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Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]
After Kristian left in pursuit of Jensen, Noémi continued circulating, keeping half an eye out for Dmitri. Her heart fluttered like a trapped animal whenever she thought she caught a glimpse of him, but fortunately they seemed to have lost each other amongst the milling guests, and she did not see him again. His sister, too, seemed occupied by her date for the evening, which was perhaps an even greater blessing. Dmitri’s attention might cause Noémi discomfort in its unwanted intensity, but Sofia would doubtless be the crueler. Reigniting the burn of old hatreds was not something she wished to risk, especially not here.

She knew none of the other guests, but would not depart before Nikolai made his own exit, which was why she lingered. Her soft and pleasant manner was not unwelcome and she had no problem occupying herself in conversation, though she graciously turned down any more dances, and did not stay in the same company for too long. Noémi possessed a quiet magnetism, slow as the bloom of a rare flower, which had made her a very successful escort with a certain type of client, but also attracted when she did not wish it. But she also knew how to step quietly; to disentangle herself before any lasting impression was left. She drank little, as she had not all evening; just enough for social nicety. That was an old habit.

Eventually a whisper was directed discretely into her ear; a matter of security protocol, to which she nodded in understanding. She didn’t question it, perhaps relieved for the opportunity to disengage for a moment, following the instruction to move elsewhere in the grand mansion.
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The door sealed shut behind him, and the roar of the masquerade, the laughter, music, and the clink of crystal was gone. In its place came a sudden silence. A hush woven through velvet curtains thrown across polished wood. She was there, waiting.

Nikolai’s gaze softened the moment it landed on her, but the weight of it was still a force. He crossed the room without hurry, but with an inevitability that filled the air. He did not smile. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was reassurance, a shield of armor drawn tight around her.

“Are you all right?” His voice was intimate. He did not ask as if uncertain. He asked as though demanding honesty that only from her lips alone would sate him. “I saw what… attention you were receiving. It will not happen again.” The promise carried more than protection. It carried the faintest shadow of threat, as though some unseen hand had already tipped the scales.

When she answered, and when her posture convinced him she was unscathed, his control eased, though not the intensity strung through his body. He drew closer, reaching for her not as a man who conquered something, but as one who guarded what was his.

He sank onto a chair so that her standing frame eclipsed him, then leaned forward until his brow touched just above her stomach. One arm wrapped loosely around her waist, the other anchoring her hand against his shoulder. For a moment he was silent, cheek pressed to the fabric of her dress, listening to her heartbeat, steady and delicate against his ear. To the proof of her existence. And there was the briefest moment of peace, he didn't even recognize it.

Soon his breath stirred the fabric. A sigh followed, almost a prayer, though Nikolai was not a man who prayed. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze. The vulnerability in the intimacy gave way to an intensity so sharp it startled by contrast. Expression dark with ownership, fixed only on her. His grip tightened at her waist as if daring the world to intervene.

And with that look, he tugged her down into his arms. His mouth found hers, a kiss that was not frantic but consuming; command and surrender wrapped together. The kind of kiss that left no space for anything else.
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