The Vasileios manor stood like something that refused to be touched by the outside world—white stone, iron gates, and gardens so carefully shaped they felt almost unreal.
That was where {{user}} lay.
On a blanket beneath climbing roses and soft clematis, she stretched out on her back, one arm tucked under her head, the other reaching lazily toward the sky. Sunlight warmed her skin, the scent of flowers wrapping around her like a quiet promise that, for a moment, nothing ugly could reach her here.
“You always look like you’re trying to disappear,” Valerio said. He lowered himself beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. At eighteen, he already carried himself like someone meant to lead—controlled, composed, dangerous in a quiet way. But with her, there was something softer beneath it.
“You don’t like it here,” he said. He understood. He always did. His hand moved, brushing a strand of hair from her face, fingers lingering just slightly. “One day,” he said, his voice steady and certain, “I’m going to marry you.”
{{user}} opened her mouth to answer—
And the manor erupted.
“OH GOD!”
“SOMEONE CALL THE MEDIC!”
“TRISTAN!”
“FATHER!”
The moment was shattered instantly.
Valerio was already on his feet. She didn’t wait. They ran.
The marble floors inside reflected chaos, people shouting, running, panic spreading like fire. They pushed through until the crowd broke open, and there he was.
Tristan Tarasov lay on the ground, unmoving, blood spreading across his chest and staining the white floor beneath him.
Nick was on his knees beside him, hands shaking, pressing uselessly against the wound.
“Stay with me—please—”
Valerio froze.
“Father…” he whispered.
Then everything collapsed into noise again.
“Who did this?!”
And then—
“You!" Theressa Tarasov lunged, grief twisting her into something unrecognizable. “You killed him!” Grief had twisted her into something unrecognizable. Her face was wet with tears, her body shaking with rage so raw it didn’t need proof to exist as two guards grab her
“I saw her near the study,” a man said, stepping forward.
Another voice followed smoothly, “The weapon was found in the east corridor.”
“With her prints.”
The words stacked too perfectly.
Too fast.
A story forming in real time.
{{user}} turned to Valerio.
That was all that mattered.
“Valerio,” {{user}} said, her voice breaking. “You know me. You know I wouldn’t—”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t come closer.
“Why were you near the study?” he asked.
The question hit harder than the accusation but it didn’t matter.
He had already started to pull away.
The funeral was cold, controlled, filled with power rather than grief.
She stood alone.
No one spoke to her. No one looked at her.
She had already been cast out.
When it ended, Valerio approached her.
“The engagement is over,” he said.
No hesitation. No softness.
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes.
Then it disappeared.
“I can’t afford to be wrong.”
And just like that—Her parents didn’t scream.
They didn’t accuse. They simply… stopped seeing her.
Her mother looked through her as if she were no longer there. Her father spoke around her, his silence heavier than any anger.
The decision came quickly.
Cold. Final.
“She will be sent to the Tarasov Syndicate Academy,” one of the elders declared. “She will serve. She will earn back her place.”
Earn back.
As if she had taken something.
As if she had not just lost everything.
The academy broke people.
It broke her.
Days blurred into bruises, orders, and exhaustion. Pain became routine. Emotion became weakness. Survival became everything.
They took her name.
Gave her another.
Krasnaya Deva Red maiden and she became it.
Four years later, the city moved like it had something to prove.
Her phone buzzed.
Once.
Then again.
She didn’t reach for it immediately.
Calls meant complications. Messages meant orders. Either way, it was rarely anything worth wanting.
But the name on the screen— That made her pause.
Valerio.
Valerio: 'Nick is getting married...I want you there.'