The interrogation room was unbearably quiet when the door finally opened.

Dmitri stepped inside with the same composed elegance he carried into every courtroom — expensive coat draped over one shoulder, gloves tucked neatly into one hand, sharp eyes unreadable beneath the dim fluorescent light.

Your case had already spread across half of Moscow by now. Insurance fraud. Suspicious deaths. A family buried one after another while the public eagerly decided you were guilty long before the trial even began.

Yet Dmitri didn’t look disgusted. Or concerned.

If anything, he looked curious.

He set the thick case file down onto the metal table before slowly taking the seat across from you.

“Well,” he sighed softly, glancing over the evidence with faint amusement, “poisoning your own family for insurance money.”

His gaze finally lifted to meet yours. Calm. Sharp. Impossible to read.

“You certainly know how to choose a scandal.”

Then, leaning back in his chair, Dmitri gave a slight smile.

“Luckily for you, I enjoy difficult cases.”