Aurelius’s POV

The private terminal was quiet at three in the afternoon, all glass and polished marble that reflected the California sun in blinding sheets. I stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands clasped behind my back, watching the tarmac shimmer in the heat. The Gulfstream was two minutes out according to the text from Dmitri’s assistant.

Two minutes until my life got complicated.

I’d been briefed, of course. Ivan Volkov, twenty-three, returning from five years in London. A business degree from a prestigious university I couldn’t pronounce. He was fluent in four languages—Dmitri’s only son and heir to an empire built on tech investments and real estate. My job was...