Chapter 99: 99● “Let’s claim what’s mine.”

HARPER PETROVSKY

The night was not easy at all. My head is pounding with everything that happened and with what might happen from here on out. If, just to stop me from taking the chair that belonged to my father, I suffered two attacks the moment I set foot in Moscow, what could happen once I actually take possession of it?

But, strangely, the fear does not come the way I thought it would. It does not move anything inside me—it only gives me that numb feeling. It exists, yes, of course it exists, throbbing in the back of my chest, reminding me that every step from now on will be watched, that I might be under scrutiny and, as Alexander said, I need to show that I am capable of going far beyond what my father ever did.

I get out of bed even before the alarm goes off, feeling my body heavy from the little rest I got, but my mind, strangely, clear. I am not going to lie around in the sheets—I cannot give space to weakness now. Starting today, that no longer belongs to me. I walk to the bathroom, slipping out of the satin nightgown. As soon as I turn on the shower, I step into the stall, letting the water fall over my body, dulling everything, carrying away in each drop all my insecurities.

I lift my face and let the water fall on it. I need to be strong. I need to hold on to everything that matters most within myself. Today I will put into practice everything I learned during the time I spent at the boarding school. I will stop being only the heiress daughter and will become respected as a PETROVSKY—that is how it has to be. I stay there a few more minutes, feeling the heat of the water run over my shoulders and down my back, as if it were washing away any trace of doubt that might still have clung to me since yesterday.

The argument between Dmitri and Alexander stirred something inside me—a massive turning point where I had to stand firm and order them out of my room. Enough of so many secrets, of everyone wanting to dictate what I should do and what I should not do.

But then again, how could anything be simple when I got physically involved with Dmitri and Viktor and almost… for a split second, I almost got involved with Alexander as well—who seems far too different from his brothers, stirring my curiosity for more. I run my hands over my face and up through my hair. He awakened something in me that should not have been there, but that was essential for me to understand that I belong to myself, that I own my power.

Maybe that was exactly what Alexander wanted to provoke when he cornered me like that yesterday. Not submission. Not control. But reaction. He knew I needed to break something inside myself. I needed to stop accepting things happening around me as if I were merely watching.

And I broke it.

I broke it when I raised my hand to Dmitri and made him stop. I broke it when I faced Alexander and told him he would not shape me. I broke it when I ordered them both out of my room.

That changed something.

Not only in them.

In me.

Because for the first time since I returned to Moscow, I did not feel as if I were merely reacting to the chaos surrounding me. I drove the situation. I drew the line.

And they respected it.

I step out of the shower, wrapping the towel around my body, still feeling the warmth of the water on my skin. The steam fills the bathroom for a few seconds as I walk to the mirror, running a hand through my wet hair and brushing the strands away from my face. My breathing is no longer as heavy as it was yesterday.

I pick up a smaller towel and press it lightly against my face, drying the water before leaving the bathroom and returning to the bedroom.

The dress is exactly where I left it.

Black.

It was not an impulsive choice last night. I thought about it for a long time before leaving it set aside there. I do not want to walk into that room trying to seem smaller than I am. Nor will I exaggerate, trying to prove something.

I will simply be seen.

I let the towel fall from my body and put on the lingerie first—simple, black as well. Then I pick up the dress carefully, sliding my arms through the straps and pulling the fabric down slowly, feeling it settle around my waist and fall along my legs. The cut is elegant, structured, shaping my body without looking excessive. The slit appears when I move, revealing my leg just enough.

I stop in front of the mirror again, adjusting the fabric at my hips.

I slip on the heels, testing my balance with a few short steps across the room. The sound of them against the floor gives me a strangely comforting feeling—as if each step reaffirms the decision I made yesterday.

I return to the vanity and begin fixing my hair. Nothing elaborate. I simply dry the red strands and let them fall loose over my shoulders, too alive to be tamed into a formal hairstyle. A little makeup afterward: light foundation, eyeliner defining my gaze, a subtle lipstick.

When I finish, I rest my hands on the vanity and look at myself for a few seconds.

“Let’s claim what’s mine.” I give myself a quick wink in the mirror.

I take one last look at my reflection before stepping away from the vanity and walking to the armchair where I left the coat. I pick up the heavy fabric and slide it over my shoulders, adjusting the sleeves while I once again observe my image in the mirror.

I take one last deep breath, turn the doorknob, and leave the room.

The upper-floor hallway is quiet. Only the soft sound of my heels touching the floor accompanies my steps as I head toward the staircase.

I begin descending the steps slowly, the cold railing beneath my fingers. And it is only when I reach the middle of the staircase that I see them.

All three of them are in the hall.

Dmitri is the first to react when he sees me. He is standing near the base of the staircase, arms crossed over his chest, his large body taking up space effortlessly. When he notices my presence, his gaze lifts immediately, unhurried—moving over the coat, briefly dropping to the slit of the dress that appears with each step… and then returning to my face.

His jaw tightens instantly.

Viktor is a few steps away, leaning against one of the columns in the hall with a posture far too relaxed for someone who has clearly been waiting for quite some time. One hand in the pocket of his trousers, the other resting on the back of a nearby chair. When he sees me, a slow smile forms at the corner of his mouth.

Alexander is near the front door.

Farther from his two brothers, as always. His posture is impeccable, hands behind his back, the dark overcoat perfectly aligned on his shoulders. He lifts his gaze only when I am almost at the bottom of the staircase.

Our eyes meet, and for a second the hall seems empty, as if only he and I exist. I should not feel my heart flutter—not like that. I look away slightly as I descend the last step, the sound of my heel echoing against the cold marble.

Viktor approaches me, placing a hand on my waist and pulling me closer.

“Finally, Foxy. I couldn’t stand waiting any longer. You look perfect.”

His smile is easy, provocative as always. His face moves closer to mine and, at the last second, he shifts his lips toward my ear.

“I’m dying to find out what’s under that dress… besides your beautiful body.”

I let out a small breath through my nose, more amused than offended, but I do not have time to respond.

A low sound—almost a growl—cuts through the air.

Dmitri.