Page 8 of Viper’s Reign

A stunning blonde woman in a fitted skirt and suit jacket steps forward, an earpiece looping behind her ear. “Welcome, Miss Holmer. May I?” She lifts a small scanner and points it at my wrist.

“Oh, sure.” I raise my left hand, and she runs it over the bracelet. The bracelet’s light blinks again, the scanner beeps once, and that’s when it clicks—they must have linked each bracelet to the guest’s information at check-in. That’s what the security guy meant when he said it would grant me access to the deck.

“Perfect.” She steps back and waves me toward a closed door ahead, where another guard is already pushing it open. “Enjoy your night.”

It isn’t until I step through that the reality of what I’m doing truly sinks in.

This isn’t any ordinary event. It’s being hosted by Dimitri Petrov, a man who comes from one of the most notorious families in the city. What happens if I’m found out? I doubt they’ll let me off with a simple slap on the wrist.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I walk through a short, dim hallway.

This is all for Millie. I’m doing it for her, and I know she’d do it for me without even blinking. She’s not just my best friend, she’s the sister I never had. My only family.

The hallway opens into a breathtaking reception foyer. The floors are glossy marble that somehow muffles the sharp taps of my heels. Blinding gold pendant chandeliers hang overhead in dramatic clusters, filling the space with warm, honeyed light. To my left, a champagne bar gleams under the bright lights, rows of expensive bottles glittering like prized jewels. To my right, a fully digital wall cycles through ambient projections—glowing blue security schematics, slow-motion footage of microchips and biometric scanners—showcasing the event’s theme: The Future of Security.

Straight ahead, a pair of wide staircases with glass balustrades rise toward the upper deck, each step softly lit from beneath. Somewhere behind all of it, a string ensemble plays. People mill about here, some at the bar, others in front of the digital wall, chatting with flutes of champagne in hand.

This place is like another world entirely. I lift my own flute and take a small sip, and the taste shocks me. The bubbles aren’t harsh or biting like I’m used to. They’re soft, almost silky as they roll across my tongue. The flavor isn’t sickly sweet either. It’s crisp, dry, and layered with a faint hint of apple and another flavor I can’t put my finger on. I swallow, and a cool trace lingers, a clean contrast to the usual burn. For a moment, I stare at the glass, realizing why the taste is so different from anything I’ve ever had.

This must be the real deal.

Curious now, I bring the rim to my nose and inhale before taking another sip. The second one is even better, cottony and effortless, teasing me to keep going.

Man, money sure does taste good.

The room goes quiet, the music stopping and the conversations fizzling out. I follow everyone else’s gaze to the top of the staircase and almost swallow my tongue.

Dimitri Petrov.

I thought I was ready. I’d seen the photos, studied them even. But no, nothing could have prepared me for this.

In pictures, he’s striking. In person, he’s utterly devastating.

So much for my photoshop theory.

The warm beige of his bespoke suit against his golden skin looks like it was molded to him by the gods, and the dark ink creeping up the side of his neck adds an edge of danger that the suit alone couldn’t quite contain. His dark hair must have been styled at some point in the evening, before he ran his hands through it one too many times—and somehow it still looks perfect.

He surveys the room, and for one terrible half second, his eyes sweep over my section of the foyer, sending my heart into a violent stutter.

Shit, shit, shit. This is a problem.

I didn’t account for how he’d affect me in person. Men don’t normally do that to me. Millie once jokingly called me a cold fish because, while I can acknowledge when a man is attractive, it usually does nothing for me.

But Dimitri Petrov? He does everything to me.

Then he smiles. I can tell it’s practiced because it doesn’t reach his eyes, but that smile… holy shit. This mission just got a million times more complicated.

Get it together, girl.

“Welcome aboard Volya, esteemed guests. Thank you for coming tonight. I promise you a night of education, good company, and even better food.” A brief pause. “When we first started planning this event, I told my team I wanted it to be memorable, and they took me very literally. So if you feel the yacht sway a little, don’t worry, that’s our version of a dynamic security environment.”

Laughter washes through the room, my own mouth curving before I’ve decided to let it. He’s got a sense of humor. That’s inconvenient.

“All jokes aside, it’s an honor to have so many brilliant minds and partners here. People who are actively shaping the way we protect, innovate, and trust technology. Tonight isn’t solely about showcasing what we’ve built, it’s about sharing ideas that will define where we go next. So grab a drink, meet someone interesting, and enjoy the view—you’ve earned it.” He smiles again and claps his hands together. “Now, let’s get the future of security started.”

There’s a low murmur of agreement, then a scatter of applause as he steps back from the top of the staircase and gestures us up with a sweep of his hand.

I join the throng, my heartbeat racing with anticipation.