Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her eyes traced the fading trail, intently watching the smoke from her cigarette curl lazily in the air.

She let it dangle between her fingers, content to let it burn itself out, letting its last breaths form spirals. Just like she let the party behind her blur and whirl, and the bright, fuzzy lights below her swim, as she blinked groggily. She let the coolness of the rail seep into her skin, and let the balcony spin, the sounds muffle, until everything turned round and round.

And, well, she supposed that she was a bit of a mess: her hair fell over her face and shoulders, she switched standing from one foot to the other when the heels that she refused to abandon, despite her twin’s insistence, felt too stuffy; She let her head rest against the back of her manicured, limp hand that resting on the rail- while she was bending over slightly and letting her dress ride a little bit higher.

She never felt more at ease.

Now, if only her dizziness was a result of the five shots that she had downed two hours earlier, or the way that she had danced with reckless abandon, until all she could recognize was the familiar warmth of bodies mingling together, huddling close and moving in rhythm.

No, of course not, that was barely enough to take her down.

Maya’s body just had to absolutely fail her four seconds after she heard of the gut-wrenching news that Annika fucking Volkov recently got herself a boyfriend.

Not that she cared, after all Annika could fall into a burning ditch and screech her lungs out, and all that Maya would ever do in such a realistic scenario is use the flames to grill some marshmallows, and eat some popcorn while smugly watching. She wasn’t bitter, not in the slightest. And if anybody ever asked? She was sulking because her ex got over her- uh, well, ugh, ex ‘best friend’, got a boyfriend before her.

And that was that, that was all there was to know. Because nobody needs to know more than that. And as a matter of fact, there was nothing more than that.

…. But supposing the fact that there could be more, Maya would quite frankly say that perhaps, her and Annika pretty much used to be more than best friends, and very much did not end a whole lifetime worth of friendship over Maya having a crush on Jeremy, Annika’s older brother- (and what kind of lame excuse was that??), since Maya would rather chop off her hair than ever swing that way anyways. And she’d say that maybe she had missed the soft feeling of her ‘childhood friend’s’ lips on her neck, and the sight of her ‘enemy’ tied up prettily in her purple ribbons, wrapped like a gift and hiding her adorable face in the soft, pink sheets of Maya’s bed, and that she missed the soft gazes that they used to share, and their whispered giggles, and the secret playdates, even as children, when they played house and were both the wives.

That sometimes, she’d often reminisce and regret the relish that she felt when Annika flinched harshly after Maya called her a liar, a hypocrite, a stuck up and a coward for choosing to keep this- whatever they had, whatever was there, a secret, an innocent, reckless mistake, masquerading as a charade that went on for too long.

Because mafia princesses didn’t marry other girls, and they sure as hell won’t marry another princess.

And besides, Annika was good.

She was good, and nice, and pretty. Maya was sure, she was sweet, an angel, and quite obedient. She wouldn’t dare to put her parents through the shock and terror of learning that their daughter was into girls.

She couldn’t afford to be like Maya, because unlike her, she had everything to lose.

In the meanwhile, Maya couldn’t even be enough to satisfy herself. She was a glutton. She always desired more.

Her older brother, Nikolai, loved her, and there should be no doubt of that, but she still ran to him with the slightest scrapes just to get his attention. To make sure that he still cared.

The heathens would surely come to her rescue if she was in danger, but she still liked to guess at times if it’d be out fierce, pure love and protectiveness, or out of obligation.

Mia…well, as for Mia, she can’t help but relax even more as she thinks of her, her eyes drooping and closing shut. Oh, did she truly love Mia, did she adore her twin, her other self, the key to her heart, her sister.

Mia must like her too; she could read it in her eyes.

But sometimes, Maya becomes horrible, and starts wishing that she could be a bit more like her twin. Just a little more like her, so that everyone else can love Maya just as much as she loves them.

Because she knows that she’s better company than she could ever be, judging by the way that everyone easily gravitates around her, she doesn’t even need to use words. But Maya was boring, and nobody liked boring.

Killian wouldn’t bother, Niko frets more over her twin sister, Jeremy- well… he couldn’t really be blamed after all of the teasing and fights that she subjects him to on a weekly basis, (because she needs to use him as an excuse to be petty and revengeful with Annika, duh), and Gareth has always been busy, though he does like to invite her over in the chess club downtown to play, and she does have her cousin’s number on her favorite contacts just in case she can’t drive after a long party.

Talking about parties, she peers over her shoulder at the one currently colonizing the room behind her.

It still didn’t die down, and if anything, despite the ungodly hour, it got even more animated. Or perhaps that was because of Maya’s sudden mood swing that had urged her to step out to the balcony, she could be horribly unpredictable at times.

There wasn’t much to see, if you asked her. Drinking, dancing, betting, gambling, and other physical activities that her churning stomach couldn’t fully digest at the time, because really, a sixty-nine position in the middle of the living room was not a calming sight to take in as of now.

And well, ‘as of now’, she could feel her jaw tick when the annoying pest of a man that wouldn’t budge from her side ever since Maya came to the party, and even lingered right next to her on the balcony, reached a tentative hand to her back.

She dragged her gaze over to him, and quirked up an eyebrow at the audacity coming from a no-good, pathetic looking jock that looked stupidly drunk off of his mind, with a face only a mother could love-

“Am I bothering you, handsome?”, Maya says as she tilts her head, lips curling up as she stands to fix her hair,

His hand lingers on the small of her back as a flicker of excitement flashes in his eyes, he took a sharp breath to respond, but they were both cut off as something, someone- a bodyguard, hers (?), stepped in behind her and looped a jacked over Maya’s waist, her back pressing against his chest.

She furrowed her eyebrows and glanced up and- where had she seen that face? Wasn’t it one of the new recruits that Jeremy has taken in? what was his name again? Alan…Ilan…

“Ah, Ilya”, she greeted easily, crooking her neck up to look at him, while he sharply focused on covering her up.

Since when and where this guy spawned from, Maya has yet to know, but she felt an odd sense satisfaction as she watched the annoying drunkard from earlier step away and finally leave from the corner of her eye.

She focused on Ilya’s blank expression, and shifted as she felt the sudden proximity. She didn’t mind the touch, she supposed, and let him play priest.

Ilya, if she remembered right, was a recent addition. New bodyguard. Credits due to Jeremy’s mercy, that was mainly based of the fact that he needed information about the servants- she means Serpents. Hard to remember names during this time of the night.

So, Ilya was pretty much welcomed with open arms, after nearly getting his skull bashed in by Nikolai.

“I don’t believe that I asked beforehand, or called you to come pick me up.” She mused, “Don’t tell me that you also like coming to parties?” she titled her head further, staring deeply into his eyes, “Didn’t take you for the fun type, unless Jer added ‘crashing parties’ to your daily list of tasks?”

His left eye twitched. Hm.

“Or perhaps it was Mia?”

A frown, a quick sideways glance….

“…Oh? Nikolai?”

Aaand bingo.

She yawned and let whatever was left from her cigarette fall on the ground before stepping on it, she flipped her hair, which hits Ilya’s face in the process, (consider it revenge for the sudden proximity), shoved her pink glittery purse in his arms, before going back inside to find the exit.

Ilya was sharp on her heel, following her like a guard dog, and she was starting to regret- she has been doing that often, lately. She internally groaned as she remembered what exactly made her go from festive, to having her knees nearly buckle under her.

Annika…dating some random, stupid guy called Creighton King…

…King?

Did the ‘King phenomenon’ strike again? She liked to surname whatever was up with the Kings having the sudden, collective thought to date her entire darn family.

Coincidentally, the illness started with Killian and Glyndon King, and apparently the whole Annika and Creighton ‘thing’ has been going on for months, so it was safe to assume that Creighton struck before psycho Landon King stole her twin sister.

She doubted that Nikolai could actually date anybody at all and stay exclusive, since he often expressed distaste at the mere thought doing that, but she doubted that anything that was going on between him and Brandon King could be labelled as platonic, especially not after that day in the café when he threw Simon off of his lap, in order to chase after ‘his lotus flower’, as he often liked to call him.

And if it wasn’t the Kings, it was their friends: case in point, or more like the only case at all, Jeremy and Cecily knight. Maya often had to pretend to be upset that someone stole Jeremy from her, though she sometimes wishes that she could drop the act and announce for all to hear that his sister was infinitely better.

She could kidnap the latter and keep her for herself on a small island. That was also a perfectly feasible plan.

She finally reached the exit, stepping out in the dark night and tuning out the muffled sounds that were birthed out from the party behind her.

She scanned her surroundings beneath the faint glow of the streetlights, then stretched her arms as she breathed in the cool night air. The party had been organized by another random law student, and since she was bored out of her mind anyways, she couldn’t find any reasons to not go and have some fun.

…Well, she could have been studying in the meantime, but she couldn’t really bring herself to be as dedicated as Gareth.

She shot Ilya a quick glance before he unlocked the car, and she decided to dramatically flop down on the backseats after stealing back her purse.

Ilya closed the door for her as she pulled out her phone, noted how late it was, saw Mia’s text that went along the lines of ‘Pls text me if you need a ride after you’re done. It’s getting late. Do you need a ride now? How’s the party going?’, and Nikolai’s ‘Don’t u have an exam tmrw? It’s literally 4 in the morning. Don’t u have to wake up at 6???’.

She huffed and flung an arm over her eyes while Ilya started the car, no fun. The latter made the suggestion of sitting upright and putting on her seatbelt, which she deliberately ignored. Absolutely no fun.

Maya liked to act stubborn and mean, it ensured that everyone stayed far away from her. She liked to get under everyone’s skins and make them tense and flinch, glare and go away. She liked to act overly clingy, whiny, and act horribly, so that everyone else can stop bothering with her.

Because apparently, causing shit and chaos and acting like a narcissist is only cool and deemed hot when you’re a man. But they surely liked to label Maya as being bitchy. Once again, no fun.

She looked around the car, with nothing better to do other than look around for the next 15 minutes. She noticed a purse, quite similar to hers in its form, and raised an eyebrow.

Did Ilya have a girlfriend? Or a sister? Or maybe Killian was right about Ilya betraying them on 5 months basis…

She glanced at the rearview mirror and- geez, he did have some pretty eyelashes- no, focus, Maya.

But the task seemed impossible, especially after her mood worsened because of Annika motherfucking Volkov choosing a random man- And, oh, she chipped her nail. She’d have to fix that.

Maya was not scatterbrained, she was multitasking.

So, she made the very logical plan of hiring a spy- which would be Maya herself, by the way, since she couldn’t rely on anybody else, but only after a good nap, when she comes back to university after inevitably acing her exam, get herself a spa day with Mia to fix all of her problems, and kidnap Annika Volkov while she was at it.

When Ilya parked the car in front of the heathens’ mansion, she slowly sat up and reached for her purse and her phone as she walked out, leaving the door of the car open. She was really starting to regret wearing those heels now, each step she took sent sharp pain everywhere in her body.

How the dull ache in her toes and ankles connected with the throbbing in her temples, the knot in her stomach, the lump in her throat, and the weight pressing on her chest, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—begin to explain.

She all but stumbled into the safety of her room, shutting the door as if to bar the world from following. Throwing herself on her bed, she buried her face in her pillows and grunted as she took off her shoes.

Her limbs felt heavy as she patted the bed, blindly searching for her purse: she needed to set an alarm and clean her face to remove her make-up before could finally collapse into sleep.

Her fingers slipped clumsily over the fabric, fumbling inside as she propped herself weakly on her elbows. She blinked, her vision blurred with fatigue, and stared down at the bag under her. For a moment, her sluggish mind didn’t process it.

Shit.

The purse wasn’t hers.

Chapter Text

Deny. Deny. Deny.

If there was anything that Maya could confidently say that she had mastered throughout the entirety of her life, it would be the art of ignoring things.

Broken vases, a bad grade, pestering feelings, annoying men trying to convince her that she was straight, Annika Volkov (who?), the bitter taste of jealousy, that one rumor about how she had sent those two guys in the hospital back in high school…

Well, all she’d ever say in her defense, is that since there is no concrete evidence that she had committed those atrocities, then she simply has never committed them.

She has never seen the Heathens break any laws, had never set a foot outside of the mansion without her bodyguards, has never shoved her tongue down Annika’s throat, (Who??), nor has she ever sneaked with Mia into the latest party that the Elites had organized, just to pour a liter or two of pig’s blood down one of their annoyingly arrogant leader’s head.

Said ‘leader’ was currently dating her sister, but she was willing to ignore that part, too.

So thus, in line with this reasoning, she has never taken nor seen any black purse sitting around.

Nobody(guard) would be as bold as to invade her room and dig through her closet to search for said purse, unless it contained a bomb, or drugs or some dangerous intel, or…um, well, on second thought, maybe she should take a look on what’s inside of that bag before just shoving it in her closet.

Or, she might as well just bury it in the garden, get rid of it for once and for all.

…Yeah, right. Like she was about to chip a nail for that. Digging meant sweat. Sweat meant frizz. And frizz meant she might as well be dead too.

Besides, there were cameras everywhere.

She doesn’t really want to entertain the idea that Jeremy might stumble upon the footage. Maya, at four in the morning, in silk pajamas, mascara smudged, thrashing at the dirt like some feral Victorian widow. The heathens would have a field day.

She could always burn the whole damn thing and scatter the ashes- after all the others witnessed much worse, and much cursed, such as their first, if not all of their encounters with Kolya, (or so as she heard), so she doubted that watching their resident fashion diva commit designer homicide would raise any eyebrows- and oh, who was she kidding?

The bag had to go. That was the only logical, sensible choice.

Or, her treacherous inner voice whispered, you could just… return it. Honest mistake.

Absolutely not.

If there’s no body, then there’s no crime.

If she didn’t look at the bag anymore, it didn’t exist. Let it stay buried in the back of her closet, (ha-), because she was positively sure, that in a matter of minutes, seconds, she would soon forget about this entire deal.

She’d whine to Nikolai to get Ilya fired if he pestered her about it, which she doubted, since he was usually a quiet guy.

She stopped pacing, pursed her lips and shook her head, clearing her thoughts, was that too mean?  

What was the big deal? It was ridiculous, she’d just trade her purse back, apologize, and fucking move on, damn it.

Her head was killing her. The party was shit. She had an exam tomorrow. …Somebody must have prayed for her downfall. She blamed Annika, it was all Annika’s fault, she needs to home wreck her relationship as revenge and get her for herself- (Sure, what was that about moving on?)

She huffed, kicking her legs in the air as she fell back on the soft covers of her bed.

Deny, deny, deny it.

Deny it all.

She rolled over, propped herself on her elbows, and glared at the bag. The stupid thing was stressing her out so badly she could feel the eyebags forming—big enough to rival Landon King’s entire forehead.

But what if it did have a bomb? A silent bomb? Taking a peek wouldn’t hurt. The chances of getting her hands on some sort of blackmail material would be worth the risk.

She sat up and set the black purse on her lap, leaning back against her pillows. Turning it over in her hands, she noted that despite its good quality, it had no branding, no abnormal markings—nothing to hint at its contents.

She sat there for a moment, fingers drumming against the clasp. With a quiet click, she unfastened it and eased the purse open. She squinted while rummaging through it, finding a thick, brown wallet, folded papers, a small black glittery pouch, and a clothe balled up.

The hell?

She first unrolled the piece of clothing, expecting it to hold or hide something, but it was just a black binder, crippled and wrinkled. The small pouch contained a ring that felt heavier than its size suggested. Thick and solid, its gold was dulled to a muted bronze by decades of wear.  A double-headed snake was carved into the signet face, Along the inner band, barely visible without tilting it to the light, was a single word etched in Cyrillic:

Скрыться.

She huffed, before carefully placing it back and focusing on the folded yellowed papers. The ink had darkened over the years, the letters curling and smudged in places, but the writing was unmistakably Russian—and cryptic. Most of it looked like nonsense at first glance, a tangle of numbers, letters, and symbols, but she could tell that buried in the chaos were coordinates, passwords, and instructions meant only for someone who knew the key.

As for the wallet, it belonged to Ilya, a chaotic little capsule of his life. Inside were his ID and passport, a haphazard collection of crumpled bills and jingling coins, a tiny box of colored contact lenses teetering on the edge like it might spill at any second, a handful of loyalty cards from cafes she’d never heard of, a faded photo of… someone, and a scribbled shopping list that looked more like a ransom note. Each item seemed to shout a little secret at her, but nothing prepared her for the ID. Or more like the second one.

It was Ilya, alright. But not their Ilya.

Ilya Levitsky. Blonde, blue eyed, criminally long eyelashes, stupid blank face in place. That was what the first card showed.

But the picture in the other one, the oneshe was currently gaping at, showed Ilya, with longer hair, green eyes, and a faint smile-

Full name: Ilya Levitsky

Sexe: F

She blinked, then blinked again, like her brain might just refuse to process it if she looked hard enough.

The binder, the ring, the ancient coded papers, the fake ID, the colored contact lenses, the secrecy, his- her? Their lack speech…

Could they be undercover?

But would Ilya really risk it? What could they possibly gain from infiltrating the Heathens? And who were they working for—what were their true intentions?

She didn’t waste a second.

Her hands shook slightly as she yanked the camera from the drawer, heart hammering. She snapped picture after picture: the purse’s interior, receipts crumpled like confessions, the tiny notebook with its messy scrawls, scattered bills and coins, the teetering box of contact lenses, every card, every ID, every scrap that might hold a clue. Her movements were almost frantic, obsessive, as if failing to capture a single detail could make everything slip through her fingers. Each click of the shutter was a heartbeat, a desperate claim on the truth she was determined to uncover.

She glanced at her phone, squinting at the late hour, and decided it was far too late to deal with any of this now.

With methodical, almost robotic movements, she put everything back into the bag, before sliding it under her bed.

Her camera still in hand, she waved it dramatically like it was a magic wand. Yep, professional investigator-slash-trouble magnet at your service. Tonight’s evidence? Collected. Case closed. Now back to ignoring reality until morning.

Her body flopped onto the pillows like it had given up on life; As for now, everything was future Maya’s problem. She was too tired to think, too drained to care, and too stubborn to let anything bother her tonight.

Deny. Ignore. Pretend not to see.

Deny. Deny it all. Deny everything.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

Chapter Text

“-So when fucking I tell you, ‘No, Maya, at least take a bodyguard with you’, it’s not a fucking request. You can’t just go alone, silence your phone, come back at four in the morning, and expect me to be fucking alright with that. I was worried sick- you were lucky that I was in the middle of a mission, or I’d have personally gone there and bashed everyone’s skulls in!”

Did Maya expect a painfully long scolding from Nikolai for the stunt she had pulled last night? Of course, Niko can’t help but worry and Maya can’t help but be trouble.

Had she kind of forgotten about it and about how much of a worrywart Nikolai could be? Absolutely. Especially with only two hours of sleep in her system.

“Do you have any concept of what could’ve happened to you? I told you- no, I explicitly fucking forbade you—not to disappear like that! Do you know what time you got back? Do you know how many phone calls I made? Do you- hey, are you even listening to me?”

Halfheartedly. Sort of. Maybe.

She was sitting upright in bed (barely), hair resembling a particularly aggressive bird nest, eyes squinting at the four Nikolais she was currently seeing loom over her. She was trying very hard to find it in herself to genuinely regret her actions.

Don’t get her wrong- she did feel bad. She understood where Niko was coming from. She understood he’d probably aged ten years overnight because of her. But the problem was her pillow was still warm, her blanket still perfect, and her brain still foggy enough to confuse ‘scolding’ with ‘white noise.’

He was still going: “And another thing, don’t you dare think pouting is going to get you out of-”

She blinked blearily. Pouted anyway.

And Nikolai glared down at her.

Her older brother huffed like an offended guard dog and patted her head, ruffling her hair. “You’re impossible.”

She smiled faintly, already halfway back to sleep.

“I should probably sic Ilya on you,” Nikolai muttered darkly. “Might as well give the bastard a hard time.”

Her brain lagged for a beat. Then the name sank in.

Well, shit.

She sat up a fraction straighter, masking the spike of panic behind her best wide-eyed act.

Luckily, her defense mechanism was infallible.

“…Who?” she asked, tilting her head with forced innocence, even though they both knew damn well she was lying.

Nikolai stared at her for a long, loaded second. “…Go back to sleep before I really lose it.

Apparently, the universe liked to make her miserable, because thirty minutes later she was enduring another scolding.

This time, from her twin sister.

‘That’s what you get for making everyone worry.’ Her brain supplied unhelpfully, ‘You’re selfish. You’re ungrateful. You’re—' an idiot, an absolute disaster of a human being who should probably come with warning labels. Whatever. She was too tired to even berate herself.

Mia probably sensed what she was thinking about; so she typed with the speed of a firing squad and shoved her phone in Maya’s face.

Stop pulling that crap. Just don’t do it again.

Dry. Sharp. Impossible to argue with.

Maya gave a solemn nod, promised to be more careful, and immediately tackled her sister into a hug before Mia could type anything else.

For a moment, she thought she was safe—until Mia’s phone lit up right next to her cheek.

Also, your hair smells like burnt toast.

“Wow,” Maya muttered, not letting go. “Love you too.”

Getting ready took far more energy than it was supposed to. Her hair refused to cooperate, sticking out at every impossible angle. Her outfits argued with each other—nothing matched, nothing made sense, and everything clashed, damn it.

One boot pinched her foot while the other somehow threatened to escape entirely. Her makeup smudged the instant she blinked, and a rogue eyelash stuck to her cheek like it had its own agenda.

Her heart nearly dropped out of her ass when she almost forgot everything she had memorized. A sock disappeared into the void behind the dresser, her phone slid off the counter like it had somewhere better to be, and a stray brush bounced across the floor like it was mocking her.

But she succeeded in cursing out Annika Volkov, so… she supposed her morning routine was technically going all right.

She flung her books into her bag, hoisted it onto her shoulder, and strode for the door- only to freeze mid-step, slamming on the mental breaks.

Ilya’s purse.

A growl of frustration escaped her as she shoved a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. Kneeling down, she seized the wretched thing and flung it into her closet.

There. Out of sight, out of mind.

By the time she made it outside, Maya’s brain was running on fumes, hair still defying gravity, makeup a little smudged, but spirits high. And there it was: her chariot. A bubblegum pink Rolls-Royce Dawn, gleaming like it had just been dipped in cotton candy, leek and glossy, the kind of car that made people do double-takes.

She flung the door open with as much drama that her exhausted body could muster, and slid into the seat, tugging her boots off and letting her bag tumble beside her, sending her notebooks and small camera clattering softly against the leather.

As soon as she slipped on her sunglasses and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, the passenger door swung open. Mia leaned in without so much as a greeting. She ignored Maya’s arched eyebrow and flicked her hand in a clear move over gesture.

Maya didn’t have the energy—or the patience—to poke at that particular bear. With an exaggerated sigh, she made a show of rolling her eyes before scooting to the passenger seat. Mia, unbothered, rounded the car and slid into the driver’s spot as if it had been hers all along.

Mia had long ago declared Maya a public menace behind the wheel, a hazard not only to herself but to every tree, lamppost, and innocent pedestrian within a five–mile radius, especially when her sister looked the slightest bit tired.

A drowsy Maya behind the wheel was basically a demolition derby waiting to happen, all yawns and swerves and questionable braking decision. Mia would rather be caught dead driving a literal Barbie car.

As they pulled out of the garage, Maya scrolled idly through her social media, answering a string of texts from friends who were all complaining about the looming exam and how the university seemed dead set on making them fail, despite The King U’s notorious reputation for being one of the most demanding universities. With a sigh, she set her phone aside and reached for her beige laptop tote bag. She straightened her notebook, propped her thermos upright, double-checked her wallet, and patted her pockets for her keys. Satisfied, she slid her camera inside the bag as the final touch.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask…” Maya tilted her head, glancing up from her phone. “When did Jeremy recruit Ilya exactly? Is it true he used to be part of the serv— I mean, the Serpents?”

Mia kept her eyes on the road, lips quirking into a lopsided smirk at her sister’s near slip. She gave a small nod, pursing her lips as she did the math in her head. At the red light, she braked smoothly and, without looking away from the intersection, signed ‘three months’.

Which was far more than enough to inspect how the Heathens operated from the inside.

Now, don’t get her wrong, she would never doubt Jeremy’s decisions or leadership: If he deemed Ilya as trustworthy, then it must be for a reason. Besides, there could be other reasons and explanations for the latter’s situation. Perhaps they switched identities in order to stay incognito, decided to have a completely fresh start; However, that insinuated that they could be running away or hiding from someone, or even multiple people.

Perhaps that Ilya is indeed a spy, but she doubted that none of the Heathens had noticed anything suspicious happening right under their noses. Even if the Serpents had planted Ilya to relay information while they distracted the Heathens (possibly explaining why their attacks had become increasingly compulsive, as Killian had pointed out when commenting on their strategy), it still wouldn’t have worked efficiently: it is too fragile a plan. The other bodyguards would have ratted Ilya out long before any useful intel reached them.

Unless… Jeremy had intended it that way. A double game, making Ilya play double spy. Considerably risky, but as ‘The Overlord’, leader of the Heathens, he likely knew precisely how to manipulate the pieces.

Then again, that didn’t mean that she had no reason whatsoever not to doubt. It was a Schrödinger's cat: an alarming situation, or a simple coincidence all at once unless proven otherwise. But the possibility that Ilya might bring trouble shouldn’t be ignored.

She might as well tell Gareth or Jeremy everything that had happened—lay it all out and let them handle it. Let them untangle the mess, find a solution, a logical answer, and fix it.

...Then again, she felt some sort of thrill. She couldn’t help but feel a twisted sort of amusement at the prospect of uncovering Ilya’s secrets—of peeling back the layers one by one, of dissecting them and seeing exactly what they were hiding. It was the kind of curiosity that gnawed at her from the inside, impossible to ignore, and just dangerous enough to make her pulse quicken.

Ilya Levitsky…Just who are you exactly? What are you hiding?

She suddenly snapped out of her daze when Mia loudly honked at a car that veered to their lane without signals and spooked them. The driver apologetically raised a hand and slowed down briefly, before focusing back on the road, Mia clicked her tongue in annoyance but Maya was more focused on who was sitting on the passenger seat.

Annika…

She felt a lump form in her throat as she stared down at her lap. She needed to get over herself, just because she wasn’t able to move on, didn’t mean that Annika didn’t have the right to find love.

She had the right to make her own choices.

To live her own life.

Maya rolled down the window and flipped them off.

There, first step through her healing journey done.

The driver, who she presumed was Creighton King, frowned, while Annika gaped, but Maya put on back her sunglasses before turning to Mia and telling her to speed off.

The exam was horrid.

Their professor, Kayden Lockwood, was an absolute bastard that seemed to get off on making his students miserable.

Jokes and bitterness aside, the guy knew how to pose problematics and questions that could make one’s head feel like it’s being split open. However, Gareth was still top of his own class, and since he had the same class as Maya’s, she supposed that asking him for some advice wouldn’t hurt.

Law students got to stick together, like they say.

She watched her classmates leave the classroom, while she was still arranging her belongings.

The camera in her bag felt heavy.

She needed to make a copy of the pictures and transfer them to her phone in a new folder, investigate further, but without being noticed, nor suspected… the ring was interesting enough, and she had to decode the papers, check which ID was real, and as for the bag…if Ilya knew that she opened it…

She shook her head and headed to the lockers, she waved at Donna and Allison and blew them a kiss, before sticking her tongue back at Lina.

They were her best friends, who always had her back and provided gossip (which they prefer to call intel), though they had no sense whatsoever of common decency, meaning that in two years or so, they could murder one of their exes, announce it, and the others would come forward with a shovel.

What can she say? That was the life of a social butterfly.

Donna was the curious one in their little group, always hacking, prodding, poking, and searching around to satisfy her curiosity. She was in the photography club, and often liked to ramble about random fun facts.

Allison was the ‘calmest’, though she was not one to be trifled with. She was in the debate club, and knew exactly how to be the voice of reason- often the obnoxiously loud one.

Lina could wreck a car and enjoy the flames but freak out over a cockroach. She wasn’t in any clubs, as she preferred to sleep and cause chaos.

She was starting to think that they only majored in law to get away with murder.

She wondered what major Ilya was in…

She opened her locker and set her bag, while Lina looped her arm around her shoulders and peeked at the pictures inside, poking at everything. Donna leaned against the lockers next to hers, and started to talk her ear off, while Allison tried to help Maya get back what little sense of personal sense she had left.

“Looks like you had fun last night”, Lina teased as she pretended to bite Maya’s cheek, “You can’t fool me, look at the size of your eyebags…” she mock-pouted, before her eyes widened excitedly, “Wait, does that mean that you finally hooked u-eughhuugh!”

Allison dragged her back by the collar of her shirt, forcing Lina to stumble a step away from Maya. Her frown was sharp, but the glint of amusement in her eyes betrayed her. Donna, less patient, reached forward and flicked Lina’s forehead, making her yelp before bursting into laughter.

“Cut it out, Lina,” Donna muttered through her grin, then dug through her bag. She pulled out a tube and tossed it at Maya with a little flourish.

“Nope,” Maya answered the earlier question firmly, popping the p like a bubble as she Donna handed over her phone for Maya to use as a mirror. Just stumbled upon something that probably wasn’t meant for her to see.

Maya caught both, balancing them awkwardly as she squinted at her reflection on the screen before Donna held it up for her. The concealer was a few shades too light, but it would do. She dabbed it carefully over the faint mark blooming on her skin, trying to smooth it out with her fingertip.

Lina leaned closer again, smirking. “You’re gonna need industrial paint if you want to cover that.”

Allison tugged her back again with a low warning, but her mouth twitched as though she was holding back a laugh. Donna snorted loudly, nearly dropping her own phone from the force of it.

Maya ignored them all, pressing her lips together and patting the concealer into place. “You guys are so unhelpful.”

“Correction,” Donna shot back, smug as ever. “We’re hilariously unhelpful.”

Lina grinned in agreement, while Allison shook her head with mock exasperation, arms crossing over her chest as if she were the only sane one in the group.

Maya had thirty minutes left before she needed to leave for swimming club—she mentally noted the time, already preparing to excuse herself from the group.

“I’m sorry, do you mind?” a voice cut in, low and familiar.

Donna arched a brow, Lina glanced back with open curiosity, and Allison’s eyes narrowed into a sharp glare over her shoulder.

Maya froze, her spine straightening instinctively.

“I need a word with Maya,” Ilya said evenly, their gaze fixed on her.

Chapter Text

“Listen.” She jabbed a finger up at his face the moment they slipped into the narrow corner between the hallway and the staircase. Pressed flat against the wall, she kept her eyes on him while Ilya scanned their surroundings—until his gaze flicked back, catching the accusing finger.

“I don’t know how, or why you’d follow me to Uni,” she hissed, “but I’m warning you- I want out. I’ll scream murder to Nikolai, I-”

“I didn’t follow you,” Ilya cut in evenly. “The community services department is right next to law.”

“Community services?” She frowned, squinting up at him.

“Focus.” Ilya shook their head. “Yesterday, when I picked you up…”

Well, shit. Here it comes.

“Who was the guy you were with? On the balcony.”

…huh?

Seeing her bewildered face, Ilya frowned and waved a hand. “The one with his hand on your back, muttering God-knows-what. You looked dizzy, out of it. Do you know him?”

Maya almost laughed. Was Ilya… concerned? Afraid? Jealous?

“Just some random pest. He doesn’t even exist to me.”

Ilya nodded, humming, seeming to accept the answer.

Phew. Looked like she was safe-

“Also, I’d like my bag back.”

Well, shit. 

“Mm?”

“My bag.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“My bag.”

“Your huh?”

“My bag.”

“Oh, geez, would you look at the time, it seems like I have to g-“

Ilya blocked her path, sliding an arm beside her like a human barricade, eyes boring into hers.

“I don’t appreciate your level of escapism. Do you, or do you not, happen to have seen a black bag? It was in the back of the car I picked you up in. Did you perhaps confuse it with yours?”

Oh, geez… he really does have long eyelashes- MAYA, FOCUS!

“Look,” she said, rolling her eyes so hard she was sure they could orbit the planet, cocking a hip and crossing her arms. “I may be a little dizzy last night, fine, guilty. But blatantly accusing me of leaving your mysterious bag is- how do I put this- ridiculously offensive. I did not leave my purse-”

He cut her off with the bag itself: pink, glittery, and waving like a neon flag in her face.

“I have been walking all morning with this in my hands. I certainly do hope it doesn’t belong to you.”

Maya blinked.

Well, congratulations, genius, you forgot evidence at the crime scene.

Maya snatched at the bag, but Ilya’s grip was firm. “Hey! Hands off,” he said, holding it just out of reach.

“Give it back, now!” she snapped, hopping forward.

“Ah? So it does happen to be yours?” he asked with a smug tilt of his head.

“It’s not—wait, yes, yes it is! Give it—” she lunged again, and he sidestepped effortlessly, making her spin past him.

“Not so fast, I want my bag first.” Ilya extended his hand, palm up, expectant.

Maya pursed her lips and wagged a finger at him. “Look, I’m the one with the upper hand here. I got the intel. I got the proof. I got the blackmail material. So if anything, we’re doing this my way.”

Ilya looked down at her calmly, his expression unreadable, while his brain unspooled very different scenarios- chief among them, calculating how long it would take before the Heathens found and tortured him if he went through with the idea of murder.

As if she’d read his mind, Maya suddenly reached forward and started patting him down. His arms, his shoulders, across his chest- methodical, clumsy, way too close.

Ilya thumped back against the wall, startled, his eyes widening as her hands paused over two very specific, very incriminating bumps.

Maya froze. She looked up at him, cheeks heating in realization.

Ilya’s mouth parted in a soundless gape, just as horrified as she was.

For a heartbeat, the corner was dead silent.

Then she jerked her hands back like she’d been electrocuted. “Oh my god- those are not- I wasn’t-” she stammered, eyes wild.

“They’re knives,” Ilya blurted at the same time, way too defensive for comfort.

Their voices overlapped in frantic denial, which only made the awkwardness sharper, until finally Maya bit her lip, her gaze flicking—traitorously—back down to his chest.

“…Why do you need two?” she muttered, half to herself.

Ilya squirmed, looking down in embarrassment, and Maya’s eyes widened theatrically.
“Oh…” she whispered, drawing out the sound like she’d stumbled upon buried treasure. She tilted her head up at him- no, her- with a grin that was equal parts wicked and knowing. “Well, well. What have we here?”

Ilya stiffened, her back hitting the wall with a dull thud. “Get your hands off me.” Her voice cracked, betraying the calm mask she always wore.

Maya leaned in, deliberately not moving her hands away. “Relax. It’s not like I didn’t already know.” Her smile softened into something sharper, playful but edged. “I just wanted to see how long you’d squirm before breaking character.”

That hit. Ilya’s face flushed a deep crimson, her jaw clenched tight. “You little-”

“Uh-uh,” Maya interrupted, wagging a finger close to her chest as if scolding a child. “Careful with that temper. Remember who’s holding all the cards right now.”

Ilya’s nostrils flared, and for a moment Maya could almost see her calculating-fight, flight, or surrender.

Maya leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that brushed against Ilya’s ear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your secret’s safe with me.” She pulled back just enough to smirk. “For now.”

Ilya shook her head, tugging her sweater back into place over the crisp collar of her shirt.
“You don’t understand, I-”

“You better start explaining who the hell you are, and what the fuck you’re doing here,” Maya cut in, her voice sharp, all traces of playfulness gone. She stepped forward, boxing Ilya against the wall. “Or I go straight to Jeremy.”

Ilya flinched but held her ground. “Jeremy knows. He knows I’m on the run, just… not the full extent.”

Maya’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Ilya cleared her throat, forcing the words out, “he knows that I came from the Bratva world.”

“…But?” Maya pressed, cautious now.

“But not about my identity. Nor about my gender.”

Maya blinked, then scoffed softly. “Yeah, I already figured that part out. The question is- why?”

Ilya’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Because if they found me, they’d kill me.”

“They who?” Maya demanded. “The Bratva?”

“Ex-members, now former enemies,” Ilya said quickly, eyes flicking toward the door, as though expecting shadows to slip through. “They banded together, formed a group, dedicated to hunting down any man they hold responsible for their fall-”

Maya’s brows shot up. “Wh-”

“Look.” Ilya cut her off, voice low, urgent. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having here. It’s not safe.”

Her eyes darted toward the locked door, her fingers twitching at her sleeves. “Walls have ears. You think Jeremy’s little fortress is airtight? It’s not. They’ve already sniffed out that someone slipped the noose. If they trace it back-”

Maya jabbed a finger at her chest. “You. If they trace it back to you.”

Ilya’s lips pressed thin, her shoulders curling in. “Yes. Me.”

For a moment, silence thickened between them, filled only with the faint hum of the light overhead. Then Maya tilted her head, studying her like she was pulling apart every excuse.

“You’re telling me,” Maya said slowly, “that a bunch of Bratva enemies, who want nothing more than to erase every last name tied to them, are coming after you- because you used to be one of them?”

“I wasn’t Bratva,” Ilya shot back, voice rising, desperate. “My father was. My brothers were. I was just-” she bit down on the word, then forced it out, trembling- “the daughter. Hidden. Powerless. Do you know what that means in that world? It means I was supposed to die with them, even though I never pulled a trigger, never ran a deal, never-”

Maya folded her arms. “So you ran. And dressed yourself up as a man, because that’s the only way you thought you’d survive.”

Ilya’s jaw clenched. “…Yes.”

“And you expect me to keep this little secret?”

Ilya’s eyes snapped up, sharp as glass.
“And what would you gain from ratting me out?”

Maya only smiled, languid, almost taunting.
“A recompense. Safety. All I’d have to do is name the price.”

A strangled sound caught in Ilya’s throat.

“…But you’d just vanish overnight,” Maya went on, tilting her head. “Besides, I could put you to better use.”

Ilya straightened, jaw tight, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from snapping.

“Like those folded papers in your bag—probably codes, coordinates, passwords. The ring, maybe a key? Family fortune?” Maya’s tone was amused, speculative. “Since you’re on the run, you must know a thing or two about how the Bratva and its little enemies operate…”

She broke off, eyes widening, a grin stretching over her lips.

Or I could make a certain someone jealous…

Before Ilya could flinch, Maya seized her shoulders and shook her, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“We’ll fake-date to annoy Annika!”

Ilya blinked down at her, worry creeping into her expression.

“…Who?”

Maya’s grin widened even more, a hint of danger lurking behind the laughter.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t like this.”

“You never like anything.”

“That’s because everyone in this house is trying to screw me over!”

“Objection!” Maya shot up a finger. “We’re literally saving your life.”

“You’re making me wear a pink tuxedo-”

“Boo-hoo. So what? It’s not like it’ll crush your oh-so-sensible masculinity. Besides, you’re only fake-macho on weekends.”

Ilya pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is insane.”

“It’s genius,” Maya corrected, already typing furiously on her phone.

“I’m a bodyguard, not your- whatever you’re plotting.”

“You’re already pretending to be a boy,” Maya said, grinning like a cat who’d cornered a bird as she leaned closer.

“That is different.”

“You’re also, most definitely, my friend-”

“I am not-”

“So therefore,” Maya went on, pressing her forefingers together like she was connecting invisible dots, “following this line of logic-”

“There is no line of logic!”

“-you’re my fake, play-pretend boyfriend!”

Ilya’s eye twitched. “This is blackmail.”

“This is friendship,” Maya corrected, still linking her fingers like she’d cracked the code of the universe.

“I said, I am not your friend.”

“Then what are you?” Maya asked, batting her lashes in mock innocence.

“I am your bodyguard.”

Maya gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “My bodyguard doesn’t even want to guard my fragile little heart? Tragic.”

Ilya groaned. “This is absurd.”

“What’s absurd is Annika thinking she can just waltz in with her perfect hair and her smug little smile- ugh. No. We’re going to crush her. Together.”

“I am not ‘crushing’ anyone.”

“You’re right,” Maya purred, “you’re just standing there in a pink tuxedo being my extremely convincing fake boyfriend.”

“I- No. Absolutely not.”

Maya ignored her, and tapped her chin, circling Ilya like a coach before a big match. “Okay, rule number one: no glaring.”

“I don’t glare.”

“You terrify waiters, babes. Smile more.”

Ilya’s mouth tightened. “I don’t smile.”

“Good thing you don’t have to mean it. Just bare your teeth and hope nobody notices.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Rule number two,” Maya went on, ignoring her, “you need to put your arm around me. Casually. Not like you’re about to snap my hips or break my neck.”

Ilya’s ears went hot. “I am not-”

“Oh, and rule number three,” Maya added, smoothing invisible lint off her dress, “if Volkov flirts, you look devastatingly loyal to me. Puppy-dog eyes. All in.”

Ilya’s retort caught in her throat. Death, at that precise moment, has never felt closer. “...Volkov?”

Maya paused, cocking her head. “Yes, Annika Volkov.”

Ilya froze. “What? Volkov- as in… Jeremy- Jere- Volkov? A-Annika? Volkov?”

“Mm-hm. Why? Do you know her?”

Her stomach dropped. She could practically hear the blood pounding in her ears. “She’s- she’s Jeremy’s sister. She’s Jeremy little sister.”

Maya blinked once, then smiled. “I know. Pretty convenient.”

“Pretty convenient?!” Ilya’s voice cracked. “That’s suicidal!”

“Relax,” Maya said, patting her arm with infuriating calm. “We’re not murdering her, just making her jealous. Easy.”

Ilya sputtered. “E-easy? If she complains to Jeremy- if he even suspects- I’ll be-”

“Posing as my boyfriend and looking fabulous,” Maya cut in smoothly. “Now, practice smiling before your face cracks in half.”

Ilya gripped the back of a chair like it was the only solid thing left in her world. “Fine. No, it’s fine- it’s fine. Jeremy is fine. He’s decent, sane- wait. You’re telling Nikolai about this, right?”

Maya didn’t answer. She was too busy scrolling on her phone, muttering under her breath about appointments, clubs, parties, and other words that make Ilya nearly rip her hair out.

“Maya.” Ilya’s voice sharpened. “You’re telling him.”

Still nothing.

“…Maya.”

She started whistling. Off-key.

“Oh my God.” Ilya’s eyes went wide. “You’re not telling him.”

“Correction,” Maya said cheerfully, pocketing her phone, “I’m not telling anyone. Why ruin the surprise?”

Ilya gaped. “The surprise?! He’s Nikolai fucking Sokolov, the punisher in the flesh, who is, let me remind you, your freaking older brother!”

Maya patted her arm like she was a nervous toddler. “Don’t be dramatic. Niko will be fine. He just needs to see how… devoted you are.”

“Devoted,” Ilya repeated flatly.

“Yes! Hover around me. Glare at people. Scowl at Annika, but like… sexy-scowl, not assassin-scowl…Oh, that reminds me.” Maya snapped her fingers. “I completely forgot- I used to pretend I had a crush on Jeremy. To piss off Annika.”

Ilya nearly choked. “You WHAT?!”

Maya waved off her horror. “So naturally, you’ll have to act overprotective. Like, hover. Be jealous. Growl a little if Jeremy walks by.”

“I don’t growl!” Ilya hissed.

“You do now." Maya clicked her tongue, pacing like a general before battle. “All right. Party tonight, campus tomorrow.”

Ilya, still clutching the chair for dear life, blinked. “…Campus?”

“Yes, darling.” Maya twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Hand-holding, walking me to class, lunch under a tree, tragic stares across the hallway- you know, the usual.”

Ilya’s throat went dry. “That’s not usual.”

“And then,” Maya continued, snapping her fingers, “at the perfect moment, when Annika’s watching… you kiss me.”

Ilya nearly tripped over her own feet. “I- huh? Wh- wha- kiss-?”

“Or maybe a fake kiss,” Maya corrected smoothly. “You’ll survive.”

Ilya’s ears turned scarlet. “Maya- phones- if they take a picture, your reputation might-“

“Relax.” She gave a careless little whistle and waved off the panic, nothing would ever top the Glyndon-Killian-Instagram-Post incident. “All you have to do is look devastatingly overprotective and then kiss me like your life depends on it.”

“My life does depend on it!” Ilya snapped.

“Exactly,” Maya said with a grin, already typing notes into her phone. “See? You’re getting it. My good girl.”

“I’m not- I just- this is… I can’t!”

“You can,” Maya said, stepping closer, tilting her head in mock encouragement. “It’s just a kiss. Pretend it’s a mission. Visualize the enemy, your boss, Annika—whatever motivates you. Deploy lips accordingly.”

“Deploy lips according- do you even hear yourself?!” Ilya’s voice cracked.

“Hmm,” Maya said, tilting her head as she closed her eyes, “words from a very wise woman.”

“From an impulsive, jealous, irresponsible woman,” Ilya shot back.

“Oi. Watch it,” Maya huffed, giving her a sharp glare.

“Just- Ms Volkov, Miss Annika- literally lives three floors above us.”

“For the most part,” Maya said casually. “When she’s not off with her posh British friends. And don’t call her miss.”

“Shouldn’t the two of you be ‘close’? Your families certainly should be”

“Yes, bot necessarily,” Maya lied smoothly, not missing a beat.

“Then what’s the big deal? Why are you downright obsessed-”

“Not obsessed,” Maya interrupted with a glare.

“-with making her bitter, or jealous, or whatever it is?” Ilya pressed.

“…It does not concern you.”

“It does when I’m risking getting mauled and tortured by your psycho older brother and his friends!”

“We had a… very friendly disagreement,” Maya huffed, clearly dodging.

Ilya arched a brow. “Friendly? Your ‘schemes’ do not sound very friendly. Did she steal something? Someone? A boyfriend?”

“Ew.” Maya made a face.

“A girlfriend then?”

Maya tilted her head, lips quirking. “…Could be, without context.”

Ilya narrowed her eyes. “That’s the most suspicious answer I’ve ever hea-“

“Practice,” Maya interrupted, suddenly decisive. “We’ll practice, then.”

“…Practice what?”

Maya leaned her chin into her hand, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Kissing.”

Ilya went completely still. Not blinking, not breathing, not living. She looked less like a person and more like a carved marble statue someone had just dumped on the couch.

“…You can’t be serious.”

“You’re right, I’m just kidding,” Maya then took a step forward, looping her arms around Ilya’s neck, “We’ll practice that tomorrow.”

Ilya opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Closed it again. Opened it. A faint choking noise escaped.

Maya’s smile only grew sharper. “See? We clearly need practice. So, tomorrow: library run, café test, and maybe a lap around campus so people get used to us.

“Wh- I can’t just stick around, I’m Jeremy’s bodyguard.” Ilya frowned, her hands hovering over Maya’s back.

Maya beamed, “Then I’ll make you into my personal bodyguard.”

“…Beg pardon?”

“My personal bodyguard,” Maya declared, like it was obvious. “You go wherever I go. If I’m in class, you’re outside the door. If I’m at the library, you’re sitting across from me, glaring at anyone who so much as sneezes in my direction. Also, did you just turn British?”

“Listen, just tie me up and ask me questions about my life at this point. I don’t even care. Just torture me. Rat me out- “

“I’ll tie you up later, honey.” Maya kissed her cheek, making Ilya go beet red, “The only person we’re torturing is Annika Volkov.”

Was Maya being petty and ridiculously childish? Probably.

Would it be worth it? Probably not.

But she might as well use Ilya to get some annoying guys to back off. Bond with her, get her to lower her defenses, to trust Maya more. To solve the whole ‘take a bodyguard with you’ issue with Nikolai.

But of course, she couldn’t tell Ilya that.

But she could pretend. A little white lie won’t hurt.

All she had to do was keep her distance. No sympathy. No friendship. And most importantly… no falling in love.

Chapter Text

Maya may or may not have underestimated Nikolai’s fury when it came to her making the same mistake twice.

“There is absolutely no fucking way you’re setting foot outside after eleven p.m. End of discussion.” Nikolai’s arms were crossed, jaw set like he’d been waiting all day to deliver the line. He was overreacting- he always overreacted.

Seriously, Maya wasn’t even a child anymore.

“For all I know, the second I blink, you’re already four shots deep at some party at three in the morning!”

…Okay, fair.

“You may not officially be one of us," Gareth chimed in from the couch without even lifting his eyes from his book, “but you’re still associated with the Heathens.” His tone was calm, almost soothing. Classic Gareth: trying to reason and defuse to fix everything. He finally glanced up with a little sigh. “It’s not that we think that you’re incapable of defending yourself-”

“It’s that the Serpents have been breathing down our necks and riding our asses for weeks,” Killian cut in as he came down the stairs, heading straight for one of Jeremy’s cabinets like he owned the place. He grabbed a bottle, twisted the cap, and leaned against the kitchen island like he was narrating scripture. “Should’ve learned from the Devlin fiasco. Maybe it was personal vendetta then, but patterns are patterns. Idiots make the same mistakes.” He gestured toward Nikolai with the bottle. “Take your exemplary older brother here.”

“HEY!” Nikolai barked, indignant.

“Anyway,” Killian continued smoothly, ignoring him, “Serpents or not, your cute little pepper spray isn’t gonna save you when some psycho decides to dangle you over a cliff.” He swirled the bottle lazily in his hand, staring at the ceiling like he was searching for divine inspiration. “Take Landon King, for example. Who could be worse than this guy?”

“Somebody like you,” Gareth deadpanned as he swiped the bottle clean out of Killian’s hand and poured himself a drink.

Killian stared at him with the kind of glare that promised slow, elaborate murder.

Well, time to pull out her trump card.

“Then I’ll take Ilya with me,” Maya declared, clasping her hands behind her back and rocking on her heels as if she’d just checkmated the whole table.

The entire room froze.

“Who’s that again?” Killian asked Gareth, who flatly ignored him to refill his glass again, having quickly downed the first shot.

“Who? You mean little tiny Ilyusha?” Nikolai scoffed, whipping his head between her and the two other Heathens, as if begging them to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating. Their silence was confirmation enough. He jabbed his thumv at Maya, laughing in disbelief before his smile crashed into a scowl. “Absolutely not.”

“And the hell why not?” Maya snapped, planting her feet. Her plan was not failing now.

“Hm, let me think. Oh, right, maybe because he was part of the fucking Serpents?” He nagged.

“People change.”

“He’s a guy.”

“So is every single bodyguard in this household!”

“He is not to be trusted.”

“Jeremy trusts him!”

“No is NO, Maya.”

She groaned loudly. “I’m telling Mom you’re just being a hard ass!”

“Well I’m telling Dad you’re being reckless again.”

Maya whirled to her cousins, but Gareth serenely pouring himself another drink, hunched over the bar, and Killian was whistling as he scrolled on his phone, pretending he wasn’t invested.

Ugh. Useless. Utterly, painfully useless.

She tried to pull her next best move, but Nikolai already crossed his arms cross his chest, “Your puppy eyes won’t work on me this time, Maya.”

“But Nikooooo!”

“Your whining won’t either.”

“I’m a free woman in a free country!”

“And I’m the older brother who has to protect said woman in this free country.”

“I’ll sue you!” she jabbed a finger at him, and fumbled at Nikolai’s raised eyebrow, “For kidnapping!”

“Can’t we have a single day of peace in this mansion?”, the exasperated voice of Jeremy rang out as he descended down the stairs, hands in his pockets, hair slightly disheveled, sleeves rolled up and looking like death itself. “What is it this ti-“

“JER!” “JEREMY!” Nikolai and Maya both yelled, whipping around to look at him with a certain glint of wildness mirrored in their eyes. Likely a hereditary curse.

Out of all of the people who decided to fight, why did it have to be the loudest ones?

“God, help us.” He muttered under his breath as he hung his head back, tightly shutting his eyes close as he marched to the kitchen, where Gareth poured himself another drink before Killian snatched the bottle away from him.

“Nikolai is restraining me against my will-“

“-She wants to go out to some party-“

“-Which is immoral, cruel, and borderline insane-“

“-While the Serpents are out there with weapons up their asses-“

“And it’s just not fucking fair so please-“

“-She’s stubborn like a mule Jer just-“

“DO SOMETHING!” they finished together. 

Jeremy leaned back against the kitchen island next to Gareth, opposite Killian, who was watching the chaos with a corner-of-the-lip grin. He raised a hand in a calm, “let me handle this” gesture.

“She could just take a bodyguard with her.”

“That’s what I said!” Maya piped up.

“Well? What’s the issue then?”

“She wants to take fucking Ilya of all people,” Nikolai barked.

“Well, he should be available-”

“Hell no! We barely know the guy! And you want me to entrust him with my fucking sister?!”

“Nikolai-”

“How would you like sending Annika with him to some party out in the wild?!”

“Well, we could send both Maya and Annika with Ilya and other bodyguards,” Killian suggested, head resting in his palm, Cheshire-cat grin in full effect. “Girls’ night out on a Saturday.”

Maya nearly throttled him right then and there.

“Annika doesn’t do parties- and you mind your business!” she rebuked, making Killian scoff.

“Listen, Niko,” Jeremy started, “Just set a curfew, choose another bodyguard-“

“No,” she huffed, “I only want Ilya.” 

“Fine, well how about we add two to three bodyguards?” Jeremy sighed, exasperated.

“Why not the whole squad ?” Killian mocked, leaning back casually.

“Does Ilya shit gold or something for you to be this hung over him?” Nikolai grumbled.

“No, I just think that he’s cute.” She said.

Nikolai’s jaw practically hit the floor.

“He’s what?”

“Cute.”

“…You-” he groaned, running a hand through his hair and exhaling, likely trying tounderstand or remember something. “You just… stay safe.”

“I…will?” Maya asked, feigning innocence.

“And call me if anything happens. Keep your location on. Wear some sort of tracker just in case-”

“Don’t you think that’s a little…much-”

“And come back before 1 a.m. I expect half-hourly texts and video calls.”

“Fine. Fine. Whatever.”

“And use protection.”

“…What protection?”

“Wait, let me give you some condoms. I’ll give Ilya the shovel talk-”

“NIKOLAI!” Maya screamed, turning beet red, nearly lunging at him.

Jeremy sighed, reaching blindly for his bottle, screwed it open, only to find it empty. He blinked at it, then at Killian and Gareth.

The latter, calm as ever, simply pointed at his younger brother. “He did it.”

Killian froze mid-scoff.

“And Nikolai just… accepted it?” Ilya asked, her voice edged with disbelief. One gloved hand stayed on the wheel, the other adjusting her tie, her watch catching the city lights.

“Like hell,” Maya said, tilting her head as she checked her eyeliner in the tiny mirror. “He still loaded up on precaution measures. He may be over protective but at least he’s not…”

“…Restrictive?” Ilya prompted.

“We could say that.”

“Why did you insist on going out?”

“Because I like to party.”

“No, I mean- why drag me along?”

“To test chemistry.”

“Chemistry?”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who’s supposed to be a mystery,” Maya teased, cutting her off.

Ilya pursed her lips, eyes back on the road.

“My plan has to be foolproof. You can’t fake-date just anyone,” Maya added, flipping her hair.

“Hm,” Ilya muttered, unconvinced.

“Besides,” Maya reapplied her gloss with a flourish, “we’re here to have fun! Test boundaries!”

Ilya shot her a skeptical look. Maya grinned and pulled out the small pack Nikolai had given her. “Look, we even have condoms-”

The car screeched to a halt mid-street. Maya yelped.

“Are you insane?!” they both shouted, then froze.

“…See? Chemistry,” Maya said smugly, unbothered.

“Maya, there’s no way we’re-”

“I know, don’t get your panties in a twist,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Move the car before someone smashes into us.”

The car pulled up outside the glittering mansion, music pounding faintly from within. Maya hopped out, her heels clicking against the pavement like a metronome counting down chaos. Ilya followed, hands still tight on the straps of Maya’s purse, eyes scanning every angle like she expected a sniper to pop out.

“First rule of the night,” Maya began, tugging her mini dress just so, “look casual, act bored, but radiate just enough charm to make people nervous.”

Ilya blinked. “Radiate… nervousness?”

“Yes, exactly!” Maya clapped her hands, then titled her head, “Then again, just try to have fun.”

“I don’t do parties.”

“Do you ever do anything? Look, it’s simple: I’ll handle the drama. You handle the intimidation.”

“I am not intimidating.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” voice silk over steel. “Now, stick close, look serious, and don’t trip on your own feet. Remember, we’re acting for the crowd.”

Ilya’s jaw clenched, but she followed, silent as a shadow. Maya, meanwhile, was already weaving through the crowd, a trail of chaos and amusement in her wake, leaving Ilya to silently wonder if she’d just signed up for the most absurd, terrifying night of her life.

The party was, in a word, ordinary. Nothing too wild, but far from boring.

Perhaps it was the endless haze of energy that drew Maya in—the music vibrating through her, the lights flashing like a heartbeat, the anonymity of strangers who didn’t care about her for once. She moved with the rhythm, danced with abandon, drank with a careless smile.

Ilya kept her firmly in sight. She wasn’t uncomfortable—but the crowd, the lights, the pounding music, the inebriated strangers—it wasn’t her element. There was nowhere to hide. Not that she would have let Maya wander alone anyway. If push came to shove, Ilya would have the girl over her shoulder in a heartbeat, blending into the crowd like a shadow.

Her attention snapped back when Maya grabbed her hand, spinning herself with effortless grace, before leaning her head against Ilya’s chest.

“You think too much,” Maya whispered, her voice soft against Ilya’s ear.

“I’m here to watch over you,” Ilya said, placing a steady hand on the small of her back.

“That doesn’t mean you have to be gloomy.”

“I need to secure the perimeter-”

“For what? Time is ticking. If it’s up, it’s up. Doesn’t matter how strong, wealthy, or smart you are. You can still die in a fortress, just like you still can survive in the face of death. There’s no need to be so scared of danger all the time. Especially not when you’re courting it on a daily basis.”

She huffed, tugging Ilya toward a slightly less crowded part of the room. “So, everything has a time, and time deals with everything. And right now, it’s time to dance!”

Ilya grunted, a soft exhale escaping her lips, but she indulged Maya anyway, taking her hands and moving with her as they danced, letting the noise, the chaos, and the wild energy of the night sweep over them both.

Maya couldn’t help but giggle at Ilya’s half-hearted attempts at dancing. With a mischievous grin, she took the lead, spinning them both into the rhythm of the music. She began pointing at people with blunt enthusiasm, whispering- or sometimes loudly sharing- juicy tidbits of gossip. Ilya did her best to subtly lower Maya’s arms each time, though it was a losing battle.

“This guy cheated on his girlfriend… with her sister,” Maya announced at one point, voice carrying just a little too far. Ilya caught her hands mid-point, holding them firmly.

“Is that so?” Ilya hummed, calm and unflustered.

“Very much so. What an asshole. But he’s no better than the psycho over here who used to bully his girlfriend before they even dated.”

“I see.”

“Can you even believe it? Pure evilness.”

“He could have had a change of heart,” Ilya offered, voice neutral.

“More like his pride got wounded,” Maya said with an exaggerated eye roll, letting out a soft laugh.

Ilya glanced at her, half exasperated, half amused, and let the girl continue pulling her around the crowded dance floor, whispering scandal and chaos with every twirl.

She occasionally sent a text on her phone, then immediately focused back on Ilya, her eyes sparkling with mischief each time.

Well past midnight, she reluctantly agreed it was time to head home. Her pout was exaggerated, of course, as she looped her arm through Ilya’s, fingers interlacing.

Ilya couldn’t see the crowd, but Maya sure was good at acting.

Once in the car, Maya made sure to notify Nikolai that she was going home, before jumping in the backseat and stretching out.

“Don’t forget your purse this time,” Ilya teased, eyes catching hers in the rearview mirror.

Maya huffed, rolling over.

“…Speaking of purses, when exactly are you giving mine back?” Ilya asked tentatively.

“Someday. Not today. Or… well, not until you decide to explain who exactly you are.” Maya yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

“At least give me back my ID.”

“You mean your fake one?”

“Yes, Maya. My fake one.”

Maya hummed thoughtfully, cheekily tilting her head. “Then come back tomorrow morning. I’ll hand it to you.” She flopped back down. “Oh, and bring coffee. Three sugars, with milk.”

Once back in the mansion, she showed Niko that she was alive, well and in one piece. She retreated back to her room, wiped off her makeup, kicked off her heels, unzipped her dress, and finally stepped into the steaming shower.

After nearly boiling herself alive, she toweled off, slipped into a pink tank top and white shorts, tied up her blonde hair with a tie, brushed her teeth, completed her skincare routine, and finally exited the bathroom.

She dived in her bed, lazily stretching her sore limbs, then rolled over, and opened her drawer to make sure that her camera was still there.

Paranoia satisfied, she turned off the lights and comfortably curled up under her sheets, starting to drift off.

She suddenly sat up with a horrified gasp, and turned on her lamp, jaw dropping, soul leaving her body, facing the horrible, wretched thing that she has just realized in the middle of the night.

She thought that Ilya was cute.

She had spent the entire party giggling, teasing, joking- enjoying her time with her instead of getting wasted.

She giggled. And liked-

Oh.

Fuck, she fell in love in Ilya Levitsky.

Chapter Text

Maya fucks up often. That, she could admit.

Which was why she had a system. A tried-and-true strategy to untangle herself from her own chaos. It had worked after her—well, let’s call it a “disagreement”—with Annika. So, It could work now.

Step One: Identify the threat.

Easy, Ilya Levitsky.

Step Two: Assess the danger level.

Probably highly fatal.

Step Three: Can the threat be ignored?

Absolutely not. Not anymore, at least.

Step Four: Can the threat be eliminated?

Without Ilya’s enemies noticing, taking offense, and nuking the Heathens mansion? Probably not.

Step Five: Deny, deflect, pretend.

Except that she didn’t think that she could ignore the wet dream that she just had about said ‘threat’ two minutes ago.

Right after the mind-blowing revelation that had hit her earlier in the night, she still decided to ignore whatever she was feeling, blamed it on the nonexistent shots that she had downed earlier in the party, and went to sleep.

Turns out that her consciousness decided to torture her in her dreams.

Maya buried her face in her pillow, groaning. Pathetic. Utterly, disgustingly pathetic.

The fake-relationship scheme had barely begun, and she was already falling apart? Already falling in love? No. Oh, hell no. Impossible.

It was just sexual tension. That was all. A natural response to close proximity with an objectively attractive person. Nothing else.

Ilya was, after all, unfairly good-looking. All lean muscle and sharp lines, with almond-shaped eyes that cut right through her. Full lips. Big hands. That annoyingly smooth hair that sometimes slipped into her face, paired with lashes longer than anyone had the right to have-

Maya stopped herself. Inhale. Exhale.

See? Physical appreciation. Nothing more. She didn’t feel soft when Ilya’s hand rested at her back. She didn’t secretly lean closer just to catch a glimpse of the green eyes hiding under those fake blue contacts. She didn’t tease her just to see her flustered and retreat. She didn’t crave her company, or find something stupidly comforting in that quiet, nonjudgmental gaze.

…God, she was doomed.

They hadn’t even known each other that long. It was just adrenaline. Just the rush of danger.

Besides, Ilya was lying. A runaway. A risk wrapped up in secrets she hadn’t shared. A liar wearing a stranger’s face.

And yet, Maya was desperate to unravel her.

Fine. New solution. She’d keep fake dating, get her answers, and…well…that would be that.

Ilya was always on the move anyway. She could be tracked, was being tracked, probably, and sooner or later she’d have to leave Brighton Island. Maya would satisfy her curiosity, Ilya would vanish, and everything would slide back to normal.

With that thought in place, Maya lay back down, mind at ease for all of six seconds before she sat up again.

Normal wasn’t what she wanted. Who else was going to fake-date her once Ilya disappeared? And what if Ilya got into serious trouble later? Not that she cared, obviously, but still, Ilya was a good, loyal…friend. Yes. That’s it.

She could handle Maya’s teasing, her antics, even her endless gossip. She listened, she protected, and she’d done a decent job of it so far. It would be a shame to see such a valuable piece on Maya’s chessboard taken off the board entirely.

Besides, Ilya’s enemies were the bratva’s enemies. Helping her wasn’t just sentiment, it was strategy. Protecting Ilya could mean protecting everyone else too.

Then again, she could just curl back under her covers and forget all about it.

Or…she could make Ilya actually fall for her, whispered a traitorous corner of her mind.

As revenge. And for her compliance. And also, because Maya needed her carnally.

The next morning, she stuck to Mia like a second skin; chin hooked over her shoulder, cheek pressed against her back, arms clamped to hers like a koala. To call her a grumpy, touch-starved child would’ve been an understatement.

Mia endured it with saintly patience, moving through her morning routine as if Maya weren’t dangling off her. Even when she caught Maya peeking at her phone and saw Landon King’s name in her texts, which Maya shamelessly gagged at- she didn’t complain. Better to tolerate it than lose the cling-rights.

What? Maya needed attention.

Mia must’ve caught on, because she eventually swapped to her notes app and typed, “Didn’t sleep well?”

Maya just grunted and buried her face deeper into her shoulder. Answer enough. Mia’s hand came up to cradle the back of her neck as she slowly turned around, the other scratching gently at her scalp. The effect was immediate: Maya all but melted in place.

Mia was her anchor, her safe space. Sure, sometimes Maya got jealous of the way her twin seemed to draw everyone’s admiration so easily, but never once had she resented her for it. Because while the world might see Maya as ordinary, or nothing but trouble compared to her ‘brave, strong, and fierce’ sister, Mia never did. No, her sister loved her wholly, just as she was. They completed each other. And if Maya was going to be honest, she would rather die than let anyone taint that bond with bitterness.

Still, she sometimes wished she could be more like Mia. Maybe then the Heathens wouldn’t look at her as if she was another mess to clean up. Maybe her friends wouldn’t bicker so much. Maybe Nikolai wouldn’t worry himself sick because she was just another stress to babysit…

Her thoughts spiraled, until Mia’s hand brushed against her temple, thumb tapping gently. Headache? she was asking with that familiar soothing gesture, mistaking her silence for a hangover.

Well, she would be if it weren’t for a certain someone.

Maya opened her mouth to retort, only for a figure to appear in the doorway. Speaking of the devil.

Ilya knocked politely against the frame; eyes lowered before glancing up. “Miss Maya?” Her voice was soft, almost tentative, as she raised a cup of steaming coffee in offering. The light from the window caught on her lashes, her profile sharp against the glow, and-

Oh. Maya’s heart detonated.

Like a spell broken, she peeled herself off Mia, suddenly entranced, and practically floated across the room. She remembered, at the last second, to wave goodbye to her twin before latching onto Ilya’s arm, cheeky grin in place, dragging her into the hallway. Her brain, once knotted with doubt, simply shut off, focusing only on Ilya’s warmth beside her.

“Were you looking for me?” Maya teased, eyes glinting.

“Not at all,” Ilya replied, voice tight, gaze darting away. “The coffee could get cold.”

“Uh-huh,” Maya said, unconvinced.

“We still have fifteen minutes before university.”

“That’s plenty of time for your sob story,” Maya dismissed with a lazy wave, tugging Ilya toward her room and shutting the door behind them.

Oh, the scandal.

She plopped Ilya down onto the edge of the bed before seating herself beside her. Maya smoothed the pleats of her white skirt, toes kicking out of her shoes, before tucking her legs neatly under herself—black stockings, pink sweater layered over her grey button-down.

Ilya, by contrast, was as composed as ever: crisp white shirt, black tie, pressed trousers, polished shoes. The contrast made Maya want to both laugh and sigh.

With a flourish, she reached under the bed and pulled out the black purse that had started this entire mess. She always rotated its hiding spots; paranoia had long since become second nature.

The moment Ilya had the purse in hand, she unzipped it with quick, almost frantic precision, rifling through its contents. Her hands shook, just slightly. Maya filled the silence with a low whistle, watching with undisguised curiosity, and maybe, just maybe, the tiniest thrill at Ilya’s vulnerability.

When Ilya finally closed the bag, she bit her bottom lip- Maya’s brain promptly short-circuited- and glanced up.
“What do you want to know?” The words hung heavy. What do you want from me?

Maya tilted her head, gaze sliding back down to the purse.
“The binder’s probably for your chest,” she said breezily. “What about the ring?”

“My father’s,” Ilya replied, voice steady but low. “It meant that we ‘vanished’ after each operation. A failsafe. But the word itself, ‘Скрыться’, became a challenge for anyone who bore a grudge against him. They hunted us down, one by one. I don’t know if my brothers survived. If they did, they’ll be ghosts now: changing names, hiding faces. Like chameleons.” She rubbed her thumb against her forefinger, a nervous tell. “I…took the ring from my eldest brother before fleeing.”

Maya didn’t hesitate. She snatched the purse back, digging through it herself. Her tone was flat, factual, but her eyes sparkled with triumph.
“Ilya Levitsky isn’t your real name.”

“It is not,” Ilya admitted quietly.

“What about these papers?” she asked, waving the folded, yellowed sheets.
“Coordinates. Hiding places, apartments, warehouses. All encrypted so only we’d know how to read the exact locations.”

“And the Heathens’ mansion is one of them?” she asked dryly.

“The Serpents’ hideout,” Ilya corrected. “Every gang on Brighton Island ties back to something older: mafia, bratva, you name it. The Elites are children of the last Elites. The Heathens’ leaders are the sons of bratva powerhouses. And the Serpents… well, they claim ties to the Court of Assassins. For or against, I never stuck around long enough to know.”

“Your wallet had a picture-”

“That’s my mother,” Ilya cut her off.

“Ah, explains where you got your beauty from,” Maya mumbled absentmindedly. The words slipped out, and to her delight Ilya sputtered, her face going red.

“Are you really blonde?” Maya teased, catching a strand of Ilya’s hair and twirling it between her fingers.

“I- yes. I am,” Ilya choked out, trying to lean back. But Maya wasn’t having it. She curled a finger under Ilya’s chin, tilting her head up.

“But your eyes aren’t really blue, are they?”

“N-no…” Ilya’s gaze flicked away.

“I wonder what shade of green they are. Let me see?”

“Maybe later,” Ilya blurted, voice tight. “We should… focus on your questions.”

Maya hummed, but leaned back slightly, playing along. “How come your real ID still has your fake name?”

“Because my real name shouldn’t be written anywhere,” Ilya answered flatly.

Maya tilted her head, studying her, curiosity glinting in her eyes. “If your enemies track you here, will anybody else be in danger?”

“I doubt it. They know better than to start a war.”

“Mm. Said war could still be started, since you’re under our protection,” Maya pointed out.

“If I catch wind they’ve found me, I’ll be out of your hair,” Ilya promised.

Like hell you will, Maya thought, though she only smiled sweetly. “We could still help you, you know. A few phone calls, a little scare, and they’ll crawl back into their holes.”

“There’s no need,” Ilya cut in, firm. “I can handle it on my own.”

“But you don’t have to,” Maya retorted. “Nor do you want to. Besides, those guys? Nothing but nuisances. Might as well get rid of them.”

“It’s not as easy as you make it sound. For that, others would need to know and-”

“Are you planning to run your whole life?” Maya’s patience broke, her voice cracking like a whip. She leaned in, closing the space between them, pushing Ilya back until she staggered. Maya’s hand planted against her side, trapping her there.

“You’ll retrace your steps at some point,” she pressed, her voice low, furious, protective. “And they will find you. Is that really how you want this to end?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Ilya whispered, weak, cornered.

“I’m giving you one now,” Maya muttered, eyes locking onto hers. Her voice dropped to something dangerous, intimate. “Don’t leave, Ilya.”

Ilya flinched, glancing up at Maya, cheeks burning, fists clenching into the sheets.

“I’ll protect you,” Maya murmured softly, her voice steady but intimate. Her fingers lightly brushed a stray strand of hair from Ilya’s face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Ilya huffed, a mix of frustration and something else she couldn’t name. “That’s my job,” she said, voice weak and croaky, hesitant, flustered, caught between compliance and defiance.

“Then do your job, and stay by my side,” Maya pouted, jutting out her bottom lip like a mischievous child demanding attention. "Stay with me, Ilya."

Ilya’s pulse hammered, unsure if it was Maya’s insistence, or the thought of what could happen if she let herself believe her, that made her heart race.

Chapter Text

‘Stay with me, Ilya.’

The words have been echoing in her head the entire morning, prompting a needy, jealous thought to linger in her mind, needling at her, making every other thought collapse under the weight of it. The idea of indulging her, of accepting her request, made her anxious, excited, happy.

Every time she blinked, every breath, every half-listened lecture, every passing student, the plea replayed, needier, sharper, until it chased away any thought that wasn’t Maya Sokolov.

She had undeniably thrown her life into a tailspin. Had thrown her off a cliff of emotions and left her drowning. A reckless, chatty, nosy, utterly unmanageable, chaotic blonde, who had somehow turned Ilya into a bundle of contradictions.  All because she stuck her nose where didn’t belong.

Then again, Ilya had put the bag in the backseat. Yes, it was her own mistake. And mistakes weren’t allowed. Mistakes had consequences. So, she called whatever series of unfortunate (?) events that were currently befalling her, well deserved punishments.

But now that she had her purse back, she should be able to slowly detach herself from Maya, then leave and make up a new identity.

‘Stay with me, Ilya’

She wasn’t allowed to… to feel this. She couldn’t put a name to the warmth in her chest, couldn’t admit to the way her resolve trembled whenever Maya smiled at her.

She couldn’t. She would never permit herself to- to just-

‘Stay with me, Ilya’

She rubbed her temples. Probably just the weather. Or maybe she was overheating. Likely a combination of both.

Classes dragged by. Notes were barely taken. Who needed notes when your brain was busy replaying a phrase that slowly drove her insane like a broken record? Her classmates stuttered when she asked questions. Probably terrified of her glare. Maya would’ve found it hilarious, she claimed it was because she looked scary and grumpy. Ilya disagreed, though, apparently, Maya was right more often than she liked to admit.

Two classes down, she wandered the hallway, eyes flicking automatically, searching for a glimpse, or any trace of blonde chaos.

Instead, someone small and sharp stopped her in her tracks.

She forgot her name, but she knew that she was one of Maya’s close friends.

The girl gave a silly wave. “It’s Lina. A word, if you please, mister frowny Russian guy?”

Ilya blinked, but followed her down a less crowded hallway.

“So, nice weather?” Lina chirped.

“Terrible weather,” Ilya deadpanned, eyebrow twitching. She scanned the crowd like she expected trouble to pop out from the lockers.

Lina didn’t flinch. Instead, she transformed into a fierce, angry tiny figure as she crossed her arms. “Alright, listen up.”

Ilya braced herself. Did she do something wrong?

“Maya is a sensible, fragile soul,” Lina announced with the gravity of a general briefing.

Sure, if sensible means setting fire to your life plan daily, Ilya thought.

“She needs a patient, loyal partner to take care of her. Therefore, if I catch even a glimpse of trouble or hear a single complaint, I’m coming straight for your head, you nationally-right-defying giraffe- OW!”

A loud slap to Lina’s head interrupted the tirade. Turns out that her speech was cut short by another blonde, Donna, Ilya would later learn, who stormed up out of nowhere, scowling.

“And what did we say about boundaries and privacy?!” she scolded, hands on her hips.

Before Lina could protest, a third girl, Allison, appeared and dragged her back by the collar like an unruly cat who’d been caught on the counter.

“We don’t even know if they’re at the fourth stage yet! Don’t ruin this for them!”

Clearly, she’d stumbled into the military-grade babysitting division of chaotic blonde management.

“Fourth stage?” Ilya inquired, brow slightly raised.

“Don’t worry about it, sorry for the bother-” Donna started, but Lina cut her off with a sharp, incredulous, “Are the two of you dating?!” before Allison slapped a hand over her mouth.

Right. The fake dating plan. She could do this. She was her “boyfriend.”

“Well, we-” Ilya began, stumbling over her words, when suddenly someone hugged her from behind and tugged at the bottom of her shirt. She whirled around to see Maya, already pouting, pressing her face against Ilya’s chest.

“Geez, I was looking everywhere for you! You could’ve told me you were picking me up,” Maya whined, ignoring the slightly stunned Ilya.

Then Maya’s eyes lit up as she noticed the three other girls hovering behind her. “Hi, guys!”

The three froze, mouths slightly agape, some with sheer glee, others with pure astonishment.

“You found someone sane and patient enough to finally date you?” Donna whistled, hands on her hips, clearly impressed. “Accomplishment of the year.”

Lina’s eyes went wide. “Do I give the shovel talk? We have to give the shovel talk, right?” She looked to her friends, desperate for confirmation.

Maya rolled her eyes playfully, but tightened her grip on Ilya’s arm. “Relax, Lina. No shovel talk necessary. We’re just, you know, figuring things out.”

Lina blinked. “Figuring things out? That sounds dangerously vague.”

“Oh, it’s very safe,” Maya added with mock seriousness, leaning in close to Ilya and whispering loud enough for the girls to hear, “I’m keeping her on a very short leash.”

Ilya’s cheeks burned, before whipping her head to glare at Maya. “You- stop saying things like that-”

“Oh, hush,” Maya interrupted. “Don’t even try to deny it. You’d fail miserably. See you girls later!”

Ilya just wished she could melt into the floor, but instead, she let Maya pull her along the hallway, knowing full well that the teasing, and the chaos, was only just beginning.

Casting her thoughts of revenge aside for later, she decided to focus on more important things.

“So, what’s your plan if the enemies actually find me?” Ilya murmured, voice low but edged with worry.

“Mm?” Maya tilted her head, pretending not to hear.

“I said, what’s your plan to fight them if they track me down?”

Her eyes slid away, suddenly interested in anything but Ilya.

“…Maya.”

She gave a short, airy whistle.

Ilya narrowed her eyes. “You do have a plan… don’t you?”

She huffed and turned to look at her, “Of course I do! Who do you take me for?”

Ilya raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“…We’ll call my mom and dad, grab chainsaws, and take them out.”

Ilya decided, at that very moment, the color and design of her coffin.

“Beg pardon?”

“Look at that, you turned British again.”

“You’re relying on backup and chainsaws?” she nearly shouted, before remembering her surroundings and lowering her voice, glancing around to be sure no one overheard.

“I’m relying on the Bratva’s resources and self-defense.” Maya tugged at his collar to reel his attention back in, her voice suddenly sharper. “Jokes aside, unless they catch us by surprise, we’ll fend them off.  Those type of people on Brighton Island are unwelcomed visitors, especially if they cross territory. Between your encrypted location and the gangs getting on ‘watch your asses, get pissed off, and start to demolish’ mode, we’ll have time to call for backup.” she murmured, voice light but steady.

‘Stay with me.’

Yeah right, more like 'Die with me.'

The ring in Ilya’s pocket felt like a boulder. Her stomach was staging a full-scale revolt, while her thoughts were careening into places she couldn’t stop.

This could be her last chance to fight.

This could be the last choice she’d ever make.

She was pulled back by the soft press of lips against her cheek- quick, fleeting, yet lingering enough to burn. Innocent, almost childlike. And yet it sent Ilya’s heart crashing in her chest, a surge of feelings that felt too dangerous, too wrong, too impossible.

Her jaw worked uselessly, lips twitching, face heating up as her brain tried to comprehend what just happened.

Words were failing her. Words always fail me around her, she thought, flailing internally.

Snap out of it. It’s just an act. Just play pretend. It’s nothing, because-

‘Stay.’

“You’re thinking too much,” Maya teased, hands clasped behind her back, smile bright as ever. “Let’s go to a café. We’ve got time to kill. No club stuff now, right?”

Ilya nodded her head without realizing, as if her body betrayed her before her mind could catch up.

To hell with everything else.

Ilya linked their fingers together, watching Maya carefully as the latter texted away on her phone.

She was shorter than Ilya, well, unless she decided to break out the heels, in which case her forehead might just graze Ilya’s chin. Her mischievous light-blue eyes practically sparkled, and her platinum-blonde hair looked so soft it was unfair to the rest of the world. Pink was basically her signature color, from her clothes to her accessories.

She had a mole under her left eye and another on her right temple, a constellation for anyone who dared to stare too long. She pouted like the world personally offended her when things didn’t go her way, tilted her head like a curious cat, waved her hands when she was out of words, twirled her hair every now and then, and sometimes whistled just to avoid talking.

Ilya had stopped caring long ago about what Maya could or couldn’t have. Whatever she wanted? It was hers.

And right then, in that messy, chaotic, somehow-adorable hurricane that was Maya Sokolov, Ilya realized something terrifying and undeniable: death be damned, she needed her.

The café was bustling, the smell of coffee and pastries mixing with the low hum of chatter. Maya, as usual, was draped over the corner of the booth like she owned the place, twirling a sugar packet between her fingers.

Ilya had never admitted it to herself, but watching Maya talk to everyone around, laughing at some barista’s clumsy joke, made something coil tight in her chest. She sipped her coffee, eyes narrowing as Maya’s hair caught the sunlight, sparkling like it had a gravitational pull.

Maya tilted her head at her, a cheeky smile playing on her lips. “What? You look like a tiger who just smelled a rival in the jungle.”

“I- nothing,” Ilya muttered, shaking her head like she could scrub the thought away. But the tightness in her chest didn’t budge.

Maya hummed, “Come by later to my room? I got tons of work to do but it piled up all on its own! I swear that that shit duplicates when I’m not looking.”

“You mean you procrastinated?” Ilya said flatly, eyebrow twitching.

“Never heard of that word.” She looked away.

“Uhuh.”

She clasped her hands together with a mischievous grin. “Anyway! Bring your homework too, if you have any. We can, like…motivate each other. Or at least suffer together.”

Ilya absentmindedly nodded.

After all, Maya was hers. She’d have to indulge her at all times.

She'd stay with her. For her.

And make sure she could have her.

Chapter Text

Ilya let her guard down.

That alone, was an aggravating sign that something was horribly wrong.

She could let her guard down while smoking in the privacy of her small apartment, she could let her guard down when she took off her binder before bed, she could let her guard down when checking her small bag of belongings and reminiscing whatever she could remember from her past.

Because those weak, vulnerable and short moments, were supposed to be a respite. A breather. A way to decompress. 

A moment where she could finally be alone and stay true with herself. 

Right now, however, she was letting her guard down in the fucking vicinity of none other than Maya Sokolov.

Did she often repeat just how she couldn't believe that she fell for- of all people- the most obnoxious, chaotic, nosy-

''Ilya~ take those books and set them down on the table, please?''

-most adorable person with lethal blue eyes.

Don't get her wrong. Ilya was a bodyguard. A tough one at that. Her father didn't train her for nothing.

She prided herself for how well she could act, though most of the time all she had to do was stare vacantly at someone for them to stand straighter and start sweating buckets as if the pitbull of satan just growled at them.

But lately, Ilya has been realizing that she was an absolute fucking dumbass. Runaways don't get attached to belongings that could raise raging red flags and expose her identity. 

Although, she did need them to survive. 

And she was too paranoid to keep them in one place, hence why she changed the location of the purse every now and then- but she failed to think of the possibility that the embodiment of a barbie doll could sneak her way in her defenses and start blackmailing her for her own personal use and profit.

Ilya was still her own person, though. Staying was not an option, she didn't exactly have a choice, or a say in this. Maya was just... begging her to stay because she wanted to use her, maybe to make herself feel better. 

Or she could just as well be a sadist just like her older brother, and liked watching Ilya squirm and suffer. But she wouldn't let herself get ordered around-

''Ilya, sit.''

She immediately got down on her knees in front of the low table. 

So much for rebellion.

Maya set down her last books on the table, and threw her tote bag on the soft pink carpet of her room. 

The room felt way too cozy for its own good, especially considering it was tucked away in the mansion of one of Brighton Island's most likely unhinged psychopaths. Everything in the space was drenched in whites, beiges, and the occasional splash of pink. The curtains were drawn tight, and the door was locked; another door probably led to a bathroom. On her vanity, there was a collection of makeup... tools? Was that the right word? Along with her keys, wallet, and other odds and ends. The closet? It looked far too imposing to even dare glance at.

Maya softly placed two fingers on Ilya’s knee as she crouched down, then gave a gentle tap, signaling her to sit cross-legged. Ilya frowned but followed the instruction, a strangled sound almost slipping from her throat as Maya casually dropped herself onto her lap.

Ilya’s heart raced, threatening to burst from her chest. The room suddenly felt suffocating, the air thick and heavy. Her body buzzed with heat, on the verge of melting into a puddle. Her arms hovered awkwardly, unsure where to go, what to do with the sudden flood of sensations.

She did let out an embarrassing squeak as Maya leaned back against her chest and glanced up with her big, bright blue eyes, giving her an adorable small smile-

Ilya fell backwards and hit the ground, nearly foaming from the mouth. Maya flinched and immediately crawled to her, cupping her face. 

“Ilya?!” Maya shrieked, panic creeping into her voice. “You’re burning up! Are you sick? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Ilya could only manage a string of incoherent babbling, her mind floating somewhere in a euphoric haze that defied all logic.

"Uw- haa- huh?" she stammered, brain struggling to process anything other than the overwhelming sensation.

“Ilya! Ilya?!” Maya’s voice cracked with worry as she frantically searched for her phone. Her eyes locked onto it, perched on her bed. She lunged for it, and accidentally shoved Ilya’s face right into her chest.

Ilya was out cold. 

"...So, um, I'll take care of the analysis, and you just... yeah," Maya said, awkwardly clearing her throat. Ilya, still flushed, stared down at her notebook, sitting across from her now—at a very respectable distance—with a cool towel pressed to the back of her neck.

Ilya had survived bullet wounds, stab wounds, and stayed conscious through being tazed, beaten, and even drowned. But apparently, she nearly fainted fifteen minutes ago for reasons that not even science could begin to explain.

She was so fucking screwed.

Half an hour later, Maya, looking thoroughly bored, wrapped up her homework—mostly a text analysis and two essays. Ilya, on the other hand, had finished her part of some project she’d have to present next week.

Answering the questions had been easy enough, but figuring out whether or not she was a pervert was harder to figure.

“I’ve been... feeling a bit off since this morning. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you,” Ilya began, glancing up hesitantly.

“You’re fine, you just worried me.” Maya waved her hand dismissively, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have pushed you or dragged you around.”

Ilya’s heart soared.

“It’s no big deal,” she replied, trying to downplay it. “You play chess?”

“Uh-huh. Then I got banned from the club.”

“Beg pardon?” Ilya blinked, genuinely curious.

''I was too good of a player.'' She winked, before leaning her head on the palm of her hand, while resting her elbow on the table, ''And I suppose that the president of said club said I looked like an attention seeking whore, so I may have rightfully kicked him in the nuts. Obviously it started a whole fight, and Mia was around, so she heard the commotion. So, of course, she also may have accidentally punched the guy in the face. Twice. We still didn't tell Nikolai because he'd probably murder the guy.''

''You mean the club in the King's U, right? The president himself? What's his name again? Luke?''

''I think so?''

''The one with brown hair and pale skin?''

''...I suppose?''

''Good to know.''

He won't live to see another day, they both thought, though Maya was exasperated, and Ilya was sort of scarily determined.

''How about you? You play chess?'' Maya shot back.

''I know the basics'', Ilya shrugs, crossing her arms across her chest, leaning back against the bed. ''I have better chances at winning a game of tic tac toe.''

We're both in a locked bedroom, half naked, and you want to play tic tac toe? Maya thought, desperate but amused despite herself.

''Yeah? How about other games?''

''...Like Jenga?''

''...Sure.'' Maya's lips curled upwards, ''Like Jenga. What other games do you know?''

''Hm...Oh, rock paper scissors?'' Ilya titled her head

''Sure, what do you want to bet?''

''Absolutely not.'' She immediately shot down.

''Pff, no fun!'' Maya pouted as she sprawled her arms on the table. ''How about seven minutes in heaven? Ever heard of that one?

''Why did you choose law?'' Ilya tried to steer the conversation away again, clearly sensing that whatever Maya was planning, it wasn't going to end up well. 

For her at least.

''Why not? I wanna be a lawyer.'' she shrugged, ''To defend people-''

''You mean, to be legally involved in dramas?'' 

''If that's how you wish to interpret it'' She huffed.

''You know that I'm right.'' Ilya gave her a lopsided grin.

''Do I?'' Maya refuted, ''I suppose you might have to remind me.'' 

''Maybe another day.'' Ilya mumbled as she set her pen down. ''Your cousin follows the same path, right?''

''Gareth? He does. Killian chose medical, and Mia and Nikolai chose business.'' she pursed her lips in thought, ''I think Jeremy does too, but I keep forgetting what exactly it is that he does.''

''So much for having a crush on him'' Ilya raised an eyebrow, while Maya scrunched her face in disgust. 

''Yeah, no thanks.'' She sighed, before perking up, ''So, as for seven minutes in heaven, you see-''

''I suppose that your favorite color is pink?'' Ilya loudly interjected.

''It is! Did you know that the inside of my closet is pink? We should get inside it so you can see-''

''Maybe another day.'' Ilya repeated, exasperatedly amused.

Maya rolled her eyes, a hint of playfulness in her smile, ''How about your favorite color?''

Ilya look at her, staring into her eyes as if it held the answer. And sure enough, it did.

''Blue.''

''Ha, pink and blue?'' Maya hummed, before standing up. She walked to her vanity and took a pack of cigarettes and her lighter. ''Balcony?'' 

Ilya put a hand on the ground to stand up, knowing that even if she wasn't in the mood, she'd still follow Maya. She put on her shoes while Maya slid on a long skirt, since it was too chilly outside to go around in shorts. 

The walk down the dark hallways was peaceful, to say the least. Everyone else was either out of inside of their rooms.

Ilya walked behind Maya, hands in her pockets, as she focused on the slight bounce of her hair. She couldn't help feeling like she was being watched, but in her defenses, the large windows that gave way to the immensely dark forest weren't helping her anxiety.

Maya didn't have a balcony in her room so they had to go upstairs, and Ilya wondered if this was another antic to make Annika jealous.

Sliding the door open, Maya scratched the back of her head, loudly yawning, before placing a cigarette between her lips and handing the box to Ilya, while trying to lit up hers.

Frustratingly, she couldn't manage to make her lighter work, no matter how much force she used, or how many times she shook the damn thing. She paused when Ilya gently took her hand and pried it open, letting her take it instead, before she tried to turn it on twice and managed to get it to do so on the third time. 

''Might consider buying a new one.'' Ilya mumbled as she watched the end starting to burn, before taking a step further and holding the back of Maya's neck to draw her in, pressing the two cigarettes together.

Maya's brain blanked for a moment before focusing on Ilya's eyes, suddenly aching to see them without the colored lenses. She wanted to see Ilya. 

Ilya stepped back and took a drag as she stared up at the sky, then down at the forest, taking in her surroundings. Maya couldn't tear her eyes away from her, the world palled and dulled whenever Ilya was right in front of her. 

''Maybe another day.'' She playfully retorted before resting back against the rails of the balcony. 

She loved teasing. However, she grew sick of dancing around. They weren't exactly high school sweethearts, but she supposed that she had to take it slow with someone as sheltered as Ilya. 

Then again, she has been getting bolder, as of late.

Yeah right, as if she didn't have a stroke not even an hour earlier. 

Still, she thought that it was interesting. That Ilya, was interesting. But if there was something that Maya realized as of late, it was that she needed Ilya to be hers. Mysteries and jealousy aside, she wanted her. 

She wasn't seeing her as a replacement for Annika, nor was she seeing her as her plaything to mess with. Ilya has been a safe space for her to dive in, a presence that saw her for who she was and still managed to like her. She wanted more of her, and she will get her. Getting some blood on her hands never stopped her before. It will not stop her now.

And if being playful only drew her back, and being sneaky didn't seem to do the trick either...

Maya looked up, only to find Ilya already staring at her. 

''What's on your mind?''

''I could ask you the same.'' Maya took another drag of her cigarette. ''A penny for your thoughts?''

''What do you want from me?'' Ilya asked.

Maya stared at the forest behind Ilya, eyes thoughtful, before stepping forward, and taking Ilya by her collar and got on the tip of her toes, giving her enough time to draw back. Ilya frowned, staring into Maya's eyes, and set her hands on the small of her back and her hip.

Since her own cigarette was dead, she took the liberty of stealing Ilya's right from her lips and taking a drag from it herself, before titling her head and pressing her lips to Ilya's, her tongue prying her mouth open, letting the smoke dance between their faces. She quickly drew back and exhaled all of the smoke before crashing back in, grabbing at Ilya's shirt, while the latter grabbed her waist, slightly raising her to have a better angle.

They had to stop at some point to catch their breaths, and Ilya let her head fall down on Maya's shoulder, ears red.

''That's not an answer.'' She panted.

''I want you.'' She started, and frowned at Ilya's confused glance. ''I like you, idiot.''

''I don't get it.'' Ilya mumbled.

''You're the one I feel comfortable with. Stay with me, Ilya. I promise I'll protect you.''

Ilya stood up, looking down at her eyes, gouging out the manic glint, and cold seriousness.

''I'll get you out of that mess.'' 

''...You want me to risk my life for you.'' Ilya craned her neck up, rubbing the back of her neck. ''I mean, that's not the issue. But how do I know that you're not plotting something? How do I know that you're not lying?''

''What could I gain from your suffering?''

''My suffering.''

''I'm more of a masochist, I would say.'' Maya shrugged one shoulder, making Ilya frown.

''I don't get attached.'' Ilya frowned.

''You like me too.'' Maya stated.

''If that's how you wish to interpret it.''

''You know that I'm right.'' Maya repeated.

''Do I?'' Ilya titled her head down, ''I suppose you'll have to remind me.''

Maya didn't need to be told twice, and dived right in, her fingers snaking in Ilya's hair while her other hand gripped at her shirt.

Chapter Text

"I don't see the appeal of it.''

''What are you even on about? It's easily the most incredible form of art ever created by mankind.''

Ilya frowned, her gaze lifting from the binder she had been struggling to tighten around her chest for the past fifteen minutes. With a sigh, she turned toward her girlfriend, raising an eyebrow.

It took a remarkable amount of self-control to keep her focus entirely on her face and her bare shoulders- though she’d never admit that aloud.

''Well, pray tell, how the hell is tying up people a form of art?'' 

''Well, obviously it's a show of control, power, love and dominance!'' Maya quipped, flipping her hair as she rolled over in bed, still lazily sprawled under the covers, and trying to reach out for her bra. 

''It's usually a literal premiere to torture.'' Ilya shot back, deadpan. 

''Absolutely not, just think about it. Your prey is physically stuck, unable to move, tucked safely under your hold-''

''You mean like a turkey?''

Maya sputtered, and immediately whipped her head to glare at her, much to Ilya's amusement. 

''Fine, I get it. Let's just say that bondage isn't your thing.'' She drawled out, getting up to go rummage in her closet. Ilya quickly diverted her gaze back to the mirror in front of her, ignoring the hungry pit forming in her stomach. 

''I still have some tricks up my sleeve.''

''Hm. Can't wait to see them.'' Ilya grunted, finally done with her binder.

''Oh?'' Maya grinned, her voice going to a dangerous tilt. ''As in now?'' she calmly inquired, giving her a Cheshire cat grin. 

Ilya's sixth sense activated blaring alarms that screamed so loudly that she could smell the danger, hear it creep closer with terrifying speed, and get a vision of her miserable, deplorable fate, even with her back to the heir of the grim reaper. 

''Maybe later. As in tonight.'' She rebuked. Although Maya felt oddly satisfied as she noticed the tip of Ilya's ears going red.

The latter hummed, and put on a crimson tank top, before she shrugged on a large black jacket, and chose some random shorts. 

''...Is that my jacket?'' 

''Damn right.'' Maya picked a belt, then glanced over her shoulder. ''You don't mind, right?''

''Not at all. You're free to take whatever you want.'' Ilya reassured, and took a white shirt to shrug on and button up. 

Maya quickly turned her heead away, before blindly reaching for her brush to fix her hair in a low ponytail, and shoved on her shoes. She stepped in front of her vanity mirror and applied some lip gloss, before choosing and putting on her favorite necklace. 

She then walked to her desk and opened a drawer, taking out a camera, and turned around to lean against the desk. She hesitated before clicking a bunch of times on it, frowning in confusion. 

''...Ilya? Did you use my camera?''

''Not at all. I wouldn't take anything from you without asking.'' Ilya turned to look at her, hands fixing her own tie. ''Why?''

''It's low on battery.'' Maya glared down at the object in her hand, flipping it over to check on its condition. ''The pictures are still there. But it's been used by someone.''

''Maybe you just left it on.'' Ilya reasoned, walking and leaning into her to inspect the issue closer. Maya leaned into her shoulder, and Ilya rested her chin on top of her head. 

''It's weird. Maybe someone broke into my locker at school. I always take it with me. I just turned it on, too.'' she mumbled under her breath, before looking up, ''By the way, don't you think that The Serpents will come at your ass for betraying them?''

''I can protect myself.'' Maya raised an eyebrow at her, but she ignored her in favor of continuing, ''And they haven't tried anything. Yet.'' Ilya titled her head, closing her eyes, ''They have...sort of VIP members, we could say... leaders. Otherwise, we got the usual fools that just jump around with their pants down. Those leaders are old, both in age and in mindset and it's been rumoured that they're part of the assassin's court. Although, I'd say that it'd be more believable and accurate if they were ex-members of said court.''

''Really? How come?'' Maya looked up, eyes wide with curiosity.

Perfect height for forehead kisses. Ilya amusedly thought. She didn't miss the opportunity to give her one before answering her.

''You think that professional mercenaries that kill left and right would have the actual opportunity to lounge and lead a gang of their own?'' She asked, making Maya purse her lips in contemplation.

''I guess you're right.''

''I still think that neither the Serpants nor the court are related to those who are after my head. My father's enemies were other kinds of men. Annoyingly persistent. But certainly not assassins.''

'' When was the last time that you did see those guys?''

''Around 3 years ago. There were less of them. Been on the move constantly.''

''They could be dead for all we know.''

''Wouldn't be too optimistic.''

''Well, you shouldn't be too paranoid, either.'' she kissed Ilya's cheek, ''But fine, better safe than sorry.''

''I also need to watch myself if- when, the Heathens discover what I'm hiding.''

''I'm sure you'll be fine'' Maya patted Ilya's chest.

''They'll tie me upside down and use me as their personal punching bag in the basement.'' Ilya shuddered.

''As if I'd let them. Watch me defeat them all.'' She puffed her chest.

''With your high heels and painted nails?''

''With a few phone calls and crocodile tears.'' she set the camera on the desk, before nuzzling her face in Ilya's shoulder, inhaling her scent. ''I'll protect you.''

Ilya held her by the waist, tucking her head under her chin as she hummed. ''And I'll protect you.''

''There's absolutely no way-''

''You said you would protect me!''

''I have my own limits. Morals! Drawn lines! Codes! This doesn't figure in any of them!''

''God damn it, it's a cockroach, Ilya!''

''A flying one! I have survival instincts. I can handle rats. I can handle spiders. Snakes. Scorpions. I can handle cockroaches, as long as they don't start flying around everywhere!''

Maya threw her arms up in exasperation, huffing at the absurdity of it all.

''Trouble in paradise?'' 

She shot a sharp glare at Killian as he sauntered by, hands casually tucked in his pockets.

''Big. There's a rodent inside.''

''Sewer rat? Snake?'' Killian raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk as he peered at the door.

''Cockroach. Ilya was ready to kill it until it started flying.''

''Mister bodyguard is squeamish about flying insects?'' Killian mused aloud as he eyed Ilya up and down, before purshibg the door open and stepping in. Maya bit back her tongue. She'd insult her cousin after he was done helping her. 

He came out a few moments later with a box, apparently holding in the so-called beast. 

''...What's the deal?'' Maya crossed her arms. 

''Deal?'' Killian raised both eyebrows in mock surprise, ''You think your dear old cousin would make you pay for such basic acts of kindness? You truly wound me. And here I was trying to be helpful.'' Killian put a hand on his chest theatrically.

''As if. Just tell me already. Planning to bake it into a cake and send it to Landon? Or is it for a med project? Vivisecting insects does sound like a hobby of yours.''

Killian gave her the cold shoulder, choosing instead to walk downstairs with the box tucked under his arm.

About minutes later, Maya finished her breakfast with Ilya—who was nursing her coffee like it might hold the answers to the universe—while she shoved her cereal down like she was running out of time. Then, the yelling started upstairs. Naturally, she leaned over the counter to get a better angle. Ilya, in a rare display of helpfulness, yanked her jacket down to cover her backside.

Then, as if on cue, Killian jogged down the stairs, looking way too relaxed for someone who was clearly about to trigger a family brawl. His hands were casually shoved in his pockets, as if he was just out for a stroll, except this stroll ended in him shouldering his way out of the mansion like it was a sports bar on game day.

Nikolai, on the other hand, was a different story. He came thundering down the stairs, dressed in nothing but joggers and a fresh set of rage-fueled insults. The words coming out of his mouth could only be described as a promise of a very painful death, and he was hot on Killian’s tail, like a one-man revenge squad.

Gareth, ever the peacekeeper, followed in a sprint, racing downstairs in a heroic attempt to stop what was shaping up to be a murder-suicide. He made a valiant attempt to hold Nikolai back, though his chances of success were somewhere between slim and none.

Jeremy, who clearly couldn’t be bothered to get involved, sat back in his armchair, nursing the last bit of his coffee. And Mia was not bothering to engage in the madness. She had taken refuge on the couch, shoving a cushion against her face as if it might block out the sound of her own family's dysfunction.

Not her circus, not her monkeys.

''Mia, did you happen to use my camera?'' Maya asked as she shifted her gaze at her sister. Her twin raised a finger and waved it around, not even bothering to look up. 

Nikolai stormed back into the room, grumbling curses in Russian, with Gareth following behind, gently but firmly pushing him back inside.

"Reacting like this is exactly what Killian wants," Gareth scolded, his voice steady despite the tension. "Beating him up won’t fix anything."

"Are you serious right now?" Nikolai spun around, practically on fire. "You want me to stay calm after that psycho shoved a cockroach in my pants?!"

Killian's voice floated in from the doorway, laced with mock sincerity as he peeked inside. "It's a biological, spiritual, and natural remedy for your desperate condition of lingering blue balls."

Before Nikolai could respond, a low growl escaped his throat, and he took a step forward, fists clenched. "I swear to God, I’ll physically drag you back into your mother's womb, you-"

Gareth stepped in just in time, positioning himself between the two men. He gently but firmly pushed Nikolai back. "Enough, both of you."

Jeremy, who had been quietly watching the whole scene unfold, glanced up with a tired, exasperated expression. "Killian, knock it off. Nikolai, calm down." He sighed, lowering the cup. "It’s too damn early for this, especially on a Saturday."

Maya yawned, stretching lazily before leaning back against Ilya, who slowly opened her eyes to fondly look down at her.

She nuzzled in her shoulder before straightening up and starting to rummage through the cabinets of the kitchen, Ilya followed her, head peeking over her shoulder as she closely watched Maya's face. She eventually found what she was looking for- an old camera, its charger, and a USB card. 

It'll have to do for now. Maya still didn't know is someone did temper with her camera- and indulging her paranoia was safer than just shrugging it off. She quickly pocketed her new findings.

Still, her thoughts violently gnawed at her mind. Was there a mole ? Was that it? Someone came into her room, and used her camera? Perhaps while she was in class. Maybe someone was trying to play tricks on her. It could always be one of their bodyguards. Maybe one of their recruits.

Or it could be Ilya.

She quickly shook the thought off as soon as Ilya poked her forehead to make her stop frowning.

Maya kissed her cheek and gave her a quick smile that made her partner go beet red. 

Still, that didn't change the fact that someone was after them. And she needed to figure out who that someone was, and very soon. 

She could make sure not to leave any witnesses.

After all, she wouldn't trade her world for anything. 

"I'm going for a walk!" Maya announced loudly, practically dragging Ilya behind her as she marched toward the exit.

''Taking your dog out for a stroll?" Killian called out from the couch, lounging like he owned the place, Jeremy by his side. Mia reached over and pinched his thigh without looking up, making Killian jerk his thigh back with a huff.

“Speaking of dogs,” Killian continued, "Gareth, isn't it your turn to take Princess Daisy for a walk in the woods?”

Gareth shot him a glare that could melt steel from where he was brewing coffee in the kitchen. It was a glare so intense it practically screamed ‘as if I’d ever walk that demonic pitbull.’

Gareth could barely even handle puppies.

Maya, blissfully unbothered by the chaos behind her, flipped Killian off and hit the button on the old camera as she stepped out into the woods. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the madness to continue in her wake.

The forest loomed like a cathedral of shadows, its towering trees stretching up, their gnarled branches twisted and tangled, reaching for something- or someone. The air was thick with dampness, heavy with the smell of rotting wood and earth, as if the ground itself was swallowing everything in sight. Silence hung like a thick fog, broken only by the occasional creak of the ancient trees or the unsettling whisper of leaves brushing against each other, though no wind blew.

The cameras high in the trees were silent sentinels, watching with cold, unblinking eyes. They were positioned so high, it felt as though the forest itself was under constant surveillance, its every secret being observed. Their lenses glinted in the pale light filtering through the canopy, and it was impossible to tell if they were malfunctioning, or if they were simply waiting for the right moment to capture anything suspicious.

The remnants of the Heathen’s initiation night were still scattered around the forest, like dark memories that refused to fade. Blood, crusted and brown, stained the moss in jagged patches. A cracked mask, its expression frozen in some twisted semblance of a grin, lay half-buried under a blanket of fallen leaves, as if someone had tossed it away without a second thought. Nearby, a single shoe sat abandoned, half-covered in dirt, its laces knotted in a way that looked deliberate, almost mocking.

Ilya’s gaze snapped upward, her expression darkening. Maya followed the line of her stare, her eyes narrowing as they landed on a camera, its lens cracked, a clean puncture wound through its glass like it had been struck by something sharp, something purposeful. 

“Must be a player trying to rig the game,” Maya muttered, turning back to her own camera, fiddling with its settings. “Can’t be new, though. The Heathens would’ve gotten a ping the second this place got messed with. They’d have the whole house on lockdown, or at least in evacuation mode by now.” She tapped the camera’s screen, as if her fingers could somehow will it to cooperate.

Ilya nodded, her hands stuffed in her pockets. She took a deep breath, the forest air sharp and cool, like it was cleansing her from the inside out. It was almost like the place was offering her a gift, some ancient, silent thing that only she could appreciate. Or maybe she just really liked how quiet it was. Either way, the morning felt... satisfying

What a fine morning.

Maya noticed the sudden shift in Ilya’s mood, the way her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the entire forest had settled on her.

“What’s wrong?” Maya asked, her frown deepening with concern.

Ilya’s face twisted in disgust as she glanced down at her boots.

 “I think I stepped in Daisy’s excrement.” She kicked at the ground in frustration, clearly mortified.

The words hadn’t even finished leaving her mouth before Maya burst out laughing- loud, uncontrollable, the kind of laugh that echoed through the trees and probably made a few birds fly off in confusion.

Ilya shot her a glare so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “Are you done?” she asked, her voice dripping with annoyance.

What a fine fucking morning indeed.