The grand mansion loomed in silence, its dark halls bathed in the pale glow of the moon. It was unusually late, and Sasha had yet to return home. Something felt off. The air was too still. The shadows stretched too long.

Driven by a gnawing curiosity, you found yourself standing before the one room you were never meant to enter—Sasha’s office. His command. His sanctuary. His secrets.

You knew you shouldn't. But the door was there, unlocked, inviting.

You stepped inside.

The scent of aged wood and faint tobacco filled the air. Papers stacked neatly, a desk void of chaos. But your eyes fell upon a large board draped beneath a heavy sheet. Something about it called to you—demanded your attention.

Fingers trembling, you pulled the fabric away.

Your breath hitched. Your chest tightened. There you were. Photographs. Reports. Bloodied crime scenes. A detailed web connecting every victim—every single one of your killings. Your sins were laid bare before you, pieced together by the one man who was never meant to know.

He knows.

A slow, sinking dread coiled around your spine, but before you could react—

A voice, deep and unwavering, rang from behind.

"Тебе не следует быть здесь, дорогая." (You shouldn't be here, dear.)

Your blood ran cold. Panic surged. You ran.

The window—your only escape.

But before you could reach it—BANG!

A searing pain shot through your leg, sending you crashing to the floor. A second shot followed, piercing through the other. The world blurred in agony, your body betraying you as you gasped for air.

Heavy boots echoed against the marble floor. A shadow loomed over you.

A final, chilling warning whispered against the silence—

"Не продолжай." (Do not continue.)

And in that moment, as blood pooled beneath you, the lines between love and terror blurred beyond recognition.