Chapter 3

Meanwhile, inside the hotel room, the last of the shower water struck the marble floor before falling silent.

The man stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. A thin veil of steam still hung in the air, but the heat coursing through his body hadn't fully subsided. His skull throbbed — residual poison from whatever had hijacked his mind the night before.

He raked a hand roughly through his wet hair. The moment he entered the main room, his steps halted.

The bed was empty. The sheets were still tangled, and no one was there.

His jaw tightened. He walked the room slowly, scanning everything. His gaze dropped to the floor — his wallet lay there. He snatched it up, flipped it open.

The cash was gone.

A quiet scoff escaped him, and his eyes darkened.

"Came for the money..." he muttered coldly.

His gaze swept the room once more. The shirt he'd been wearing last night was also missing.

A knock at the door.

"Enter," he said sharply.

A man in a black suit stepped in and bowed his head.

"Mr. Alex — your change of clothes, sir."

The name hung heavy in the air. The man was Alex Roman Vasillo.

Alex took the garments without lingering and dressed with a calm that seemed almost unnatural for someone who had just discovered what had happened in his room.

Once dressed, he buttoned his shirt and finally turned his gaze on the bodyguard.

"Find the woman who was in this room last night." His tone was low — and unmistakably dangerous.

"Find her wherever she is." Alex stepped closer. "She has ruined everything I've protected."

The bodyguard bowed deeper. He understood this was about something far greater than missing cash. His master was not a man who let women touch him.

Unlike the elder Vasillo patriarch, who had lived freely and indulgently, Alex had grown up different. He kept his distance. He kept control. Even in the dark world he navigated, he never mixed personal vulnerability with weakness.

He was accustomed to solitude — because in his view, the filth he handled in his work was burden enough. He refused to carry chaos into the one space he considered his own.

But now, someone had breached it.

The bodyguard also knew that Alex's return to Germany had not been sentimental. For years, Alex had exiled himself to Egypt — building his own network, distancing himself from the family's center of gravity.

He had only come back when word reached him that the Vasillo patriarch had fallen ill, attacked by old enemies.

His return was not nostalgia. It was war. It was retribution.

Alex stared through the hotel window at the Berlin sky, pale and brightening.

"Find her before sunset," he said coldly.

Because for a Vasillo, no one entered his domain without consequence.

Meanwhile, the plane began its slow crawl down the runway. Tasya sat by the window, both hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her breathing still hadn't fully steadied, but for the first time since last night, she felt something close to safe.

The cabin lights dimmed. The engines roared — low at first, then building to a crescendo. Berlin shrank beyond the glass. When the wheels left the ground, the weight in Tasya's chest lifted with them.

Tears gathered again, but this time they weren't born from fear. Not from pain. They came from a relief so deep it almost hurt.

She stared out the window. The city dissolved behind white clouds. The tall buildings, the luxury hotel, her uncle's grand house — all of it sank below.

"I'm free..." she whispered.

She didn't know what life in Indonesia would look like. She didn't know where to begin. But at the very least, she had chosen to live.

Tasya leaned her head against the seat. Her body still ached. The wounds inside her hadn't healed. Shadows from the night kept trying to slip back into her thoughts.

That afternoon.

Berlin felt cold despite the bright sun. Inside the luxury hotel suite, the air was colder still.

Alex Roman Vasillo stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the city with dark, unreadable eyes. The freshly donned black suit was immaculate and expensive, but the aura surrounding him cut sharper than any fabric ever could.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Enter."

Mario — his personal assistant and most trusted right hand — stepped inside with measured steps.

"Mr. Alex," he said respectfully. "We've reviewed all the hotel's CCTV footage."

Alex didn't turn. "And?"

Mario swallowed. "The woman's face isn't visible. Her hair covers most of it. But from the way she moved... she appeared to be under the influence of some kind of drug."

The room seemed to grow quieter.

Mario continued. "It's very likely she was also drugged by someone. Her movements were unstable. It appears she entered your room without knowing where she was."

That small detail only made Alex's jaw harden further.

"A strange woman," his voice was low and lethal, "who dared to enter my room."

For another man, it might have been a mistake.

For Alex, it was a violation.

His domain was never to be touched. His life was too dangerous to be entered by a stranger uninvited. His dark gaze finally shifted to Mario.

"Where are the guards who were on duty last night?"

"They've been detained for questioning, sir."

"Negligence." Alex scoffed coldly. "Punish them."

Mario understood immediately. There was no room for tolerance in the Vasillo organization. The smallest error could constitute betrayal.

"Understood, sir."

But before Mario could turn to leave, Alex's voice cut through again — sharper than before.

"And if that woman comes seeking accountability..."