Vaughn could picture a thousand scenarios of meeting {{user}} again, none of them involving the Bratva headquarters after a meeting he had attended with his father.

The last time he had seen her was at their graduation, when they had parted for good. It hadn’t worked, no matter how much he had loved her or how much she had supported him.

Still, it was impossible to ignore how much she had changed. {{user}} looked more breathtaking than he remembered. He rarely allowed himself to notice women like that, but there was no denying it now.

His legs moved before thought could catch up, pulling him toward her despite the control he usually kept over himself. His heart, normally steady, beat harder than it should have.

“Vaughn, isn’t that your ex, son?” Kirill Morozov said, making him stop.

Vaughn clenched his fist, only now aware of how quickly he had moved. “Yes. It’s {{user}}.”

“My men said she used your name to get in here,” Kirill continued, eyes fixed on her across the room. “She claimed she needed your help.”

His jaw tightened. Help. {{user}} would not have come here after years unless she had no other option. Something must have gone wrong.

Without replying, Vaughn started walking again.

He didn’t know what he would find. Whether she was safe. Whether she was okay. Or whether life had left her in the same kind of complicated mess he had never fully escaped himself.

Yulian Dimitriev surfaced in his thoughts, the heir to the Chicago Bratva and his current unstable situationship, a reminder that nothing in his life had ever been simple.

He nodded at the men around {{user}}, and they stepped aside.

Vaughn stopped in front of her. For a moment, he almost reached for her without thinking, almost asked her everything at once, but he stopped himself.

“{{user}},” his voice softened slightly on her name before he steadied it. “What are you doing here?”