Katarina barely had time to absorb the shock of her grandfather's erased study before the heavy double doors at the end of the hallway swung open with a thundering force that made the staff flinch.
Her father stepped inside.
Mikhail Dragunov.Cold. Controlled. A man shaped by ambition and ice, with a gaze sharp enough to cut skin. Behind him trailed Boris Dragunov's former aides—men who had once sworn loyalty to her grandfather. Now their eyes were hollow, their spines stiff, their allegiance already bent at Mikhail's feet.
And walking beside them was Nikolai.
Her older brother.
His jaw was tight with barely-contained fury. His knuckles white. But beneath the frustration—beneath the Dragunov hardness—she saw it:
Worry.For her.
The moment their gazes met, something almost invisible flickered across his face. His fingers twitched at his side—an old childhood signal.
Wait.
Then he gave a second, nearly imperceptible flick of his chin.
A direction only they knew.
The old secret garden.Behind the east wall.Meet tonight.
Kat swallowed hard and gave a tiny nod.
The acknowledgment was barely made when Mikhail's voice cut through the air, dripping with disdain.
"Oh," he drawled. "You're finally back from your little… money-splurging vacation."
Her jaw tightened. "Father—"
He brushed past her as though she didn't exist. As though she were air.
"Don't involve yourself in matters that aren't your concern."
Kat stepped forward, heat crackling beneath her sternum. "My grandfather is dead—"
"Yes," he said, turning just enough for her to catch the contempt in his eyes, "and his death is being handled by the men of this family."
Her pulse spiked with rage. "I want to see the files. The reports. I deserve—"
Mikhail stopped. His gaze snapped to hers, cold enough to burn.
"You deserve nothing."
The words hit her like a slap.Sharp. Cruel.Expected—and still devastating.
"You are a woman raised in privilege," he continued, each word dipped in venom. "Sheltered. Soft. Kept away from blood and violence. My father coddled you—made you believe your opinions mattered in Dragunov affairs."
Kat felt something inside her crack—something sharp, something old, something that had always lived in the shadow of Mikhail Dragunov. Rage crawled up her throat, searing.
She started to speak—
—but Nikolai caught her eye.
A small, urgent shake of his head.
Not now.Not in front of them.Not where she could be punished for the truth she carried.
Katarina forced the words down, burying them beneath clenched teeth and trembling restraint.
Mikhail smirked at her silence. "Good. Learn your place. Now stay out of my way."
Her voice came out low. "Where is he? Grandfather's body."
Mikhail shrugged, careless. "In the family cemetery. If you want to cry, do it quietly. We have business to handle."
He turned his back on her and kept walking, the aides trailing behind him like obedient shadows.
Kat stared after him, nails digging so deep into her palms she felt skin break. She memorized the exact moment—his tone, his stride, his dismissal.
She would not forget.She would not forgive.
When he disappeared around the corner, the air felt too thick to breathe. Suffocating. Wrong.
Kat turned and walked out of the mansion before she shattered something. Her footsteps were quick, sharp, fueled by a hollow ache she didn't have the strength to hide.
Outside, she pulled out her device.
I'm not staying here tonight.We'll talk later.Be safe.
She didn't wait for Nikolai's reply.
The moment she reached her car, she told the driver the only place she had the strength to go:
Zara's apartment.
Zara opened the door wearing fuzzy slippers, a messy bun, and a peeling green face mask. But the moment she saw Kat's expression—empty, pale, broken—her entire face dropped. She ripped off the mask with shaking hands.
"Oh my god," Zara breathed. "I knew it. I knew someone died."
Kat didn't make it two steps inside.
She collapsed into Zara's arms.
The tears came without warning—hot, violent, unstoppable. Weeks of tension. Hours of fear. Minutes of disbelief. Everything crashed over her at once. Zara held her close, arms wrapped tight around her shaking shoulders.
"It's okay," Zara whispered. "I'm here. I've got you. Let it out."
It took minutes—long, painful minutes—before Kat could breathe again.
They moved to the couch. Zara made hot tea she knew Kat wouldn't drink and placed it on the table anyway. Then she sat beside her, quiet, waiting.
Kat finally spoke.
Everything poured out.
The silent staff.The erased study.Her father's cruelty.Her grandfather buried like an inconvenience.
And then—
"The rose," she whispered.
Zara froze mid-sip of her iced drink. Her eyeliner wings twitched. "A rose? Like… the rose?"
Kat's stomach lurched. "Zara—"
"I'm serious!" Zara said, sitting upright. "You know—the assassin! The one people whisper about? Rose, the woman who kills creeps and corrupt syndicate leaders?"
Katarina tensed so hard her bones ached. "Zara, stop—"
But Zara was on a roll, oblivious to the knife her words pressed into Kat's ribs.
"They say she's like… unstoppable," Zara continued. "Kills only the worst men. Leaves a red rose at the scene. Total justice vigilante vibes. Some people think she's a myth."
Kat stared at the floor, breath shallow.
A myth.A rumor.A ghost.
That was how she was supposed to exist.
Rose—the assassin her grandfather had shaped and shielded.
Zara kept talking, softer now. "And your grandfather wasn't evil. Strict? Yes. Terrifying? Absolutely. But not corrupt. Rose wouldn't target him. Not unless something is wrong."
Something was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
Kat's voice trembled. "I haven't taken a job in months, Zara. I wasn't even in the country."
Zara's eyes widened. "Then… someone else used your signature?"
Kat swallowed hard. Her hands were shaking.
Someone had used her rose.Someone who knew the truth.Someone who wanted her blamed.Or hunted.Or warned.
Zara reached for her hand. "Kat… what's happening?"
Katarina pressed her palms to her face, tears slipping between her fingers.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But whoever killed him… they're sending a message."
Her pulse throbbed in her ears.
Someone had murdered her grandfather.Someone had used her mark.And that someone was watching.
Watching her return.Watching her break.Watching her next move.
And waiting.