Page 6 of Toxic Attraction
And I'm supposed to steal secrets from the man who built it.
I almost laugh out loud at myself.
My chest tightens, and I can't get enough air. The panic is coming—I can feel it building like a wave about to crash—
"Valerie Novak?" A woman appears from a side corridor, and I recognize her from the video interview. Sofia Rinaldi. Perfectly put together in tailored slacks and a crisp white blouse, dark hair pulled back so tight it must hurt. She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Welcome. I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Yes. Thank you." The words come out mechanical. I've been practicing them for three days, how to sound normal, how to act like my world didn't end a week ago.
"Excellent. Follow me." She's already moving, heels clicking against marble in sharp strikes that sound like gunshots.
Stop it, Val. They're just footsteps. Just footsteps.
But my heart is racing anyway, and my hands are shaking worse, and I'm following this stranger through a maze of corridors, trying not to fall apart.
The art on the walls is the kind you see in museums. Real paintings with little plaques and dramatic lighting. Between them, mirrors in gilded frames reflect endless versions of me looking small and pale and wrong.
Every door we pass is closed. Every corner has a camera. And I can't stop smelling bleach.
"The east wing is Mr. Volkov's private quarters." Sofia gestures to a corridor blocked by a keypad-locked door. "You're not to enter unless explicitly instructed."
Mr. Volkov. Lev Volkov. The man whose organization my father was supposed to betray. The man Patrick wants me to destroy.
My stomach twists. "Understood."
"The west wing houses staff and service areas. You'll have access to the main floor, kitchen, and designated cleaning zones. Everything else requires authorization." She pauses, studying me with eyes that miss nothing. "You look pale. Are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine. Just... nervous. First day."
Her expression softens slightly. Barely. "Understandable. This position requires discretion and composure. Mr. Volkov values both highly. Can you provide them?"
No. I'm a mess. I'm falling apart. I watched my father die, and now I'm supposed to spy on a Russian mob boss, and I don't know how to do any of this—
"Yes, ma'am."
We continue the tour, and Sofia's voice fades into the background as she explains the rules, protocols, and expectations. All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other without collapsing.
The staff quarters are better than anywhere I've ever lived. Spacious, clean room with an actual window overlooking the gardens. En suite bathroom included. Bed that looks like it costs more than my car.
Dad would've loved to see me land somewhere like this. He always wanted better for us. That's probably why he—
I cut the thought off before it can finish.
"Change into your uniform and meet me back here in ten minutes." Sofia's already leaving. "We'll start with the main floor."
The door closes, and I'm alone.
I sit on the bed and pull out my phone with shaking hands. Three missed calls from Mom. Two from Ethan. Seven texts from Tash.
TASH: You got this.
TASH: Remember—nervous is normal.
TASH: Looking terrified is suspicious.
TASH: Breathe. Seriously, Val, breathe.
TASH: Call me when you can.
