Leaving Alina with Alexey, Volodya was certain she was in safe hands. But he couldn’t believe that the woman he so admired could stoop to such a low and cheap trick. Volodya knew that Eva had always been headstrong and susceptible to wealthy men. He had hoped her infatuation with Alexey would pass, and she would finally see his true feelings for her, and the show would help him with that. He didn’t expect everything to turn into a drama instead of a romance.

When Volodya descended into the hall, the party was in full swing. Eva was in high spirits. She was constantly looking for Alexey. In her imagination, the scene of Alina’s humiliation was already forming. But instead of Alexey, Volodya appeared. He walked quickly toward her and, grabbing her by the elbow, demanded that she come outside. Eva didn’t want to, but his gaze made it clear: he knew what she had done, and they needed to talk.

They went deep into the garden, where the thick foliage muffled the sounds of the party. Moonlight broke through the crowns of the trees, illuminating Volodya’s grim face.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” His voice trembled with suppressed rage. “Why did you drug Alina?!”

“Yes, I did it,” Eva dropped her mask. Cold, unconcealed triumph burned in her eyes. “So what? That bitch is going after my man.”

“First of all, he is not your man! Second, that is vile! And it’s... it’s a crime!”

“And Alina throwing herself at Alexey, isn’t that vile? She’s using Maxim to get to Lesha!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to poison a person!” Volodya shouted. “You wanted to compromise her in a cheap way! I didn’t let that waiter carry out your plan.”

At that moment, Eva’s face contorted with fury.

“You ruined my plan?! What the hell, Volodya! Why are you interfering with me! Why won’t you let me be happy!”

“I’m interfering?” Volodya smiled bitterly. “I agreed to participate in this stupid game, knowing you wanted to seduce another, only because I hoped: here, away from the city, you would finally see my true feelings for you!”

Eva looked at him with frank, icy contempt.

“You must be insane. I will never look at a guy who can’t give me anything but pity and cheap hugs. I want a strong, dominant man, the owner of this holding, by my side, not... a boy.”

At the word “boy,” something snapped inside Volodya. Rage replaced the pain. He abruptly pushed Eva against the tree trunk. His eyes burned like never before. He didn’t let her pull away and kissed her hard, almost wildly. Eva tried to break free, pushing him with her hands, but he held her in a death grip. It was a kiss of desperation and humiliation, an attempt to prove to her that he was a man, not a “boy.” Unable to break free, Eva sank her teeth into his lip. Volodya cried out in pain, but didn’t let go until he felt her relax her grip. She shoved him away sharply and immediately, without thinking, slapped his cheek.

Volodya staggered back. He ran the back of his hand across his lips and saw blood. His eyes, which no longer held adoration but only cold, icy determination, met her gaze.

“Well! You brought me to my senses! This was the last time you humiliated me, Eva,” Volodya said firmly, wiping the blood.

Leaving her alone, shocked and infuriated, he turned and walked away.

Meanwhile, Maxim went down to the hall to find Alina. His outburst of jealousy at the party had been inappropriate, and he felt an urgent need to apologize. He had to convince Alina that only he was her sole support. But Alina was nowhere to be found. At the exit of the garden, he bumped into Volodya. Volodya’s face was distorted with anger, and a fresh trace of blood was visible on his lip.

“Volodya? What happened? Have you seen Alina?”

Volodya stopped, his eyes burning. Seeing Maxim, he felt the rage he couldn’t unleash on Eva find a new target.

“Have I seen Alina?” Volodya repeated mockingly, approaching Maxim. “You shouldn’t have abandoned your woman at the party, Max. And especially, you shouldn’t have left her alone...”

“What do you mean? Speak clearly!”

“Your Alina was drugged!” Volodya pronounced the word with disgust.

Maxim felt the blood freeze in his veins.

“What are you saying? Who did it?”

“I don’t know. But right now, she’s not in a state to answer for herself.”

“Where is she?”

“In her room with Alexey Sergeyevich. He stayed to bring her to her senses.”

“Bring her to her senses?!”

The words hit Maxim like a sledgehammer. The picture Volodya painted was horrifying: his fiancée, defenseless, in the arms of his sworn rival. All his fears, all the jealousy he had held back, erupted, turning into pure, searing anger.

“Damn you!” Maxim screamed.

He didn’t even stop to listen to Volodya. The mere thought that they were alone together drove him mad. It wasn’t just “bringing her to her senses”; it was, in his inflamed mind, Alexey’s elaborate revenge. Maxim raced down the corridor, lit only by dim nightlights. His feet barely touched the marble floor, and the blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the music from the hall. Every step was dictated by a single thought: “She is mine. I won’t let him touch her.” He didn’t need insurance, he didn’t need Karina, he didn’t need the game. He only needed Alina, whom he was now feverishly picturing in someone else’s arms.

Alexey stood over the bed, breathing heavily. Alina’s fever, her semi-conscious caresses and pleas addressed to him, were torture. She wouldn’t give up. She wanted him, now, in this haze, and this wild, uncontrolled passion was the very Alina he wanted, but whom he couldn’t accept in such a helpless state. He knew she wasn’t herself. And no matter how much his own suppressed passion cried out, he tore her away from him.

“No, Alina,” he whispered, his voice dry with restrained desire. “Not like this.”

He took her blouse, which was unbuttoned and hanging from her shoulders, and carefully fastened the buttons, covering her. Then, with a towel, he continued to wipe her forehead and temples until her breathing became even and her body stopped trembling. When she finally fell into a deep, heavy sleep, Alexey leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. He still wanted her intensely. Despite the hatred and pain she had caused him, he continued to love her. He continued to want only her. To avoid tempting himself, he quickly grabbed his phone and went out into the corridor. As soon as the door closed behind him, he dialed his assistant’s number, his voice cold and businesslike.

“Urgently activate all internal security protocols. I need to know who drugged Alina. Check the cameras in the corridor, the bar counter, all the waiters.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing.

“And yes, check the incident with the rope. I don’t like it. Someone clearly wants to harm Alina, and I want to know who it is. If you find anything, contact only me.”

Maxim, who was rushing down the corridor, abruptly slammed on the brakes around the corner, hearing Alexey’s voice. He hid in the deep shadow of a niche. Every word of Alexey’s struck his jealousy like a hammer: “...who drugged Alina...“, “...check the incident with the rope...“, “...someone clearly wants to harm Alina...“.

Maxim froze. Alexey... not only had he not touched her. He was protecting her. He hadn’t drugged her, he was looking for the one who did. The bitter truth struck Maxim: his rival, whom he hated, turned out to be more honorable than he was, saving Alina while he, Maxim, had abandoned her. But damn it, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that Alexey did the right thing. What mattered was that he was his rival. What mattered was that Alina could still go back to him.

Waiting until Alexey, still talking on the phone, walked away in the opposite direction, Maxim, like a thief, silently slipped to the room. He cautiously opened the door. Dusk, silence. He saw Alina sleeping on the bed. She was dressed. A convulsive, relieved sigh escaped Maxim. Nothing had happened between Alina and Alexey. He approached and sat on the edge of the mattress. With a trembling hand, he gently brushed the damp hair from her face. At that moment, Alina moaned and opened her eyes. They were cloudy, unfocused. She saw a shadow.

“Lesha... darling...” she whispered, her voice weak, like a rustle. She stretched out her hand.

That name. In his presence. It exploded everything that remained of Maxim’s control. How could she call out another man’s name? He didn’t care about honor, about the drugs, about his own guilt.

“No,” he growled. “It’s me. Maxim. Your man.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers hungrily. Under the remnants of the chemical haze, Alina initially responded, her body seeking comfort, but a second later, feeling his insistence, hearing his harsh breathing, she began to wake up.

“Max... no...” her voice was a faint protest.

She tried to push him away, but he was like a rock. Her sluggish movements only spurred him on. Ignoring her weak push, he tore her blouse. The fabric ripped, and buttons scattered across the floor.

“Stop! Please!” Tears of despair welled up in her eyes.

Her weak, heartbreaking pleas drowned in the silence of the room, failing to reach Maxim’s consciousness, which was obsessed with only one goal: to reclaim his own, to erase the image of his rival. He saw not a loved woman, but property that needed to be branded. Ignoring her tears and helpless resistance, he took her with a cruel, almost animal persistence. He took her with the same rage with which he had run down the corridor, giving her no respite. Every movement was an assertion of his right, and for Alina, a new blow that extinguished the remnants of her fading consciousness. She tried to scream, but only a hoarse moan escaped her mouth, and her attempts to push him away became increasingly languid. Finally, under the crushing weight of physical exhaustion and the fading drug in her blood, Alina slipped into unconsciousness, her body slack in his embrace, like a broken doll. Maxim, breathing heavily, pressed her head against his chest, staring at the ceiling with a mad, triumphant look.

“You will never be his again. You are my woman, mine,” he whispered into her hair, asserting his right to her in the empty, dark room.