The morning sun filtered through the glass walls of the university's library, casting a warm, golden hue across the tables and bookshelves. 

I sat at one of the farthest tables, my laptop open in front of me, but my attention was far from the assignment I was supposed to be working on. 

The campus buzzed with the usual weekday energy—students rushing to classes, the occasional laughter echoing in the hallways, the hum of conversation in the study areas—but I was focused on a different kind of buzz, one that came from the small earpiece connected to my phone.

On the screen, a live feed from the CCTV cameras I'd installed in the house played out. 

Eleanor—no, Ekaterina—moved around the kitchen, her movements as graceful and deliberate as ever. 

Then I saw her.

Eleanor was in Lucien's study, her back to the camera as she rifled through his desk drawers with a kind of intensity that sent alarm bells ringing in my head. 

She was searching for something, her movements too deliberate to be innocent. 

The study was Lucien's private domain, a place she had no reason to be unless she was up to something.

I zoomed in, watching closely as she pulled out a folder and flipped through the contents. 

Her fingers moved quickly, scanning each page before pulling out several documents. 

She held them up to her phone, capturing images of what was clearly sensitive information.

My stomach twisted in anger and disbelief. 

This was beyond suspicion; this was a blatant act of betrayal. Eleanor—Ekaterina—had been playing her role perfectly, but now the mask was slipping. 

She wasn't just gathering intel; she was actively sabotaging us, feeding critical information to the Russians.

I watched in silence as she quickly returned the documents to the folder and slid it back into the drawer. 

She glanced around the room, her eyes darting suspiciously as if she could sense she  was being watched. 

But she didn't know about the cameras. 

She didn't know I had been one step ahead of her all along.

The evidence was clear. 

There was no more time for subtlety, no more games. Lucien needed to know the truth, and he needed to know it now.

Eleanor wouldn't make the first mistake—I had to force her hand, push her until she had no choice but to act. And when she did, I'd be ready.

The library was a familiar sanctuary, a place where I could lose myself in the normalcy of academic life, if only for a little while. 

But today, even that felt different. 

The weight of the ongoing battle for control of my life—and my family's survival—hung over me like a dark cloud. 

But it wasn't fear that drove me; it was resolve.

A text from Cynthus buzzed in on my phone, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Cynthus: You at the café yet?

I glanced at the time and realized I was due for a break. 

My usual spot at the campus café would give me the chance to regroup and go over the information Ophelia had handed me last night.

The walk across campus was brief, the paths lined with students lounging on the grass, enjoying the last remnants of summer. 

The café was just as I expected—half-full, with the familiar faces of students and faculty alike buried in books or tapping away at laptops. 

It was a cozy corner of the campus, a place where the stress of university life was balanced by the aroma of fresh coffee and the soft hum of conversation.

I ordered my usual—a pasta and an iced latte—then settled into a booth near the window. 

It was the perfect vantage point to watch the world go by, to blend in with the crowd while keeping my mind sharp. 

The waitress, familiar with my routine, brought over my order with a smile, and I gave her a brief nod of thanks.

Just as I was about to dig into my salad, Cynthus slid into the seat across from me, his presence a welcome interruption.

"Hey," he greeted, flashing a smile as he dropped her bag onto the seat beside him. "Didn't think you'd be up for company today."

"I could use the distraction," I admitted, taking a sip of my drink. The cold, sweet taste of the latte was a small comfort, a reminder that not everything in life had to be so damn complicated.

Cynthus nodded, his sharp eyes scanning my face. He'd known me long enough to pick up on the subtleties, the things I didn't say. "Rough night?"

"You could say that." I twirled my fork in the pasta, not really interested in eating but knowing I needed to keep my strength up. "Got a lot on my plate right now."

"Anything you want to talk about?" His tone was casual, but I knew he was offering more than just a friendly ear. 

I hesitated, debating how much to share. 

Cynthus did not know that I was involved in things far more dangerous than the typical university drama.

It was safer that way, for both of us.

"I've got a situation at home," I said finally, choosing my words carefully. "Someone I trusted isn't who they say they are."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a sign that she was taking this seriously. "And this person... are they dangerous?"

"Very."

Cynthus leaned back, crossing his arms as he considered this. "What's your plan?"

"Stay ahead of them. Make them think they're in control, while I set them up for a fall." I kept my voice low, the seriousness of the conversation masked by the casual setting. "It's a delicate balance. One wrong move, and everything could come crashing down."

"You've always been good at keeping your balance," Cynthus said, a hint of admiration in his tone. "But if you need help, you know I'm here."

I offered him a small smile, appreciating the sentiment even though I knew this was something I had to handle on my own. "Thanks, Cynthus. I'll keep that in mind."

He nodded, her expression still thoughtful. "Just don't let it consume you, Serafina. You're walking a tightrope, but that doesn't mean you can't take a breath now and then."

"I'll try," I promised, though we both knew it was easier said than done.

We spent the next hour chatting about classes, upcoming projects, and the latest campus gossip. 

It was a relief to focus on something as mundane as coursework and student life, to pretend, even for just a little while, that my biggest concern was an upcoming exam or a paper deadline.

But as much as I tried to immerse myself in the conversation, my mind kept drifting back to the house, to the image of Eleanor moving through the kitchen with that unsettling calm. 

The clock was ticking, and every moment brought us closer to the inevitable showdown.

Eventually, Cynthus had to leave for class, and I was left alone with my thoughts. 

I pulled out my laptop, intending to dive into some readings, but found myself staring at the screen, my mind wandering back to the cameras, to the intricate web of lies I was spinning to entrap Eleanor.

I knew she would make a mistake—it was only a matter of time. And when she did, I would be ready to strike, to bring her and her Russian allies down.

But until then, I would wait. And watch.

The minutes ticked by as I went through the motions of studying, my focus fractured. 

The café bustled around me, the noise and movement a stark contrast to the stillness of the house, where Eleanor was likely plotting her next move.

As the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, I closed my laptop and packed up my things, my mind already shifting gears. 

The battle was far from over, and there was still much to do. But for now, I had to keep playing the role, keep pretending that everything was under control.

Because in the end, control was the only thing that would keep me alive.

As the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the campus, I closed my laptop with a sigh. 

The weight of the day pressed down on me, my mind a tangled web of strategies and plans. Studying had been an exercise in futility—I couldn't focus, not with so much at stake. 

I needed to blow off some steam, to release the tension that had been building up inside me like a coiled spring.

I slipped my laptop into my bag and stood up, feeling the need for something more physical than just going through the motions of university life. 

A thought crossed my mind, and a small, almost wicked smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

There was one person who could help me burn off this excess energy.

Massimo.

Standing at a striking 6'2", his presence commands immediate attention. 

His sharp, defined features and deep, smoldering eyes suggest a man who is both captivating and intimidating. 

With a chiseled jawline and an impeccably groomed beard, he radiates a sophisticated yet dangerous aura.

Since him, Luca and Ellio trained me together, we are pretty casual and they get to call me Serafina and pull my leg.

I sent him a quick text as I left the café, letting him know I was heading to the gym. 

He didn't reply, but I knew he'd be there. 

He always was rotting in sweat and making muscles when not on a mission. 

The walk to the gym was brisk, the cool breeze brushing against my skin, waking me up in a way that caffeine never could. 

The familiar scent of sweat and leather hit me as soon as I walked through the doors, the sounds of grunts and the rhythmic thudding of fists against punching bags echoing in the space. 

It was just what I needed—a place where I could let everything go, even if just for a little while.

Massimo was already in the ring, warming up with a series of jabs and hooks, his movements fluid and precise. 

He looked up as I approached, a smirk spreading across his face as he took in my appearance.

"Well, well, se non è la regina stessa," he said, lowering his gloves. "What's the matter, Serafina? Too much thinking and not enough punching?"

"Something like that," I replied, climbing into the ring. "I thought I'd give you the pleasure of getting your ass kicked today."

He chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Bold words, princess. But we both know I'm the one doing the ass-kicking around here."

"Continua a ripetertelo, Massimo," I shot back, sliding on my gloves. "Maybe one day it'll be true."

The banter was easy, familiar. Massimo was one of the few people who could push me to my limits without pushing me over the edge. 

He understood the balance, the fine line I walked every day. 

And more importantly, he knew how to challenge me without ever undermining my strength.

We circled each other in the ring, the tension between us palpable but playful. 

Massimo threw the first punch, a quick jab that I easily deflected, my body moving on instinct. I countered with a right hook, which he dodged with a grin.

"Is that all you've got?" he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I thought you were here to blow off steam, not dance around the ring."

"Don't worry, Massimo," I replied, my tone equally teasing. "I've got plenty more where that came from."

We traded punches, the sound of our gloves meeting each other's blocks and jabs filling the gym. 

The rhythm of the fight was like a dance, each movement deliberate, calculated. Massimo was good—damn good—but I wasn't about to let him have the upper hand.

I ducked under a swing and came up with an uppercut, landing a solid hit to his side. He grunted but didn't falter, his expression one of focused determination.

"Not bad," he admitted, stepping back to reassess. "But you're going to have to do better than that if you want to take me down."

"Oh, I plan to," I said, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. "But first, I'm going to make you work for it."

"Bring it on, princess."

The playful banter continued as we sparred, each of us pushing the other harder, faster. 

The tension that had been coiling in my chest all day began to loosen with every punch, every dodge, every sarcastic quip that left our lips. 

This was what I needed—a physical outlet for all the stress and frustration that had been building up inside me.

After several more rounds, both of us were breathing hard, sweat glistening on our skin. 

Massimo threw a particularly heavy punch, and I barely dodged it, the force of it sending me stumbling back slightly.

"Getting tired, Serafina?" he taunted, though there was no malice in his voice—just the usual competitive edge.

"Not a chance," I shot back, regaining my footing. "But I think you're slowing down, old man."

He is just 4 years older than me.

That earned me a laugh, and he stepped in closer, lowering his gloves slightly. "Maybe I'm just letting you catch up. Wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of all these people."

I smirked, dropping my guard just enough to let him think he had an opening. "You wish, Massimo."

And with that, I feigned a left hook, quickly following it up with a solid right jab that caught him off guard. He stumbled back, surprised but not unamused.

"Okay, I'll give you that one," he said, raising his gloves in mock surrender. "But only because I like you."

I grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline still pumping through my veins. "You should know better than to underestimate me by now."

He nodded, a glint of respect in his eyes. "I never do, Serafina. Never."

We stood there for a moment, catching our breath, the intensity of the sparring session slowly giving way to a comfortable silence. 

The weight that had been pressing down on me all day was still there, but it was lighter now, more manageable.

"Thanks, Massimo," I said finally, pulling off my gloves and shaking out my hands. "I needed that."

"Anytime, princess," he replied, slinging his towel over his shoulder. "You know where to find me."

As I stepped out of the ring, I felt a renewed sense of clarity, a focus that had been missing earlier. The problems waiting for me back home were still there, but for now, I had the strength to face them head-on.

Because if there was one thing this fight had reminded me of, it was that I was still in control.

 And as long as I could keep that, nothing—not even Eleanor—could take me down.