Snow pounded the windows like fists.
Larissa stood by the drawing-room fireplace, arms crossed tightly over her chest. A storm had rolled in faster than expected—whiteout conditions, ice-laced winds—and with it came a biting unease she couldn't name.
Lukyan was supposed to leave for Geneva at dawn.
But the storm had grounded all flights.
He paced now, phone pressed to his ear, voice sharp and low as he barked orders in Russian. Whatever he was hearing on the other end, it wasn't good.
She stared at the fireplace, watching shadows dance in the flames.
Something felt wrong.
Not just the storm. Not just the missing files Dmitri had intercepted. Not even the flash drive still tucked into the inner pocket of her coat.
Something deeper.
She'd lived with Lukyan for eight years. She'd studied him the way a lawyer studies contracts—every clause, every silence, every nuance. And something in him tonight was… fractured.
She turned as he hung up.
His jaw was tight. "Someone tampered with the plane manifest. My pilot is missing."
Her heart sank. "Missing?"
"His car was found two miles from the private airstrip. Empty."
"Dmitri," she whispered.
"Most likely."
Lukyan moved toward the sideboard and poured himself a drink. His hand shook. Barely. But enough.
That terrified her more than anything else.
"What are we walking into?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer at first.
Then: "Dmitri's been building his own version of the protocol we scrapped years ago. A neural mapping drug—unstable, addictive, impossible to regulate. He's testing it. On people."
Larissa swallowed hard. "Where?"
"I don't know yet. But I'm close. Too close, apparently."
He lifted the glass to his lips and downed it in one swig.
She walked over and took the glass from him, setting it aside. "No more walls, Lukyan. If we're doing this together, I need everything."
He looked at her, something raw behind his ice-blue eyes.
"He wants our daughter."
The room dropped to silence.
Alina. Their youngest. Barely two. Sweet, curious, fragile.
Larissa couldn't breathe. "What?"
"He approached the board last month through a proxy. He's trying to challenge my custody rights under Russian law. He wants to adopt her into his 'clinical legacy.'"
Her knees buckled, and she grabbed the back of a chair for support. "He wants to experiment on her?"
"He wants to raise her as his heir. Mold her."
"No," she said, voice shaking. "No, Lukyan. You're her father. That man will never—"
"He's already filed the motion. We have two weeks to respond before the case is escalated to the Ministry."
Her blood ran cold.
"How is this possible?"
Lukyan didn't answer.
Because she already knew.
The contract.
Their marriage was a shield. It gave her joint custodial rights under Swiss and Russian law—but only for the duration of the contract. If she walked early, or if Dmitri proved her to be "unfit or negligent," she could lose everything.
He wasn't trying to destroy her marriage.
He was trying to take her child.
The realization hit like a sledgehammer.
"We have to fight this," she breathed.
"We will."
"No, Lukyan. We have to win."
His eyes locked on hers. "Then you need to be willing to break the law."
She didn't hesitate. "For my daughter? I'll burn the world."
Later that night…
The power went out.
The lights snapped off mid-step as Larissa climbed the staircase toward the nursery.
The house groaned with wind, the storm raging outside like a beast trying to break in.
She reached for the wall, heart hammering. "Lukyan?"
No answer.
A thump echoed down the hall.
She spun.
Her phone flickered in her pocket. No signal.
The backup generator hadn't kicked in.
Which meant someone had cut it.
She moved faster, heart in her throat, bare feet silent on the hardwood as she reached the nursery door.
It was open.
Just slightly.
She eased it wider, every instinct screaming.
Inside, Alina slept peacefully, bundled in blankets, unaware.
But the window was open. Snow blew in.
And on the windowsill… footprints.
Heavy, booted. Leading out onto the roof.
"Lukyan!" she screamed.
The sound of footsteps thundered up the stairs.
He appeared a second later, gun in hand, eyes wild. "What happened?"
She pointed. "Window. Footprints. Someone tried to—"
Lukyan was already on the roof.
She gathered Alina in her arms and cradled her close, heart racing.
Five minutes later, Lukyan returned, breathless and grim.
"Gone. But there were two sets of prints. They came in through the south wall, bypassed the cameras. This wasn't a break-in. It was a message."
Larissa clutched her daughter tighter.
"We need to leave," she said.
"We will."
"When?"
He hesitated. "Tonight."
Hours later…
They drove under cover of night, the storm weakening just enough to allow passage.
Larissa sat in the back seat with the kids, Lukyan at the wheel. A convoy of black SUVs followed behind—his security detail, hastily assembled.
As the city lights faded behind them, Larissa stared into the dark.
This wasn't just about a marriage anymore.
It was war.
And Dmitri had made the first move.
Now it was their turn.
And Larissa Petrov-Volkov was no longer playing by the rules.