The storm had passed—but inside the Delore penthouse, the chaos had only just begun.
Alina stood barefoot in Nicholas’s private office, the city lights of Berlin flickering through floor-to-ceiling windows behind her like silent witnesses. Her robe was gone. Her blouse, open. The pendant key she’d once worn at her hip now hung from the center of his desk—swinging slightly, a pendulum of power reclaimed.
Nicholas leaned against the wall, shirt unbuttoned, eyes dark with something older than lust.
“Tell me what you want, Alina.”
Her gaze didn’t flinch.
“Everything.”
He smiled. “You already have it.”
“No,” she whispered, stepping closer. “I want your soul this time. Not just your body. Not just your empire.”
Nicholas straightened.
There was something dangerous in her tone. Something
