KINGDOM OF THREATS

Chapter Ten – Shadows in the Café

Valentina

“You look like you just had a break-up.”

I pause mid-stir, my spoon clinking against the glass of orange juice. My cousin Elias studies me with that sharp, unrelenting gaze of his, as if he can peel back every layer I’ve wrapped around myself.

I touch my face, feigning confusion, before forcing a laugh. “Do I?”

“Yes.” His voice is laced with concern, but there’s also an irritating certainty, as if he’s caught me in a lie.

I wave my hand in the air, brushing it off. “I’m completely fine.”

But the laugh that escapes me is nervous, humorless—so hollow it echoes inside my chest. I know it doesn’t convince him. Hell, it doesn’t even convince me. I’ve always been good at pretending, perfect at wearing masks when the world demanded them. Then why, now, is the mask slipping? Why can’t I fake it the way I used to?

“You share everything with me,” Elias presses, leaning closer. “So what happened now? Am I not trustable?”

I shake my head quickly. “Of course not. You’re the only one I trust.” The lie tastes bitter.

My eyes drift, unable to help themselves. Toward the far corner of the café, where a figure sits alone. The soft amber glow of the lights outlines him like a shadow carved out of fire and steel. It’s him.

Aiden Volkov.

Even here, in a casual café, he’s dressed in his dark, tailored armor of a suit. His hair is sleek, perfectly combed back, as though a single strand out of place might ruin him. His jaw is sharp, his eyes colder than the night air outside. The room hums with chatter and warmth, but he sits like a storm in human form. Unmoving. Watching.

A shiver slides down my spine.

I tell myself it’s ridiculous—that I won’t let his presence crawl under my skin—but my body betrays me. My pulse quickens. My fingers tighten around the cool glass. My mind screams at me not to look, but my eyes disobey.

And his are already on me.

Those stormy grays pin me in place, dissecting, questioning, remembering.

“You’re not even paying attention to me.” Elias snaps me back.

I jerk my gaze to him and plaster on a smile. “I’m listening. I really trust you.”

“Then tell me what happened?” His tone softens, but I barely hear him. Because Aiden is no longer across the room—he’s moving. Closing the distance.

Panic shoots through me.

“Oh, you’re already handsome!” I blurt suddenly, far too loud, forcing a grin at Elias. “Why would you even need a new haircut? Honestly, you’d look good even bald!”

Elias stares at me, bewildered. “But I never said I was getting a haircut—”

“Play along,” I hiss through clenched teeth, my smile frozen.

His eyes widen before he leans back, realization dawning.

And then Aiden is there. Just a table away, sliding into the seat opposite Victor, who sits with his back turned to me. But Aiden doesn’t look at Victor. His eyes—those damn, unrelenting eyes—are on me. As if he’s memorizing me. As if he could paint me from memory.

“So that’s the matter,” Elias mutters under his breath, lips twitching with amusement.

“What?” I shoot him a glare.

“The man behind me—you know him, don’t you?” His smirk is infuriating.

I laugh, too quickly, too sharp. “No! I mean, I know him, but it’s not what you think.” My voice hardens. Because what Elias thinks—that I might actually like Aiden Volkov—is laughable. Insulting.

Always serious. Always cold. He is not my type. He will never be my type.

“Can you pretend like we’re on a date?” I whisper shamelessly.

Elias chokes on his coffee before laughing so loudly heads turn. I jab him under the table, silently begging him to cooperate.

“Fine, fine,” he says between chuckles. “I’ll do this for my little sister.”

Relief washes over me as I scoot closer to him, looping my arm around his. His warmth is grounding, his presence comforting. But when I pull away and risk a glance—Aiden’s eyes are still there.

And they are not amused.

His gaze is no longer indifferent; it’s a tempest. A cold, calculating storm that holds something darker simmering beneath. Hatred? Possession? I can’t tell. All I know is that it makes the air too heavy to breathe.

“Baby, why are you sweating so much?” Elias teases, dabbing my forehead with his handkerchief.

Before I can shove him away, a voice cuts through the café. Low, commanding.

“You should stop drinking orange juice too much.”

My head snaps up. Aiden.

My pulse stutters, the drum of fear loud in my ears.

“Who are you to tell her what to do?” Elias shoots back, draping an arm around me with exaggerated possessiveness.

“She is my model,” Aiden says simply, each word deliberate.

“Was,” I cut in, ice in my tone.

His gaze sharpens. “We are not done yet, Ms. Quinn.”

The way he says it—it isn’t a statement. It’s a vow.

I meet his stare, my chin tilting defiantly. “For me, we’re already done, Mr. Volkov.”

He leans back, but his voice carries, velvet over steel. “Midnight Meals. Today. Seven. I’ll be waiting.”

And just like that, he stands and leaves. No hesitation. No second glance.

My body trembles with rage. He is a source of vexation I can’t revoke, a thorn buried too deep to pull out.

“What the hell was that?” Elias mutters, baffled.

I exhale shakily. “It was just a one-time thing. Nothing more.”

“Like a one-night stand?”

My glare could cut glass. “Not funny.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in surrender. Then his voice drops. “Does Uncle Jennifer know about this?”

My body goes rigid. My necklace twists painfully between my fingers as anxiety coils in my stomach. If my father finds out… I’ll be doomed.

“You messed up.” Elias runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Big time.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” I whisper to myself.

“Pray for your life,” he mutters dryly.

I roll my eyes, but before I can snap at him, he tilts his head. “Wait. He looked… familiar. Like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“Of course, he’s a rich, arrogant CEO,” I dismiss quickly. “You probably read about him.”

Elias shakes his head. “No. That’s not it.”

He unlocks his phone, scrolling. Then he freezes, thrusting the screen in my face.

“What is this?” I frown.

“Months ago, I came across an old case file. Nearly twenty years old. A murder case.” His tone is grim now, the humor gone. “It was about a woman—Aine Fitzgerald. She was beautiful, a celebrated writer, married to Mikhail Volkov, one of the most powerful men of that time. She was shot. Case closed mysteriously.”

My breath hitches.

Elias swallows. “She was Aiden’s mother.”

The world tilts.

Shock slams into me, disbelief gnawing at my bones. A strange, suffocating unease coils around my chest.

I knew Aiden’s mother was gone—Andrea once confided in me about how lonely birthdays were without her—but murder? Shot dead and buried in silence?

Dread prickles my skin.

And yet, beneath the dread, another thought stirs. The same thought that always unsettles me whenever it comes unbidden: dark, twisted, intrusive. When my own mother died, I felt empty—but also… relieved.

Relief.

What kind of daughter feels that?

The kind who writes about monsters in her books and then wonders if they live inside her too.

The thought alone makes me shiver.