Page 6 of Viper’s Reign

Looks like it’s time to play my part.

I drop the burner back in the drawer, not bothering to reply. They know I’ll be there.

Then, hesitantly, I open the box.

My lips immediately part in surprise. Nestled neatly inside is a sequined navy-blue dress. Next to it is a pair of glittery black heels with a clutch to match.

I run a hand over the fabric. Then I see the embossed card tucked away to the side. It’s an invitation, issued to “Laura Holmer” for SecureTech Expo Night, a security tech expo hosted by Volks Security.

I swallow. So, this is really happening.

Trying to keep my hand steady, I rub my thumb over the glossy, clearly high-quality paper and lift it to my nose. It smells like old money.

Carefully, I set the card down and pick up the heels.

My jaw drops when I see the label inside. Jimmy Choo London.

Holy shit, I’m holding a pair of Jimmy Choos. A conflicted giddiness bubbles through me as I slip them on. They fit perfectly. Huh.

I wiggle my toes, admiring them for a moment before my excitement fades and reality slaps me back to my senses. I’m so out of my depth. Designer shoes aren’t going to be enough to hide the fact that I don’t belong in them or at this event. I toss a glance at the box on my counter, realizing everything in there is probably designer as well. Will an entire outfit be enough for me to blend in? I unconsciously cross my fingers, knowing it doesn’t really matter. One way or another, I need to make it work.

A gulp rises in my throat as I open the drawer further, my eyes locking on the small black box tucked at the back. Inside is the syringe Millie left behind. The one filled with the “medication” I’m supposed to slip Dimitri Petrov. Funny, from all the photos I’ve seen, he doesn’t look very sick. In fact, I’d say the exact opposite. He looks fantastic.

My stomach churns as I shake my head and reluctantly slip off the heels. My gaze drifts to the dress. God, how I wish I could enjoy such a beautiful outfit. A naïve, innocent part of me tugs toward it, begging me to lift it from the box. But I bite my lip and fight the urge.

Not now. I need to do more research first.

I grab my phone and pull up the event details. A host of information fills my screen. Apparently, it’s an annual event, now in its fifth edition and the first being hosted by Volks Security, the company Dimitri owns. It’s so prestigious that CEOs from top security companies all around the country attend, alongside billionaires, celebrities, and even the occasional senator.

Yeah… my usual wardrobe definitely wouldn’t have flown.

I keep reading, wanting to be prepared in case I get asked a question tomorrow, and also because I hate going into anything blind.

Next, I research Volks Security itself. It’s one of the top five security companies in NYC, highly rated by celebrities like Gladys Perry, Jonathan Cine, and the like. They guard the nation’s top one percent, even some senators and governors. In other words, Volks Security is a very big deal—which begs the question: what the hell kind of “medication” does the CEO need, and why won’t he take it willingly?

A logical voice niggles in the back of my brain, but I shut the door in its face. This shit is dark enough, the last thing I need is to face the reality of what really could be going on. Just take a deep breath and keep going, I tell myself.

Naturally, my search moves to Dimitri Petrov. Besides some carefully curated paparazzi photos, there’s not much on him online—only a brief, generic bio on the company’s website.

At only twenty-seven, Dimitri Petrov is the founder and CEO of Volks Security, one of the fastest-growing firms in advanced security technology. Armed with bachelor’s and master’s degrees in security systems and technology innovation, he has built a company known for pushing the boundaries of digital and physical protection.

Driven by a lifelong fascination with safety and resilience, he found his calling after the tragic loss of his father nearly a decade ago—a moment that reshaped his sense of purpose. Since then, Volks Security has become more than a business: it’s his personal mission and proudest creation.

The youngest of four siblings, he grew up alongside two older brothers and a twin sister, to whom he remains deeply close. Despite his success, he keeps a low profile, preferring to let his work speak for itself. To those who know him, he’s fiercely loyal, quietly intense, and relentless when it comes to safeguarding what matters most.

I lean back. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? It’s practically word salad. I’ve learned more about the man from hushed whispers at Dr. Lenz’s clinic. Like the fact that some in the underworld refer to him as the Viper—I bet that’s not showing up in his bio anytime soon.

I cringe at the dark irony of the moniker. A viper, and here I am about to inject him with something. Hopefully he doesn’t bite back.

Crooking my thumb, I move to the pictures. By now, I’m more than familiar with most of them. Handsome devil. Thick dark hair that’s always slightly tousled, sharp eyes that shift between blue and green. The hints of dark black ink crawling over sun-bronzed skin, peeking out from rolled sleeves, beneath his collarbone, along the side of his neck. Clearly, his team tries to photoshop most of his tattoos out, but once in a while, you’ll find a picture where he isn’t the centerpiece, and get a glimpse of how he really looks. And boy, does he look exactly like the definition of a bad boy.

And beside him, in picture after picture, women.

Socialites, celebrities, models. All beautiful, dark-haired, very specifically a type. Never the same one twice. Not a single one who looks anything like me, a freckled redhead.

One thing seems clear: Dimitri Petrov is a playboy through and through. Which is no doubt what made Millie so confident she could get close to him. Yet he never gave her a chance to, and it might cost us both our lives.

A sudden flash of anger flickers up inside of me.