The biting chill of Omsk's air did little to affect Vasilliy Romanov as he stepped out of the sleek black car, his coat sweeping behind him like the cloak of a monarch. His expression was unreadable—a perfect mask of apathy, except for the sharp glint in his eyes that warned the Smirnov guards not to waste his time. He was here only because he wanted something—and no one in Russia ever called Vasilliy Romanov without consequence.
Inside the lavish Smirnov estate, the head of the family—Fyodor Smirnov—waited eagerly. The man stood up from his gold-trimmed seat as Vasilliy entered, clasping his hands together with fake warmth.
"Ah, Vasilliy Romanov," Fyodor gushed in Russian, his voice thick with insincerity. "We are honored by your presence. Please, sit. You must be cold from the journey."
Vasilliy didn't move. He took a slow, calculated look around the room. "Let's skip the pleasantries, Fyodor. Why did you call me?"
Fyodor blinked, momentarily thrown off, then motioned to the table lined with gifts—antique watches, rare vodka bottles, and sealed envelopes likely stuffed with money.
"These are tokens of goodwill. For you, of course."
Vasilliy stepped forward, examining a golden chain before casually tossing it aside. "If I wanted to waste my time, I would've gone shopping. You've got two minutes."
Fyodor's smile faltered. He licked his lips nervously. "I need your assistance. My younger brother, Viktor, has started gathering supporters… he wants to take over the Smirnov name. You, of all people, understand how betrayal feels."
Vasilliy raised an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me?"
Fyodor leaned forward. "Media. Every Russian TV channel, online news outlet, even the internet trolls—they all belong to us. I'll make sure your words are gospel in Russia."
Vasilliy tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he considered the offer. Then he smirked. "Not enough. I want the Smirnov estate in Kyiv."
Fyodor's face turned white. "You… you're joking. Everyone knows the Kyiv estate is our legacy—our roots!"
Vasilliy gave him a cold, humorless look. "Then I'll help Viktor instead. I'm sure he'd be more grateful."
"No, no, please!" Fyodor dropped to his knees, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Take it! Take it. Just… don't betray me."
Vasilliy snapped his fingers, and his secretary, Kirill, stepped forward with a contract. "Sign it. Now."
With shaking hands, Fyodor scribbled his name. Vasilliy didn't even look at him as he walked away, coat swaying behind him like the grim reaper himself.
—
Later that afternoon, Vasilliy sat in a traditional Korean restaurant in Omsk known for its authentic dishes and, more importantly, Taehyun's affection for it. He was determined to recruit the head chef—even if he had to offer a blank check or resort to threats.
He'd just placed his order when his phone buzzed violently. A call from the estate.
"Speak," he answered sharply.
A pause. Then: "Sir, it's Taehyun… he's gone. He's escaped."
The phone nearly shattered in his grip as he stood up, chair screeching across the floor.
"Kirill!" he barked. "Get the jet ready. We're going back—now!"
He dialed another number. "Search every street in Kazan. Lock down the roads, bribe the officials, I don't care! Bring him back!"
—
Three Hours Earlier – Romanov Estate
Taehyun sat silently on the edge of the bed, eyes scanning the window where snow had begun to gather. A maid entered, holding a tray with soup and medicine.
"Sir… please eat something."
He nodded with a smile and took the tray. But as she turned to leave, a sharp cry of pain rang out.
"Ah—my head…!"
The tray clattered as Taehyun collapsed to the floor, clutching his head and groaning.
The maid screamed, "Guards! Guards!"
Three men stormed into the room.
"What happened?"
"He just collapsed!" the maid cried. "He said his head hurts!"
One guard cursed under his breath. "We should call the doctor."
"The family doctor's gone home. I think he had an emergency," another responded.
"Then we take him to the hospital!"
"But Vasilliy said no one takes him outside the estate!"
"Do you want him to die? Vasilliy will skin us alive if something happens to him!"
They rushed him to the hospital. Taehyun was admitted and placed under IV fluids. Nurses murmured about his extreme weight loss and exhaustion.
As night fell and everyone assumed he was sedated, a nurse walked in to check on him—only to be struck unconscious by a heavy metal tray.
Taehyun, now dressed in her uniform, mask covering most of his face, slipped out into the hallway. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
"Act normal… don't look suspicious…" he muttered.
He walked past guards, blending in like a ghost in the storm.
Once out of the building, he bolted into the shadows, adrenaline keeping his legs strong.
He was free.
—
Near Park Mansion
Valdamer stood at the window of his new house across from the Park family's residence. A strategic move. From here, he could keep an eye on their every movement.
"I'll keep them close… until it's time," he murmured to himself.
His son, Alexei, peeked into the room. "Papa, can I play outside?"
Valdamer knelt. "Only in front of the house, lyubimiy. Don't go far."
"I won't!" Alexei ran out with a ball, giggling.
Moments later, a black car came speeding down the narrow street.
"Alexei !" a voice screamed.
The child froze.
A figure dashed from the side, grabbing Alexei and diving out of the way just in time.
Dust and screeching tires filled the air.
Alexei looked up, eyes wide.
"You okay, kid?" said the stranger.
To be continue