Chapter 38

38

Every step toward the facial scanner at the ornate ballroom doors tested Freya’s composure. The device blinked to life as she approached, its soft hum cutting through the frantic chatter in her mind.

The machine beeped, loud and sharp. A trap springing shut. Her stomach twisted when she saw the flicker of recognition in the eyes of Korolov’s security team, a brief exchange of glances she wasn’t meant to witness.

They know who I am.

She swallowed hard, forcing her legs to keep moving as they waved her through. Abe had gone in ahead—she was on her own now.

Marked.

The crystal chandeliers cast a deceptive warmth, their light glinting off the polished marble floors and the champagne flutes of the oblivious partygoers. Tight bands locked around her chest as she spotted Korolov on the far side of the ballroom. He stood out like a shark in a sea of tropical fish, his predatory stance unmistakable even as he engaged two elderly men in conversation.

Arms dealers masquerading as harmless grandfathers? Or perhaps military commanders from some backwater nation, eager to find new ways to control their soldiers like puppets on strings?

She wouldn’t let it happen. The archive was hers and the responsibility for keeping it safe when it had been taken had been hers as well. She took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over her gown.

“Take it easy, Duchess.” Abe’s voice was a lifeline in her ear, even though right now he was out of sight, hidden in the crowd. “The second things look sideways, I’m getting you out of there.”

He’d looked devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo. Memories of her time with him washed over her—a completeness she’d never experienced before.

“I will.” Freya exhaled, centering herself. “Fingers crossed I don’t kill myself in these heels before I reach him.”

She was still feet away when Korolov’s head snapped up. The two elderly men, noticing the shift in his attention, fell silent and turned to face her.

Show time.

She fixed her most dazzling smile in place, willing it to mask her mounting fear. Numbers flooded her mind, anchoring her.

Distance to Korolov? Ten feet. Time to assess me? Two seconds, maybe less. His pulse? Around 70 beats per minute, calm as ice. Mine? Stratospheric.

She focused on her fingers, willing them not to tremble. Hold the smile. Don’t let them see the cracks.

She met Korolov’s wolfish stare with disinterest. “Mr. Korolov.”

Breathe. Her voice sounded steady—a minor freaking miracle.

“Gentlemen.” His cultured tone dripped charm as he bowed to the older men. “If you will excuse me.” He captured her hand, his grip precise, as he guided her toward the dance floor. The band struck up a dark tango, its rhythm pulsing through her bones like a warning.

He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers as he kissed her knuckles. “Do you dance, Freya Jonsdottir?”

“Of course.” It took everything she had not to flinch as his hand slid around her waist, pulling her against him with calculated intimacy.

A clipped nod of approval. Then he swept her into the dance, asserting dominance with every step. “I am surprised to see you here tonight.” His voice held a quiet menace.

“Likewise.” She kept her tone flat while her heart threatened to implode. Cold sweat trickled down her spine.

His smile spread across his face. “Am I expected to believe your presence here is mere coincidence?”

“You can believe what you wish.” The words came automatically as she fought to keep her mental distance.

The crowd was a blur as he spun her across the floor. His lead was flawless, every step demonstrating power and control. This was a man who orchestrated chaos for a living and wasn’t afraid to showcase his mastery of it.

She’d lost sight of Abe, Leo, and Fox in the crowd. But they were there, watching from their positions. Ready. The knowledge steadied her breathing even as Korolov’s fingers dug deeper into her waist.

“If I had known you danced so well, I would have thrown a ball sooner and saved us both a lot of heartache.”

Don’t play games with me. “Shall we skip the small talk? You have my laptop.”

He released her waist and spun her under his arm. Her skirt flared, a bright circle of crimson. For an instant, she spotted Abe in the crowd on the far side of the room and then he was gone, and Korolov pulled her back into his arms. “And what if I did?”

She focused on the variables she could control. My voice. Eye contact. “Facial recognition is only part of the unlocking sequence. There’s a timed component as well.” She injected professional disdain into her voice. “But I’m sure you already knew that?”

Korolov’s gaze dissected her. “And why would you help me, Doctor?”

“I’m a realist.” She channeled the same tone she used with first-year students when teaching at the University. “Your people undoubtably been trying to brute force their way into my encryption. Each failed attempt triggers a cascading corruption sequence. It’s finite. You can’t keep trying to hack it. Once you reach the predetermined limit, the data becomes worthless to everyone.”

Her fear receded a little as her expertise grounded her. “I’d rather negotiate terms than watch my work be destroyed by ham-fisted hacking.”

His eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“The timed component requires security protocols entered in a specific order.” Her tone was aloof. “I designed it that way on purpose. The world’s not ready for what’s on that drive. But perhaps we can come to an arrangement that preserves the integrity of my work while satisfying your interests.”

The orchestra’s last note hung in the air as Korolov bowed, his grip still holding her captive. “Thank you for the dance.” He caught the attention of one of his men with a lifted finger.

The crystal chandeliers cast shifting patterns across the marble floor, competing with shadows dancing at the edge of her vision.

Something’s wrong.

The crash of shattering glass pierced the hubbub of conversation. Across the ballroom, women shrieked and men shouted. Every head turned toward the noise.

Except Korolov’s.

His free hand shot out, clamping around her bare upper arm. A tiny sting pricked her skin. Her heart slammed her ribs.

No.

She yanked backward, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. The ballroom tilted, yellow light from the chandeliers stretching into long, wavering streaks.

Her knees buckled, and her hand hit the cold floor to steady herself.

“What did you...” Her tongue was too thick, her words slurring together.

The chandeliers dimmed, their light fading to gray, then nothing.