On the bed—the large, renovated bed that Helena and Mira had clearly worked to restore—sat two mountain-like figures covered by pristine white sheets.
Kaida blinked.
The shapes were identical. Same size. Same height. Both perfectly still, but with subtle movements beneath the fabric—breathing, shifting slightly, definitely alive.
"Where is sister?" Kaida's voice came out confused, her brain still rebooting from the previous emotional assault.
Her question was immediately answered—or rather, interrupted.
Viktor's shirt hit the floor with a soft thud.
Kaida's head snapped toward him. "Hey, don't pull the chain—"
But he wasn't pulling. He was just... continuing to undress. His hands moved to his belt, fingers working the buckle with practiced ease. The leather slid free with a whisper of sound that seemed deafening in the quiet room.
"What the hell are you doing, you bastard?!" Kaida hissed, her face flooding with color again.
