Chapter 4 Within Reach

Nanny Irina led Marionette down the final stretch of the corridor, finally stopping before a cream-coloured door.

Marionette’s attention shifted immediately to the door directly opposite.

Black. Sleek. Imposing.

It carried a presence that didn’t need explanation.

Irina noticed her gaze and offered a faint knowing smile.

“That is Mr. Volkov’s room,” she said.

So close.

Nanny Irina opened the cream-coloured door.

“Please,” she added gently, guiding Marionette inside.

Marionette stepped in and paused.

Something about the space felt wrong. Too familiar.

Her eyes moved slowly across the room. The furniture. The decor. Then the olive plant in the corner.

A faint crease formed between her brows.

How was this possible?

Irina noticed her stillness.

"Is something wrong, Mrs. Volkov?” she asked gently.

Marionette blinked, smoothing her expression back in place.

“Not at all.”

But her gaze drifted again, and something uneasy settled in her chest.

This was exactly like her room. Before her mother died.

“I hope you like your room,” Irina said gently.

“Mr. Volkov had it specially arranged.”

Marionette’s eyes flickered.

“He did?”

She moved further inside, stopping beside the olive plant. Her fingers hovered over its leaves, hesitated, then withdrew.

Her mother had kept the same plant in her bedroom when she was ten.

“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly.

“I’m glad you are satisfied with it, Mrs. Volkov,” Irina replied.

“I will leave you to rest now. If you need anything, there is a service panel beside the bedside table.”

“Thank you, Nanny Irina.”

Irina smiled once more and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Marionette stood still for a moment longer, then moved to lock the door.

Her eyes immediately scanned the room for any form of device, she checked the bathroom, the wardrobe, the corners of the room, every piece of furniture, even the olive plant.

Only when she was satisfied did she relax slightly.

She stood before the mirror and unzipped her dress.

The small ash-coloured pouch at her waist came into view.

Marionette held it as questions flooded her head.

That man... How did he know?

She opened the pouch carefully, inside rested five small pills.

Unremarkable at first glance but priceless.

Her expression tightened as she stared at it.

The Heartguard pill.

A formula that did not exist in any medical record.

A drug no laboratory had ever replicated.

Her great-grandfather’s work.

Passed down once.

Hidden even from her parents.

Only her grandfather had known.

And now... Cassius Volkov.

She closed the pouch slowly.

She had underestimated him.

That would not happen again.

A sharp crash cut through the silence.

Her head snapped toward the door.

Without hesitation, she moved to the wardrobe, pulled out a long black robe, and slipped it on.

Then she went to the door.

Her hand rested on the handle briefly as she listened.

Nothing.

No movement. No sound.

She opened it just slightly and scanned the corridor.

Empty.

Then she stepped out into the corridor.

That was when it hit her.

A scent.

Sharp. Metallic.

Her expression changed instantly.

Blood.

Marionette paused for half a second.

Then she moved.

With every step she took, the scent grew stronger, guiding her forward.

Until she turned the corner and froze.

Cassius Volkov stood at the far end of the corridor.

Standing.

One hand braced against the wall.

The other holding a glass of water.

His grip tightened, and the water trembled, spilling over the edge.

His breathing was controlled, but uneven.

Marionette’s mind went still.

Then it sharpened.

"You’re standing."

Cassius turned his head slowly.

Their eyes met.

For the first time there was no calm control in his eyes.

Only something darker and raw.

“Go back to your room,” he said quietly.

Marionette didn’t move.

Her gaze dropped to his legs.

To the slight tremor he tried to suppress.

Then back to his face.

Marionette's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You’re injured.”

“So it would seem,” he replied, almost indifferent.

Marionette’s gaze didn’t leave him.

“You should get that treated.”

Cassius exhaled softly, faintly amused.

“It’s nothing.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“It’s not."

A brief silence settled between them.

“Go back to your room, Marionette.”

“No.”

The word landed clean and final.

Cassius’s gaze shifted slightly.

Something dangerous passed through it.

“I am not asking,” he said quietly.

“And I am not listening.”

She stepped forward.

Then closer.

Until she was within reach.

She crouched, studying his leg.

“You’re losing more blood than you realize,” she said calmly.

“I said–”

“If you don’t treat it,” she interrupted, steady, “I will.”

Her gaze held his.

“Stay here.”

Then she stood and walked away.

Cassius didn’t stop her.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

But something in his expression changed.

For the first time, someone had just given him an order.

And he had not refused it.

Marionette returned with a small black case.

She stopped in front of him.

“Sit.”

Cassius smirked.

“You’re very bold for someone who just entered my house.”

Marionette didn’t react.

“Sit,” she repeated.

He obeyed.

Marionette knelt in front of him and reached for his leg.

His hand snapped out instantly, gripping her wrist.

Their eyes locked.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

Marionette nodded and he let her hand go.

Her fingers moved to the edge of his trouser, lifting the fabric.

A shard of glass, embedded deep into his flesh.

Blood had already soaked through.

Marionette’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“A broken vase,” she said flatly. “Careless.”

Marionette opened the black case.

Inside, neatly arranged, were slender needles, small vials, and sterile cloth.

Cassius’s gaze flicked to them briefly.

Then back to her.

Marionette didn’t look up.

"Hold still."

She reached for a cloth and pressed it firmly against the wound.

Cassius’s fingers tightened instantly against the armrest.

A sharp breath escaped him.

But he stayed still.

Her movements were precise, controlled. She cleared the blood just enough to expose the shard.

It was deep and worse than it looked.

Marionette reached for a pair of fine tweezers.

She paused while she measured the angle.

Then she pulled.

The shard slid out with a wet, quiet sound.

Blood followed immediately.

Cassius’s jaw locked.

The muscle in his neck tightened, his grip turning rigid, yet not a sound left him.

Marionette set the glass aside.

“Still,” she said.

As if he had moved.

She pressed the cloth down harder this time, deliberately.

Cassius’s gaze didn’t leave her face.

Dark and steady, burning through pain.

Marionette noticed.

But her expression didn’t change.

Instead, she reached for one of the vials and uncorked it.

The faint scent of herbs filled the air.

Cassius let out a slow breath.

“You’re not as gentle as you pretend to be.”

Marionette didn’t look up.

“I don’t pretend.”