Corrupted Heart

2. A Name Worth Remembering

The drive back home was unusually quiet. Sebastian sat in the backseat of the black Mercedes, one arm resting against the window while snowflakes drifted through the Moscow night outside. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white, but his attention remained elsewhere. Hazel eyes. Curly brown hair. A trembling voice trying to explain. "That wasn't meant for you," the words replayed in his head, and Sebastian hated that they did.

Across from him, Nikolai Volkov watched his older brother carefully. For ten years he had known Sebastian better than almost anyone, which was exactly why the silence worried him. Normally after something like tonight, someone would be hospitalized, arrested, or disappear entirely. Yet Sebastian had done nothing—nothing except smile. And that smile had terrified everyone, including Nikolai.

Finally, he spoke. "So..."

Sebastian didn't look up. "So?"

Nikolai sighed. "You got slapped."

Sebastian's gaze slowly shifted toward him, making Nikolai immediately regret opening his mouth. The silence stretched between them before Sebastian replied calmly, "I was there. Thank you for informing me."

Nikolai rolled his eyes. "Are you going to kill him?"

"No."

That answer surprised him. "Break his legs?"

"No."

"Threaten him?"

"No."

Now Nikolai was genuinely confused. "Then what are you planning?"

Sebastian looked back toward the passing city lights, a slow, dangerous smile appearing on his face—the exact same smile from the warehouse. "The interesting question isn't what I'm planning. It's why he did it."

"He already explained."

"People lie," Sebastian's voice grew colder. "But I want proof."

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the city, Oliver Hayes was having the worst night of his life. He paced endlessly around his tiny, one-bedroom apartment above Saint Gabriel Shelter. It was a small space with old furniture and a leaking radiator—nothing luxurious, but it was home. Right now, however, it felt more like a prison cell.

Oliver groaned and buried his face in his hands. "What have I done?"

His best friend, Ethan, sat on the couch eating chips. "You slapped a police inspector."

Oliver looked horrified. "Stop saying it like that."

"How should I say it?" Ethan laughed. "You accidentally assaulted one of the most feared officers in Moscow."

"When you say it like that, it sounds worse," Oliver collapsed into a chair, groaning again.

His entire body felt exhausted. The day had started normally enough: a missing charity fund, several desperate families, and children who suddenly couldn't afford medicine. Then came the discovery that someone had stolen thousands of euros meant for the orphanage. Oliver had followed the evidence, tracked the man responsible, confronted him, and somehow ended up slapping the wrong person. The worst possible person.

Ethan finally put down the chips. "Do you know who that guy actually is?"

Oliver nodded weakly. "Chief Inspector Sebastian Volkov."

"Exactly. The Sebastian Volkov. The terrifying one."

Oliver grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, but Ethan just laughed. "I'm serious!" Oliver rubbed his forehead. "I already apologized."

"You think that's enough?"

Oliver froze. Deep down, he didn't. Not after seeing those icy blue eyes, feeling the entire warehouse go dead silent, or witnessing powerful businessmen suddenly look frightened. The memory made his stomach twist. Sebastian Volkov wasn't normal; he didn't simply operate like another police officer. The man carried power around him like a weapon, and Oliver had publicly humiliated him.

"Maybe he'll forget," Oliver muttered.

Ethan burst out laughing. "Forget? That man probably remembers every parking ticket he's ever issued."

Oliver groaned, burying his head. "This isn't helping."

"No," Ethan grinned. "It's really not."

The next morning began at six. Inside Police Headquarters, the massive building already buzzed with activity—phones rang endlessly, detectives hurried through hallways, reports piled onto desks, and criminals waited in holding cells. It was organized chaos, and Sebastian controlled a large part of it. He entered his office without greeting anyone.

Thirty minutes later, a file landed on his desk. Nikolai placed it there, noting, "You asked for information."

Sebastian opened it. "That was fast."

"I know people."

Sebastian smirked; so did he. However, the file wasn't thick, which immediately caught his attention. Most people left long trails behind them—debt, toxic relationships, criminal records, or secrets. Oliver Hayes apparently did not.

Sebastian began reading the details: Orphan. Abandoned at three months old. Raised at Saint Gabriel Shelter. Excellent academic record. Volunteer worker. No criminal history, no debt, no suspicious activity, no complaints, and no scandals. Nothing.

The deeper Sebastian read, the darker his expression became. It was impossible. Nobody had a life this clean. Humans weren't built that way; there was always something hidden underneath—a selfish motive, a weakness, a dark secret. Yet every report said the same thing. Oliver Hayes spent most of his time helping children, assisting elderly residents, organizing charity drives, working extra hours without pay, and donating a part of his own meager salary.

The last page contained several photographs, and Sebastian stared at them. One showed Oliver sitting on the floor surrounded by children. Another captured him carrying a sleeping child toward a shelter van. A third showed him laughing during a fundraiser. The smile looked genuine—not practiced, not manipulative, just entirely real.

Sebastian hated it. His jaw tightened.

Nikolai noticed. "What is it?"

Sebastian tossed the file onto the desk. "He doesn't make sense. He has no angle."

"Maybe he's actually a good person."

Sebastian looked at his brother as though he had said something entirely ridiculous. "No."

Nikolai sighed. "There are good people in the world."

"There are useful people. And there are selfish people pretending to be good."

Nikolai leaned back in his chair. "You sound like Father."

Sebastian's eyes hardened immediately. The mention of Commissioner Viktor Volkov always did that. His father believed in honor, duty, and justice—everything Sebastian had stopped believing in years ago. "Don't compare me to him."

"Fine," Nikolai raised his hands in surrender.

Silence followed. Sebastian picked up one of the photographs again. Oliver was smiling at something outside the frame, completely unaware of the camera, looking entirely genuine. The image irritated him for reasons he couldn't explain. Nobody smiled like that without wanting something or expecting something in return. Eventually, everyone revealed their true nature. Sebastian had spent years proving it with politicians, officers, businessmen, friends, and lovers alike.

So why did this stranger bother him? Why did a simple file leave him feeling so unsettled?

His fingers tapped against the mahogany desk, slowly and thoughtfully. Then, a dangerous idea entered his mind. Perhaps the file wasn't wrong, but the real Oliver Hayes simply hadn't been exposed yet. And if that was the case, Sebastian Volkov would be the one to strip away the mask.

A cold smile spread across his face. Across the room, Nikolai immediately recognized it. That expression always meant trouble. "What are you planning?"

Sebastian closed the file, his blue eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "I think it's time I met Mr. Hayes properly."

Miles away, completely unaware of the storm heading toward him, Oliver Hayes was helping children decorate a classroom for Christmas. For the first time in years, Sebastian Volkov found himself looking forward to meeting someone—not because he liked him, and certainly not because he trusted him, but because he intended to prove that Oliver Hayes was just as flawed as everyone else.

Neither of them realized that this single decision would change both of their lives forever.