The victory over Yakov and the ghost of Croft was absolute. It was also pyrrhic. The penthouse, for all its opulence, felt like a command center after a war nobody had truly won. Nora moved through her days with a mechanical efficiency, her heart a numb, heavy weight in her chest. She had proven herself a worthy successor to the Volkov throne, a queen who could wield both mercy and terror with chilling precision. The empire was secure, its borders fortified. And she was its solitary, lonely monarch.
Sasha noticed the change. The softness that had always been in Nora’s eyes, even at her most determined, had been replaced by a flat, pragmatic sheen. She was no longer just Nora; she was the CEO, the Chairwoman, the Guardian of the Fortress. The role was a suit of armor she never took off.
“
