Corrupted Heart

3.A Proper Introduction

Sebastian Volkov was not a patient man. If he wanted information, he obtained it. If he wanted results, he created them. And if he wanted answers, he made sure someone gave them to him. That was how his world worked.

So after spending two days reading every report, financial record, and background check related to Oliver Hayes, he decided it was time to meet the man himself. Not as the Chief Inspector. Not as the man who had been slapped. But as a stranger. A hunter observing his target.

The morning air was cold enough to sting exposed skin when Sebastian parked his black SUV outside Saint Gabriel Shelter. Snow covered the old building's roof. The shelter itself looked painfully ordinary: three floors, faded cream-colored walls, a small playground, and a garden buried beneath winter frost. Nothing about it suggested wealth. Nothing about it suggested influence. And yet according to the reports, Oliver spent almost every waking hour here.

Sebastian stepped out of the vehicle and adjusted his dark overcoat. Children's laughter drifted through the air. The sound immediately irritated him. Too innocent. Too carefree. Life wasn't supposed to sound like that.

As he approached the entrance, he noticed several volunteers carrying boxes of supplies inside. One elderly woman struggled with a heavy package. Before Sebastian could continue walking, someone rushed past him. A familiar figure. Oliver.

The younger man immediately took the box from the woman's arms. "Mrs. Peterson, I told you not to carry these yourself."

The elderly woman smiled warmly. "And I told you to stop worrying."

"You say that every time."

"And you're still worrying every time."

Oliver laughed. A genuine laugh. Not forced. Not polite. Genuine.

Sebastian watched from a distance. No cameras. No reporters. No audience. Yet Oliver was still helping. Interesting.

The old woman reached up and pinched Oliver's cheek. "You work too hard."

Oliver groaned dramatically. "You sound exactly like the children."

"Maybe because we're right."

The exchange looked natural, comfortable—like family. It was something Sebastian had expected to be staged. Instead, it appeared authentic. His irritation deepened. The reports had better be wrong; otherwise, this entire situation was becoming very inconvenient.

Before he could think further, Oliver turned. Their eyes met. The smile instantly disappeared from Oliver's face.

"Oh."

Sebastian almost smirked. Recognition, panic, guilt—all three emotions crossed Oliver's face within seconds. The younger man hurried toward him.

"Inspector Volkov."

"Mr. Hayes."

The formal response only made Oliver more nervous. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I imagine not."

An awkward silence followed. Oliver rubbed the back of his neck, a habit that made him look younger than twenty-four. "You didn't come to arrest me, right?"

Sebastian stared at him. Oliver's face paled.

"That was a joke."

"It wasn't funny."

"I know."

Sebastian enjoyed watching him struggle, far more than he should have. Oliver cleared his throat. "I really am sorry about the other night."

"There it is."

"What?"

"The apology."

Oliver blinked. Sebastian stepped closer. "You seem determined to repeat it."

Guilt flashed across the younger man's face. "Because I hit you."

"You slapped me."

"Accidentally."

"Still happened."

Oliver looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. For some reason, Sebastian found that amusing. Very amusing. Most people lied to him. Most people made excuses or blamed others. Oliver simply looked guilty. It was refreshing—and incredibly suspicious. Nobody was that honest. Nobody.

"So..." Oliver began carefully. "Why are you here?"

Finally, a useful question. Sebastian looked toward the building. "Curiosity."

Oliver frowned. "About what?"

"You."

The answer escaped before Sebastian could soften it. Oliver froze. Sebastian immediately noticed the slight blush appearing on his cheeks. Interesting. Very interesting.

The younger man recovered quickly. "That's a little concerning."

"It should be."

Oliver stared, then unexpectedly laughed. Sebastian wasn't sure why. Most people became intimidated when he spoke like that, but Oliver seemed amused.

"You're different than I expected," Oliver said.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Different?"

"I thought you'd be angrier."

"I am."

Oliver's smile vanished. Sebastian almost laughed. The reaction was immediate, honest, and transparent. Everything about Oliver was transparent, like looking through glass.

"You really don't know when someone is joking, do you?" Oliver asked.

"I wasn't joking."

"Oh."

There was that word again. Oh. The same one he had used after the slap. Sebastian suddenly found himself fighting a smile—a strange experience, and one he didn't particularly enjoy.

Oliver glanced toward the shelter entrance. Several children were watching them through the windows, whispering excitedly. One little girl pressed her face against the glass. Sebastian noticed immediately.

Oliver followed his gaze. "They've been spying on us for three minutes."

"Poorly."

"They're children."

"They should practice."

Oliver laughed again. The sound was warm. Dangerously warm. Sebastian didn't like the effect it had on the atmosphere around them. Everything suddenly felt lighter, less controlled, less predictable.

A small boy suddenly burst through the front door. "Oliver!"

The child ran directly toward them before stopping abruptly. His eyes widened as he noticed Sebastian, and the boy immediately hid behind Oliver's legs.

Sebastian frowned. The child looked terrified.

"Max." Oliver crouched beside him. "What's wrong?"

The boy pointed directly at Sebastian. "He's scary."

Silence. Then Oliver laughed so hard he nearly lost his balance. Even the child started giggling. Sebastian remained completely expressionless.

"Am I entertaining you?"

"A little." The younger man failed miserably at hiding his smile.

The little boy peeked around him. "You look like a villain."

Oliver covered his mouth. The child continued, "Like the bad guys in movies."

Sebastian stared. The boy stared back. Neither moved. Then Sebastian reached into his coat pocket. Max immediately hid again, and Oliver looked horrified.

"Please don't arrest the child."

Sebastian ignored him. A moment later, he pulled out a chocolate bar—the same one he had confiscated from Nikolai earlier that morning. Without a word, he handed it to Max.

The boy blinked. Oliver blinked. Sebastian looked mildly annoyed. "Take it."

The child slowly accepted the chocolate, still suspicious, still hiding behind Oliver, but less afraid. A lot less afraid.

For several seconds, nobody spoke. Then Max grinned—a huge grin. "Thank you, Mister Villain."

Oliver completely lost control and burst out laughing. Children nearby joined in, and even a few volunteers smiled. Sebastian stood in the middle of it all, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Yet strangely... he didn't leave.

He should have. Nothing useful was happening. No information was being gathered, no secrets were being exposed, and no weaknesses were being uncovered. Instead, he found himself watching Oliver interact with the children. Watching how naturally they trusted him. How quickly they gravitated toward him. How genuinely happy they seemed in his presence.

The scene felt foreign, almost unreal. People weren't supposed to be this selfless. There had to be something beneath the surface. There had to be. And Sebastian intended to find it, no matter how long it took.

Because if Oliver Hayes truly was as good as he appeared... then everything Sebastian believed about the world might be wrong. And that possibility disturbed him more than he was willing to admit.

As Oliver smiled at one of the children, Sebastian made a silent promise to himself. He would uncover the truth, whether Oliver liked it or not, whether Oliver knew it or not.

The game had officially begun. And for the first time in years, Sebastian Volkov was genuinely interested in the outcome.