Chapter 7 ELENA'S POV

I expected him to be cold to me. I expected him to pull away quickly, fix his clothes, and leave the room without a word, leaving me to crawl off the desk and find the shower all by myself.

That was the only world I knew. It was a dark world where you gave powerful men what they demanded, and then you were left alone to deal with the messy aftermath.

But as the heat in the room died down, everything changed. My legs were still shaking from a wild, intense pleasure I did not know was possible. Yet, Luca did not move away from me.

He stayed right there, closing the distance between us. He rested his forehead against mine for a long, quiet minute, his breathing ragged. Then, without saying a single word, he lifted me up into his arms.

He carried me toward the bathroom very gently, as if I were something fragile—like something he actually cared about. He set me down on the edge of the large marble tub while the hot water ran, thick steam quickly filling the space.

My mind was racing. I tried to find a way to act, to force myself to be the cold, heartless assassin I was trained to be, but my body felt way too heavy and slow.

Luca began to undress me properly this time. He carefully removed the ruined scraps of my torn clothes. Then, he stepped into the warm water with me.

He took the sponge, his big hands steady and quiet as he washed the sweat and the scent of him from my skin.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly. His voice was not demanding or harsh anymore. It was soft, sounding almost full of concern.

I looked away from him, unable to meet those deep, dark eyes. “I feel… fine,” I whispered. It was a total lie. Inside, I felt like my entire world was tilting on its axis.

“Fine?” Luca tilted my chin up with his fingers so I had to look right at him. “Your body was screaming a very different story back there, Elena. You do not have to hide from me.”

I wanted to snap at him. I wanted to tell him that this was all just a game, part of my secret plan to destroy him. But the words got stuck completely in my throat.

He even applied lotion to my skin afterward. His fingers moved with a softness that made my chest feel tight, making me want to cry.

I tried to resist him. I tried to pull away and do it myself, but he did not snap at me. He did not yell. He just kept going, making sure every single inch of my body was taken care of.

Even Viktor, the man who claimed to own me, never treated me like a person. Viktor did not care about the pain or the aftermath; he only cared about the final results.

When Luca finally laid me down on the bed, the clean silk sheets felt cool against my hot skin. He leaned down and kissed my forehead gently. It was not a kiss of lust. It felt like a deep promise.

"Goodnight, Elena," he whispered into the dark.

I laid there long after he left the room, staring up at the empty ceiling. My mind was a total mess.

Who was this man? Was he really the brutal monster everyone feared, or was he the only person who had ever actually looked at me and seen me?

And how was I ever going to finish my mission and kill him when he was treating me like this?

The next morning, I woke up to a room that was perfectly organized. The house maids had already been in and out like quiet ghosts while I slept.

There were fresh clothes laid out for me—a soft, cream-colored dress that looked far too innocent for a killer like me.

My bath was ready, and a tray of fresh food sat on the table next to a stack of books. Everything was planned down to the last detail.

I looked around the empty suite, but Luca was nowhere to be found. The silence in the penthouse felt incredibly heavy. When one of the maids came back into the room to clear a tray, I caught her by the arm.

My grip was a little too tight, fueled by sudden panic. “Where is he?” I asked, my voice sharp. “Where is Luca?”

The woman looked at me, her eyes darting fearfully toward the door. Her lower lip trembled slightly.

“It is better not to ask, Miss,” she said quickly, her voice barely a whisper. “He has business to attend to today. Dark business.” She pulled her arm away from my grip and hurried out of the room before I could ask her what that meant.

I spent the next few hours exploring the giant penthouse, but the air felt different today. It felt heavier, full of secrets. I walked toward the balcony and looked down, only to see that the security guards had been doubled.

Men in sharp black suits were stationed at every single corner of the property, their hands resting near their holsters. Even if I decided to drop the act and fight my way out right now, I wouldn't survive the front gate.

I was trapped in a golden cage.

I went back to the bedroom and slumped onto the mattress. For a second, I wondered if Viktor was even thinking about me back at the base.

Did he wonder if I was safe? Or was he just sitting in his dark office, completely cold, waiting for the phone notification that my target was dead?

I let out a dry, bitter laugh. I already knew the brutal answer. To Viktor, I was just a weapon, and you do not worry about a weapon unless it jams.

I stood up, needing to move, needing to find something that felt real. My feet led me toward the small, locked room that felt like a hidden shrine to the woman who came before me.

Isabella. My look-alike. I needed to know the truth. Was it really just a wild coincidence that we shared the exact same face?

I walked inside the quiet room. The space was perfectly neat, smelling faintly of old perfume and dried roses. I started going through the pictures sitting on the vanity, my fingers trembling with nervous energy.

There were dozens of them. Isabella and Luca laughing together at a grand gala. Isabella leaning against his bare chest on a boat. We really did look exactly the same—the same dark hair, the same sharp jawline.

But there was a massive difference in her eyes. She looked soft. Fragile. She looked like she had never known a single day of fear in her entire life.

A hard lump formed in my throat. I could have been that way, too, if Viktor hadn't taken me and turned me into his personal assassin. I could have been her.

I could have been a woman who was loved instead of a woman who was used. As I went to put a silver frame back down, my gaze fell on something odd.

There was a small, thin crack on the wall behind the heavy bookshelf, hidden deep in the shadows. I moved closer, running my fingertips over the cold stone.

It felt loose, moving differently from the rest of the wall. I pressed a bit harder, and the stone suddenly shifted back with a heavy, metallic click.

I reached my hand deep into the dark, hidden space. My fingers brushed against something leather and freezing cold. I pulled it out slowly into the light.

It was a small, worn-out book with a silver lock that had been forcefully broken off. On the front cover, written in elegant, shaky handwriting, were two words that made my heart stop cold.

My Journal.

My breath hitched. I knew I should hide it, but the driving need for answers was too strong. With shaking hands, I opened the cover to the very first page.

A small, folded photograph fell out onto my lap. It was a picture of a little girl with my exact eyes, holding an older woman. But it was the messy words written on the inside of the book cover that made all the air leave my lungs.

If you are reading this, it means Viktor finally sent you to replace me, Elena. Do not trust him. We are not strangers. We are sisters and this journal will save you.

What did she mean?