Corrupted Heart

1. THE SLAP

Moscow, Russia — 11:47 PM

The city glittered beneath a blanket of cold winter darkness. Towering skyscrapers pierced the night sky while expensive cars crawled through the illuminated streets like streams of liquid gold. To the outside world, Moscow was beautiful. To Sebastian Volkov, it was simply a city built on lies.

He stood near the floor-to-ceiling window of a private warehouse overlooking the frozen docks, a glass of whiskey resting in his hand while several men shifted nervously around the room. No one dared speak unless spoken to; no one dared make eye contact for too long. Not when Chief Inspector Sebastian Volkov was present. At thirty-one years old, Sebastian had become a name feared by both criminals and police officers alike. The badge clipped to his belt represented justice, but the man wearing it represented something entirely different: power, control, influence, and money—things justice could never buy.

A loud knock interrupted the silence. One of the guards immediately stepped forward. "The buyers are here, Inspector."

Sebastian glanced at his watch. "They're late."

The guard swallowed hard. "Only by six minutes."

"That's six minutes longer than I tolerate," Sebastian replied coldly.

The guard immediately lowered his head, offering no further explanation. Sebastian turned away from the window and adjusted the cuffs of his black shirt. Everything about him appeared calm, refined, and controlled, yet everyone in the room knew better. Sebastian Volkov never needed to raise his voice; the danger existed entirely beneath the surface. A predator didn't need to announce itself. A predator simply waited.

The warehouse doors opened, and several men entered wearing expensive suits, expensive watches, and expensive, fake smiles. Business began immediately. Numbers were discussed, territories negotiated, and payments confirmed. The entire arrangement sat somewhere in the gray area between legal and criminal—a place Sebastian often found himself standing.

"Five million is too much," one businessman argued.

"Then leave," Sebastian said.

The room fell dead silent. The businessman forced a tight smile, trying to smooth things over. "No need for hostility."

Sebastian merely stared at him until the man immediately looked away. Coward, Sebastian thought. Most people were. He had long ago accepted that human beings were motivated by only three things: fear, greed, and self-interest. Everything else was fiction—especially kindness, love, and innocence. They were just fairy tales people told themselves to sleep better at night.

A sudden commotion erupted outside. Shouting and fast-approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor, causing the guards to frown. Sebastian barely reacted, giving a brief nod. "Handle it."

Before anyone could move, the warehouse doors burst open and a young man stormed inside. His cheeks were flushed from the biting cold, a thick coat hung loosely from his shoulders, and curly brown hair framed a furious face. In his hand, he clutched a folder stuffed with papers.

The entire room froze. The newcomers looked horrified, and the guards immediately reached for their weapons. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, wondering who the hell this was. The stranger wasn't frightened; if anything, he looked absolutely livid. His gaze swept across the room before locking onto the businessman standing near Sebastian.

"There you are!" the young man shouted, marching forward as every step echoed through the cavernous warehouse. "You lied to them! You promised those families their donations would reach the shelter!"

The businessman immediately panicked, yelling, "Security—"

"Don't!" the stranger snapped, pulling several documents from his folder and throwing them down. "I have bank statements." The room became very quiet. "I have signatures." Another paper hit the floor. "I have proof. You stole money meant for orphaned children."

Now everyone was listening. The businessman looked ready to faint while Sebastian observed silently, finding the situation increasingly entertaining.

The young man continued, his voice cracking slightly—not from fear, but from genuine anger. "Do you know how many children depended on that funding?" Sebastian noticed it immediately. Interesting. Very interesting. The businessman glanced around desperately. "You don't understand—"

"No," the stranger laughed bitterly, taking another step forward. "You don't understand. You looked those children in the eyes and lied."

The businessman suddenly bolted, trying to escape by slipping behind Sebastian. At exactly the same moment, the young man raised his hand to strike. Everything happened in a split second. The businessman ducked, Sebastian stepped sideways, and—SMACK!

The sound echoed sharply throughout the warehouse.

Absolute silence followed. No one moved; no one breathed. The folder slipped from the young man's fingers, scattering papers across the cold floor. Slowy... very slowly... Sebastian turned his head. His icy blue eyes settled on the stranger standing before him. The hand that had just delivered the blow still hovered in the dead air.

The young man's face drained of color as the realization hit him. "Oh," he whispered, a single word escaping his lips. "Oh no."

A guard dropped his gun in shock, someone else whispered a frantic prayer, and one of the businessmen actually took a step backward. Everyone present knew one fundamental rule: nobody touched Sebastian Volkov. Nobody. Not criminals, not politicians, not fellow officers, and not even members of his own family. Yet somehow, a complete stranger had just slapped him across the face.

The young man's eyes widened. "I—"

Sebastian stared at him with no emotion, no anger, and no reaction—which somehow felt far more terrifying.

The stranger swallowed hard. "That wasn't meant for you." A few men nearly laughed, then immediately remembered where they were and choked it back. The young man looked around nervously before turning back to Sebastian. "I can explain. I was aiming for him." He pointed a trembling finger toward the businessman. "I didn't mean to hit you."

Still, Sebastian said nothing. The warehouse remained deathly silent. For the first time since entering the building, genuine fear finally appeared in the young man's eyes. Not because of the armed guards or the criminals, but because of Sebastian.

The Chief Inspector slowly tilted his head, his gaze never leaving the stranger's face. For some reason, the young man didn't look like a liar. That was unusual; everyone lied. Yet there was something strangely genuine about the panic written across those hazel eyes. Something honest and real.

Sebastian hated it immediately because people like that didn't exist. And if they did, he would prove they were no different than everyone else.

The young man took a cautious step backward. "My name is Oliver Hayes."

Sebastian's eyes darkened slightly.

"I really am sorry," Oliver continued nervously.

Silence stretched between them. Then, finally, Sebastian smiled—a slow, cold, dangerous smile that made grown men fear for their lives. For reasons he couldn't yet explain, Oliver Hayes suddenly felt as though slapping the Chief Inspector had been the biggest mistake of his life.

Or perhaps, the beginning of it.