✨The Unexpected Bond ✨

5. THE ATTACK

Author's POV -

He walked through life as a fallen angel, beautiful yet dangerous, exuding a magnetism that left traces of longing and fear in his wake. Those who dared to draw near were warned—his beauty was a seductive snare, and to fall for him was to dance with danger itself.

As Rurik Viktor Morozova gazed out of the window, contemplating the sprawling city beneath him, his phone rang, shattering the stillness of the moment. He picked up the receiver, his voice icy and authoritative. “Hello.” It was his secretary, providing a terse reminder: “Sir, the meeting is in five minutes.” He responded with a distracted, cold “hmm,” cutting the call abruptly.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he strode towards the exit of his opulent office, the polished floors reflecting his determined gait as he made his way to the meeting hall.

Upon entering the grand room, an air of respect filled the space as everyone rose to acknowledge him. Everyone, that is, except one bold figure who remained seated, a blatant act of defiance directed at Rurik. He spared a fleeting glance at his guards, and they instantly understood the unspoken command.

The meeting commenced, centered around a proposal from the other company seeking collaboration on a private project that promised significant profits and goodwill for both parties. The representatives from Sokolov Corporation eagerly laid out their vision, unaware of the storm brewing beneath Rurik’s calm exterior.

Rurik’s cold gaze pierced through the room as he interjected, “So you’re telling me that the funding from Gromov Corporation was insufficient, and now you’ve come to my empire to plead for assistance?” A sly smirk crept across his face, carrying an ominous weight. “For your information, Mr. Sokolov, I have meticulously erased all traces of your company from my records. Over the past two years, Sokolov Corporation has been drowning in losses, and let’s not forget your recent handshake with my rivals.” He leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous, “You truly believe I would entertain your project? Such a pathetic display.”

At his signal, his guards moved with practiced efficiency, escorting each Sokolov representative without ceremony from the building. Yet, one individual—still seated—had caught Rurik’s ire differently. While the others were met with dismissal, this bold man was seized and taken down to the basement, where he would be dealt with appropriately, bound and left to contemplate the consequences of his disrespect toward the king.

Rurik — POV

I left the meeting room without looking back. Kings don’t linger; they move. The corridor bowed to my stride as I walked straight into my office, the air heavy with silence and obedience. One of my employees stood there, stiff as a statue, files clutched to their chest like an offering.

“On the desk,” I said, not even sparing them a glance.

They obeyed. Of course they did. I dismissed them with a flick of my hand, the door clicking shut behind them like the seal on a coffin.

The phone rang.

I answered without checking the screen. I already knew.

“Hm.”

That single sound was permission enough.

“Sir,” my guard said, voice tight, respectful, afraid. Good. “What should we do with the man in the basement?”

A slow smile curved my lips. Some problems don’t need delegation.

“I’m coming.”

I stood, turned, and walked out. No rush. Power ages like wine; it doesn’t spill.

---

The basement greeted me with its familiar cold, sharp, and deliberate. Climate control isn’t about comfort—it’s about control. The chill seeps into the bones, loosens the tongue. I smirked. Systems were working as intended.

He was there. Tied to a chair in the center of the room, wrists raw, breathing uneven. Fear had already done half the job for me. My guards placed a chair in front of him. I sat.

Eye to eye.

Silence stretched. I let it. Silence is louder than screaming.

Finally, I spoke.

“You disrespected me in the meeting room.” My voice was calm, almost bored. “Any last requirements before you die?”

His mouth was sealed with tape—messy, desperate work. I leaned forward and ripped it off. He cried out, a broken sound, more animal than man.

“P-please,” he stammered, words tripping over each other. “I-I’m sorry. Please leave me. I won’t—”

I chuckled. Low. Dark. Unamused.

“Sorry?” I asked softly. “Is your regret going to restore my respect?”

I looked at him then—really looked. No anger. No heat. Just certainty. Deadly, clean, final.

The gunshot echoed once.

Business concluded.

I stood, adjusting my cuffs as I’d just finished a meeting, and turned to my guards.

“Cut the body into pieces,” I said flatly. “Feed it to the wolves.”

No drama. No repetition.

I walked out of the basement, the cold fading behind me, a smirk lingering on my lips.

Respect, after all, is not requested.

It is enforced.

As I stepped out of the sterile confines of my office building, I felt the familiar weight of the day’s stress lift slightly with the cool evening air. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows on the pavement. With a sense of urgency, I headed towards my car, the engine growling to life as I turned the key in the ignition.

But something was amiss. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I noticed a figure trailing me at a distance. My instincts kicked in, and I pressed the accelerator, feeling the rush of adrenaline as I picked up speed. Yet, despite my attempts to shake them off, the shadow remained close behind.

In an effort to lose my pursuer, I made a sharp turn onto an old construction site, long abandoned and shrouded in dust and silence. The skeletal remains of a half-finished building loomed over me, and I parked my car amidst the stillness, my heart pounding in my chest. As I stepped out, I slid my hand into the trunk, retrieving my gun, a cold comfort in this tense moment.

Lighting a cigarette, I took a deep drag, the smoke curling up into the evening sky as I scanned the area, waiting. My muscles coiled tight, ready for action. The distant sound of another car’s engine broke the silence, causing me to grip my weapon tighter. The vehicle came to a halt, and my breath caught in my throat as four figures emerged, weapons glinting in the fading light.

Panic surged through me, but I was trained for this. I dropped the cigarette and ducked behind my car just as the first shots rang out, echoing against the concrete walls. Bullets whizzed past, each one a reminder of how quickly life could shift from mundane to deadly. With precision born from years of practice, I retaliated, firing back at the assailants. One by one, their heads snapped back as my bullets found their marks.

As the last of them fell, I exhaled, a mix of relief and dread flooding my senses. I quickly called my guards, instructing them to come to the scene, to clean up the aftermath, and to start digging into who had orchestrated this attack. This was far from over. In this dangerous game of power and survival, I couldn’t afford to let my guard down—not even for a moment.