish to turn me into a lab rat instead of sharing a romantic dinner?"
She applied pressure on his hand, as if agreeing to take the injection, but in truth, she was trying to manipulate him mentally.
Dimitri no longer spoke. His icy blue eyes hardened, a merciless glint surfacing. He twisted her chin with a sly smile.
"Beautiful tears cannot change my mind, Maya. Truth gives me far more pleasure."
With that, he plunged the syringe into her vein. Maya cried out in pain, but escaping Dimitri's iron grip was impossible. As the blue liquid coursed through her, her head began to spin. The golden world before her eyes gradually dimmed.
She fought to maintain control of her subconscious, but the drug was overwhelming. Her heartbeat surged; her body went limp. She saw Dimitri leaning close, whispering:
"Tell me, Maya… who are you? Who sent you? And Ricky—what is he to you?"
Her golden eyes, now clouded by the drug, flickered. In a hoarse, faint voice, she murmured,
"Ricky… Ricky is my…"
Images flooded her mind: the green fields of Bangladesh, the DGFI headquarters, and Ricky's final kiss, all spinning chaotically. She could no longer hold herself together. Her words began to spill:
"I am an agent from Bangladesh."
But then Ricky's voice echoed in her subconscious: "Sophia, in our line of work, truth is death."
Caught in the haze, Maya laughed strangely. She clutched Dimitri's collar and whispered,
"Ricky… Ricky was my love… but you killed him. I… I came to see your blue eyes up close, Dimitri…"
Dimitri arched a brow, leaning even closer.
"Who are you talking about? Who killed Ricky? Are you a spy?"
Maya's mind was split in two. One part wanted to speak the truth; the other wanted to survive. She said, half-truth, half-lie:
"A spy? No… I am just a cursed lover. Ricky was not your enemy… he was your business partner who planned to betray you… so I removed him. I only want to be yours…"
Under the drug's influence, Maya spun a tangled story of truth and deception, trying to confuse Dimitri. But her body was growing limp; her eyes could barely stay open. Watching her drift, Dimitri carefully placed her on his chest as she collapsed.
He set the syringe aside, his gaze contemplative. The girl had spoken a confusing mix of truth and lies, increasing his suspicion. She was clearly not an ordinary woman—her intentions, her skills, all hinted at something far more dangerous.
Dimitri gently lifted her, laying her on the vast, white velvet bed in his Moscow estate. Her blood-red sheer dress glowed against the white sheets like fire. He removed his coat and sat close, eyes drawn to a subtle bulge in her dress. Carefully, he retrieved a small item from her hidden pocket—a tiny red-and-green badge. The colors of the Bangladeshi flag.
Dimitri's jaw tightened. This was no ordinary mafia girl; she was a shadow agent from far away. Crushing the badge in his hand, he muttered:
"So, you're from that secret unit in Bangladesh, Maya… or should I call you Sophia?"
His gaze then fell on her necklace, suspecting a locket that might link to Ricky. For now, he decided: he would not kill her. He wanted to see how this girl, once awake, would conceal her true identity.
The next morning:
Maya awoke with a pounding headache. She was in Dimitri's grand bed, snow falling outside the Moscow windows. Quickly, she checked herself—her dress was intact. Then her eyes fell on the small table beside the bed.
The red-and-green badge lay there. Next to it, a glass of water and a note:
"Your country's flag is beautiful, Sophia. But the Moscow frost does not preserve its colors for long. Come down—breakfast awaits."
Her heart froze. Her true identity had been discovered! Would she attempt to escape, or confront Dimitri in the ultimate showdown?
Sophia—Maya—knew in a DGFI agent's vocabulary, there was no such word as escape. If Dimitri wanted her dead, he could have done it while she was unconscious. Her survival meant he was playing a game.
She prepared herself. From her bag, she drew a small white sheer dress. The red dress had symbolized anger and vengeance; this white one was a signal of calm yet deadly intent. She laced her feet into luxurious CESARE Paciotti heels, the sharp clack of which could stop any man's heart.
Scene: The luxurious dining hall
Dimitri sat alone, black coffee and a Russian breakfast before him. The click of heels reached his ears.
Seeing Maya in white was like seeing a part of Moscow's frost itself. Her eyes now held no performance—only direct challenge. She sat across from him, posture taut.
Dimitri sipped his coffee, calm:
"Cesare Paciotti heels and a white dress… I must admit, Sophia, you have taste. But do you know? Blood stains on white are hard to clean."
Maya sliced an apple from her plate with a small knife, voice steady:
"I do not fear blood, Dimitri. I fear unfinished missions. You know my identity, which makes my task easier. There's no need for Maya to pretend sweetness anymore."
Dimitri smiled and pushed the red-and-green badge toward her:
"I know why you came—for Ricky, correct? But Sophia, are you certain it was I who killed Ricky? Ricky was my business partner. Killing him would have cost me millions. Has your headquarters told you the whole truth?"
Sophia gripped her knife tightly. Doubt began to seed in her mind. She growled,
"Do not lie! Ricky came to your house for intel, and that's where he was shot."
Dimitri stood, moving behind her. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder as he whispered:
"He was shot from behind, Sophia. My men fought upfront, not from the rear. Ricky was close to you, yes? Consider—could there be a traitor among your own? Someone who didn't want Ricky to return alive?"
Sophia froze. Were Dimitri's words truth, or a deadly trap?
Then, unexpectedly, Dimitri moved strangely. He shifted behind her, his hand brushing her shoulder where Ricky's final presence lingered.
Leaning close to her ear, he traced his long fingers over the exposed skin of her neck, mimicking the touch Ricky had once given her. His lips grazed her earlobe, the memory of Ricky's love echoing in his actions.
Sophia shuddered with humiliation and revulsion. Dimitri seemed intent on occupying Ricky's space, or perhaps using that memory to mentally break her.
He twisted her chin, blue eyes burning with primal desire and authority.
"Ricky is gone, Sophia. Now I want ownership—of this body, this will, everything. Do you want to find your Ricky's killer? I will help you—but in return, you must become my queen in this palace."
Sophia understood: Dimitri wanted not only her mind but her body under his control. Ricky's sacred love was being desecrated.
Her right hand rested under the table on the hilt of a sharp knife. Would she endure Dimitri's violating touch—or begin the first step of her revenge right now?