Chapter 2 — Glass and Blood

Morning came slowly in the Volkov mansion.

Or maybe it didn’t come at all — the thick curtains let in no sunlight, the air still cold and heavy with the scent of burning wood and something metallic.

Aria sat on the edge of the bed that Nikolai’s men had forced her into the night before.

The sheets were silk, crimson and black, softer than anything she’d ever touched. But the comfort felt like mockery — a cage disguised as luxury.

She hadn’t slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she heard whispers. A woman humming. Footsteps outside the door when no one was there.

At one point she thought she saw movement in the mirror — a pale reflection behind her that disappeared when she turned.

It’s this place, she told herself. It’s messing with my head.

A knock came — sharp, commanding.

Before she could answer, the door opened.

Nikolai stood there, freshly dressed in a black shirt and vest, his hair still damp from a shower. His gray eyes swept over her once, unreadable.

“Good morning, solnyshko,” he said softly.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, standing up. “And untie your pet, Mr. Volkov. I’m leaving.”

He leaned against the doorframe, amused. “Leaving? Where exactly? The moment you step beyond those gates, my men will assume you’re a threat.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Will you?” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The sound made her flinch.

“Why are you keeping me here?” she demanded. “You got my camera, you have your secrets — let me go.”

“I haven’t decided what to do with you yet,” he said simply. “And I don’t like making quick decisions.”

She crossed her arms. “You like control. That’s what this is.”

He smiled faintly. “Control is the only way to survive in my world.”

“Maybe in your world,” she shot back, “but not in mine.”

He took a slow step toward her, then another, until the space between them was a breath.

His gaze lowered to her lips before flicking back up. “You walked into my world the moment you broke into my home.”

She didn’t back away. “Then maybe I’ll burn it down from the inside.”

His expression changed — a flicker of dark amusement. “You could try.”

For a heartbeat, neither moved. The air between them was heavy, alive with something dangerous.

Aria felt her pulse race, angry at herself for noticing how close he was, how his presence filled the room like gravity.

Then he said quietly, “Breakfast is ready.”

“What—?”

He gestured toward the hallway. “You’ll eat. I don’t let my guests starve.”

“I’m not your guest,” she muttered.

He leaned close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “Then think of yourself as my captive. Either way, you eat.”

She glared at him, but followed.

She wasn’t stupid — if she wanted to survive, she had to play along, at least for now.

The dining hall looked like something from a gothic painting — long table, chandeliers, portraits watching from the walls.

Food covered the table: bread, eggs, fruit, black coffee. Everything too perfect, too untouched.

Nikolai sat at the head of the table, while Aria reluctantly sat opposite him.

Guards stood at the corners of the room, silent as statues.

She noticed something strange.

None of the food on his side of the table was eaten either. He only drank coffee, staring at her quietly.

“You’re not eating?” she asked.

“I prefer to watch,” he said.

“That’s creepy.”

“That’s honest.”

She sighed, taking a sip of coffee just to have something to do. It was bitter, strong — almost like he’d brewed it himself from darkness.

Finally, she asked, “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

He smiled slightly. “Because I can’t decide if you’re a threat or a temptation.”

She froze, the cup halfway to her lips.

“Or both,” he added softly.

Before she could reply, one of the guards entered suddenly. He bent down to whisper something to Nikolai.

Nikolai’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening. Then he stood.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

Aria frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Stay,” he repeated, sharper this time.

Then he left the room, the guards following.

The doors shut behind him, leaving her alone in that massive hall.

At first, she thought about escaping. But then she heard something — faint, rhythmic. Tap… tap… tap.

Her gaze turned toward the tall glass windows at the far end of the hall.

A woman stood outside.

Pale, in a black dress, her face almost invisible through the frost.

Aria’s heart lurched. The woman lifted a hand and pressed it against the glass.

Her lips moved, but no sound came.

Aria stood slowly. “Hello? Are you—?”

The woman’s head tilted, eyes hollow and unblinking.

Then she smiled — the same haunting smile as the portrait last night.

The glass cracked.

A long, thin line split across the window, spreading like a spiderweb.

Aria stumbled back, her pulse racing. “What the hell—”

The door behind her burst open.

Nikolai stormed in, grabbed her arm, and pulled her away from the window just as it shattered — glass exploding into the room like a rain of blades.

They fell together, his body shielding hers.

When the noise finally stopped, shards lay glittering around them like diamonds.

Aria looked up, breathless. “What—what was that?”

Nikolai didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his breathing heavy. A thin cut traced down his cheek — a line of red against his pale skin.

“You’re bleeding,” she said.

He brushed it off. “It’s nothing.”

She caught his wrist. “It’s not nothing!”

Their eyes met again, too close.

She saw something flicker in him — pain, fear, and something deeper. Something human.

He stood abruptly, turning away. “Get her out of here,” he ordered the guards.

“No!” Aria shouted. “Tell me what that was!”

He turned, his expression cold again. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

He hesitated, then said quietly, “Some ghosts don’t stay buried.”

Before she could question him further, he walked out, leaving her staring at the shattered window and the faint trail of blood he left behind.

Later that day, Lena’s voice crackled through Aria’s hidden earpiece — she’d forgotten to remove it.

> “Aria? Finally! Where the hell are you? The signal’s been dead for hours!”

“Lena,” she whispered, looking around to make sure no one was near. “I’m inside the mansion.”

> “You mean still inside? Are you crazy? What happened?”

“Long story. But Lena…” she hesitated, “there’s something wrong here. I saw someone — or something — outside the window.”

> “Like who?”

“A woman. I think she’s… dead.”

There was a pause.

> “Aria, get out of there. Whatever you think you’re investigating, it’s not worth—”

The line cut off. Static hissed. Then silence.

Aria cursed under her breath. She turned to leave — but Nikolai was standing in the doorway, watching her.

“How long have you been there?” she asked.

“Long enough,” he said. His eyes were unreadable. “Who were you talking to?”

“No one.”

He stepped closer. “You’re lying again.”

She tried to move past him, but he blocked her path, his voice low and sharp. “You don’t call anyone. You don’t leave this house. You don’t even breathe without my permission.”

Her anger flared. “You can’t control me.”

His hand slammed against the wall beside her, making her jump. His body caged hers, his voice a growl.

“Watch me.”

Her pulse thundered. For a moment she saw it — the darkness that lived inside him, the madness that made men kneel and enemies die.

But she also saw the way his hand trembled slightly as he held it there. He was angry, yes — but not at her.

At himself.

Then his voice softened. “You have no idea what danger you’re in.”

“Then tell me,” she whispered. “What’s really happening here?”

He looked down at her, his expression torn between fury and something else.

After a long silence, he said quietly, “My family is cursed, Aria. Every woman who falls in love with a Volkov… dies.”

She blinked. “That’s not—”

“I watched it happen to my mother,” he interrupted, his voice cracking just slightly. “And to my father’s mistress before that. The house takes them. The ghosts of the past take them.”

Her breath caught. “You actually believe that?”

He gave a bitter smile. “Believe? No. I see it.”

She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

“Then explain the woman at the window.”

Aria fell silent. Her mind tried to rationalize — hallucination, trick of the light — but deep down, a cold dread spread through her chest.

He stepped back finally, exhaling. “You’re staying in the west wing tonight. It’s safer there.”

“Safe from what?”

“From me,” he said, and left.

That night, Aria couldn’t sleep again.

The west wing was colder than the rest of the mansion, filled with unused rooms and echoing hallways.

She wrapped herself in a blanket, staring at the door.

Around midnight, she heard the piano again — the same haunting melody from the cellar.

Curiosity won. She followed the sound through the corridor until she reached a dimly lit room.

The grand piano stood alone in the center, dust covering its surface — except for the keys, which moved on their own.

Her heart stopped.

No one was there.

The melody continued, soft and sorrowful.

Then — a shadow appeared in the reflection of the piano’s glossy lid.

A woman again. Irina.

“Why are you showing me this?” Aria whispered.

The ghostly figure turned toward her, lips moving silently.

Aria stepped closer, straining to hear — when suddenly, cold hands grabbed her shoulders from behind.

She screamed, spinning around — only to find Nikolai standing there, his expression dark.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay in your room?” he hissed.

“You can’t keep me locked up!”

“Do you have any idea what you just walked into?”

He grabbed her hand, dragging her away from the piano. The air around them turned freezing cold, their breaths visible in the air.

Behind them, the piano keys slammed down all at once — a loud, discordant crash that echoed through the halls.

He didn’t stop until they were back in her room. He turned on her, eyes burning.

“You listen to me, Aria. You touch nothing. You speak to no one that isn’t alive. Do you understand?”

She stared at him, chest heaving. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he said softly. “But at least I’m still alive.”

Their eyes met — defiance against obsession, fear against desire.

And yet, even as she hated him, she couldn’t deny the pull she felt — something dark, magnetic, dangerous.

He stepped closer again, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think you can fight me, solnyshko. But every time you look at me, you forget to hate me.”

Her throat went dry. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” His fingers brushed her cheek. “Because I can already feel you shaking.”

She pushed him away, furious. “Get out.”

For a moment, he looked like he might refuse. But then he smiled faintly — a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“As you wish.”

He left, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Aria sat on the bed, her heart pounding, trying to steady her breath.

Outside, thunder rolled in the distance.

And faintly, through the storm, she heard a whisper — a woman’s voice again.

Run before he loves you.

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