After Alexey saw Maxim with Alina, he burst into his room, and his self-control collapsed. The room became the arena for his inner battle. He paced like a cornered animal in a cage—each step a blow to his own pride. "Why? Why does it hurt me so much?"—this thought, like a shard of glass, pierced his consciousness, drowning out the roar of destruction. In a fit of blind fury, he hurled the laptop. The desk it stood on toppled over. The figurines on the nightstand flew after it. The last time he had been in such a rage was when Alina disappeared five years ago. And now, Maxim was her fiancé.
Alexey stopped by the window, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. Maxim is doing everything to help Alina. She chose him. He is the hero of her play, and Alexey is the director who sits in the dark and hates the finale. But why was the jealousy so suffocating? Maybe because yesterday I felt that she needed me. Today she's with someone else. Is she playing us both? Why does this pain, this inability to let go, burn me from the inside? Rage swept over him again, incinerating logic and the last vestiges of common sense.
A quiet, yet persistent, knock sounded on the door.
— Enter! — Alexey roared, his voice frayed like a broken cable.
Igor, his assistant, whose composure was always the perfect opposite of his own fervor, walked in. He surveyed the wreckage—a landscape of emotional catastrophe—with professional, surgical indifference.
— You requested the report, — Igor stated, as if announcing stock market figures.
— And? — Alexey snatched a glass from the desk. It was already the third one. He flung it against the opposite wall. Shards flew out in a fan, but Igor didn't even flinch.
— Nothing suspicious was recorded during the fall from the mountain. At the party, you ordered no filming, so there's no footage. However, I managed to find this.
He handed Alexey a tablet. Images flickered across the screen—Karina and Maxim. The audio quality was poor, but phrases broke through clearly, like gunshots:
— "...you need to use fire. She has to be scared. That will force her to be closer to you..." — Karina's voice, cold and calculated, sounded. — "...I personally checked the safety." "It should look grand, not bloody, Karina. We agreed on a spectacle, not harm"...
Seeing the video, Alexey immediately headed for the exit. The deceit was proven.
Igor caught up with him, blocking his path:
— There is nothing about drugs here, Alexey. Only about the staging of danger on the mountain.
— I don't care, — Alexey snapped, pushing the assistant aside. — She's touching Alina with her dirty hands. And that's enough.
Alexey found Karina on the set, where work was in full swing. Decorators in black T-shirts were assembling a massive stage made of frosted glass and neon strips. It was a minimalistic, cold backdrop for the new tactile challenge. The crew scurried everywhere: cameramen hastily laid cables, lighting technicians adjusted gigantic softboxes, and Karina's assistants barked commands over the radio, nipping the slightest chaos in the bud. Karina stood in the center of this controlled frenzy, looking authoritative and flawless, like an orchestra conductor. Without explanation, Alexey led her into the control room and played the video on the tablet.
— Why, Karina? Why are you harming Alina?
Karina looked at the screen with genuine astonishment.
— What do you mean, harming? Maxim and I agreed he would solidify his position through heroism. But everything was safe! I personally checked every rope. What happened was an accident.
— Don't lie to me! You just couldn't harm her that way, so you decided to use drugs at the party? Why? Did you want to discredit her? Remove a rival?! That's vile, Karina!
— I don't know what you're talking about! — for the first time, genuine, unfeigned anger sounded in her voice. — I wouldn't jeopardize my project because of some dirty revenge! I'm not stupid. Why would I risk everything? Maxim's heroism was more beneficial to the project. I didn't slip drugs to anyone!
Alexey grabbed her shoulders.
— Listen to me carefully. If I see one more attempt to harm Alina, I will destroy you, Karina.
He released her and walked out without looking back. Karina stood, breathing heavily. Her face was pale.
— Marta! — she yelled to her assistant. — Marta!!!!!
The assistant hurried into the control room.
— Immediately pull up all backup recordings from the hidden cameras! Everything! The party, all scenes with Maxim, the rock climbing challenge! I want to know who dared to play their dirty games here!
Alina and Maxim were returning from breakfast. Suddenly, Maxim's phone vibrated in his hand. He stopped abruptly, looked at the screen, and something instantly extinguished in his eyes—the warm mask slipped, revealing cold steel.
— Yes, listening, — he said quietly into the phone, turning away from Alina. His tone became guarded, almost hissing. He answered monosyllabically, carefully choosing his words so Alina couldn't catch the thread of the conversation.
A minute later, he hung up, returning his usual, slightly condescending smile to his face, but it looked strained.
— Sorry, darling. They called from the institute. Some formalities with my papers again. — He tried to caress her cheek, but Alina pulled away. She herself didn't understand why his affection had become unpleasant to her. — You go ahead, I need to finish up some things.
Alina nodded. She turned the corner and ran into Alexey. Seeing him, Alina instinctively tried to retreat.
— Alina, stop! We need to talk!
— Don't you dare touch me, scumbag!— in her eyes was a mix of horror and hatred, a lethal cocktail of emotions.
He caught her wrist.
— Are you avoiding me? Why?
— Why?!— She wrenched her hand free. — You know perfectly well! You drugged me! What were you trying to achieve?! Did you want to humiliate me? Compromise me in front of my fiancé?
— I didn't do that! It was Karina! She... thinks she's my fiancée.
— Don't lie! Your fiancée?! And even if she is, do you really think your fiancée would set another woman up with her own fiancé?!
Alexey wanted to tell her about the conspiracy, he wanted to tell the truth about everything, but the fear that Alina would hate him for such a dishonest game squeezed his throat so tightly he couldn't speak.
— Alina, I...
— Shut up!
She slapped him across the cheek with all her strength. The sharp crack echoed through the empty corridor. Alexey froze. At that moment, Alina felt a sharp vibration from the phone in her pocket. On the screen—"Mommy." Alina went cold.
— Hello?
In response, a weak, gasping voice sounded:
— Alinochka... it's Mom. I feel bad... They... they came, they threatened me. I couldn't take it, darling, my heart... I'm in the hospital. Please, find that money! Help me! I beg you...
The phone slipped from Alina's numb fingers and fell onto the marble floor. Alexey, standing two steps away, heard not only the words "threatened" and "hospital" but also her mother's desperate sob, full of pain and terror. His face contorted with a sudden, chilling realization: this wasn't just a game, it was a real, physical danger. The threats Maxim spoke of were real, and Karina wasn't playing. Alina's eyes widened in horror. Her mother was in the hospital. The threats had become reality. Now she had no time left.
At that moment, Maxim's voice rang out:
— Darling, what happened?
Maxim, clenching his fists, approached Alina and coldly looked Alexey up and down.
— Everything is fine, — Alina said softly.
— Then let's go.
Maxim took Alina by the elbow and literally dragged her away, throwing a triumphant, contemptuous look at Alexey. How he wished he could stop Maxim. But by what right? He was her fiancé, and Alexey was an echo of the past.
In the room, Maxim didn't release Alina until he had slammed the door shut. He was furious. He violently pinned Alina against the wall, catching her gaze.
— What the hell was that?! — His voice vibrated like a taut string, but the hand gripping her waist was surprisingly soft, almost affectionate, which only amplified the menace. — We had an agreement! You are breaking the rules!
— Leave me alone, Maxim! I... I don't feel well.
— Don't feel well?! — He squeezed her shoulders painfully. — Or have you forgotten what you're here for? For your mother! Do you want to go back to him? Do you want him to humiliate you again? Do you want to lose the prize for him? Or are you hoping he'll give you money?! And I can't give you anything?!
— No!
— Then show me that! — He wasn't just demanding; he explored her face with his fingertips, like a sculptor finding a flaw, forcing an intimacy she wanted to recoil from. — Show me you're mine. I'm tired of your cold game, Alina. Yesterday you were fire, melting in my hands. Don't pretend it was just the drugs. I want you to want to be with me without drugs. I want to see your sincerity toward me.
His lips found her neck, caressing and biting simultaneously—a sweet, coercive violence meant to silence her mind. He lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes, where the fire of possession burned, pure and merciless.
— I am your fiancé. I am saving your mother, Alinochka. I am giving you everything. In return, I demand only your sincerity. Do you have it? — He used manipulation again as the most powerful aphrodisiac, poisoning her will.
Alina felt fear, guilt, and despair mixing with a spark of perverse, forced submission. Her body, betrayed by her mind, began to respond to his skillful caresses. It was a shameful, humiliating capitulation.
She did not resist, allowing him to take what he desired. While his fingers and lips slid over her, she stared at the ceiling, feeling empty and detached, like an object, not a woman. Her mind desperately clung to a straw: "He is my fiancé. He has the right to do what he is doing. But why does this feel so wrong? Every touch of his is painful and disgusting. But why? Do I have the right to reject the man who loves me so much and does so much for me?"
Driven not by passion but by a hunger for possession, Maxim didn't even notice the detached emptiness he cultivated in Alina. He wanted to possess her. He wanted to feel her completely again, but he received only compliance, born of fear and blackmail. Her silent, soulless body became a trophy for him, won not by love but by force, which, to him, seemed equivalent to a total triumph.