Kit watched in slow-motion horror as his wallet, his keys, and his phone tumbled out. The phone hit the curved, reinforced glass wall of the lobby with a sickening crack, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of dead pixels and light. "No! You fuckers, you broke my phone!"

 Kit screamed, his voice cracking with rage. That phone was his only link to the world outside this hotel, and now it was just a piece of useless glass. He tried to lung for it, but the other Alpha grabbed his arms, wrenching them behind his back. Kit thrashed, cursing every ancestor the guards had, but the grip on him was like iron.

The receptionist stepped into Kit’s personal space, her face twisted in a mask of triumph and disgust. 

As the guard held Kit's head still, she raised her hand and delivered a stinging slap across his face. The force of it made Kit’s vision swim, the bruise on his cheek from the rut flared with fresh heat. "Three days ago, you crawled in here looking like a stray cat," she hissed, her voice low and venomous. "You were given a gold key to the boss’s penthouse, and now, the moment he leaves for a meeting, you try to sneak out looking like this? These aren't the trashy clothes you arrived in. Where did you get the money for this? Or did you just help yourself to whatever wasn't bolted down?"

The guard who had trashed Kit’s bag kicked the empty fabric aside and pulled a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his belt. "You have the right to remain silent," the guard growled, the cold metal clicking shut around Kit's wrists with a finality that made his heart sink. 

He started droning on about theft and trespassing, but Kit wasn't listening to the legalities.

 He glared at the woman through the strands of hair falling over his face, his eyes burning with a jagged, hateful light.

"You fucking bitch! Do you have a single shred of proof that I stole anything?" Kit spat, his voice a jagged ruin. "Go check the cameras! Go call your boss! He's the one who put these on me!"

The woman didn't even blink. 

She just raised her hand again and delivered a second slap, harder than the first, silencing him for a brief, ringing second. She waved a hand dismissively toward the back of the hotel, gesturing for the guards to take him away. "Take this trash to the holding room. We'll let Mr. Sokolov decide what to do with a thief when he returns." 

Kit didn't go quietly; he thrashed and cursed, his face bruised and his heart pounding with a mix of terror and absolute, murderous spite as they dragged him away from the light of the lobby and back into the dark heart of the SK Hotel.

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7PM

The black Cullinan pulled up to the curb of the SK Imperial exactly at seven in the evening, the engine purring like a well-fed predator. 

Maksim Sokolov stepped out into the biting Moscow air, looking every bit the cold, untouchable king of his empire. 

He wore a long, charcoal fur coat over a dark suit and his signature black turtleneck, his white hair gleaming under the hotel’s golden spotlights. 

As he entered the lobby, the atmosphere shifted instantly. Staff members bowed in a synchronized wave of practiced deference, and the air thick with the scent of high-ranking Alphas looking away and Omegas who looked ready to open their legs for him just for a moment of his attention. 

Maksim didn't spare a single glance for any of them. He moved with a singular focus, his hands in his pockets and a small, high-end shopping bag dangling from one wrist, heading straight for the private elevator.

He expected to walk into the penthouse and hear the sound of Kit’s sharp, foul-mouthed voice or perhaps the heavy silence of the Omega pacing around and plotting his escape. "Still sleeping, Persicheck?" Maksim murmured to the quiet room as he let the heavy door click shut behind him. 

But as he moved through the living room, the silence began to feel wrong. He checked the bedroom first, finding the silk sheets tangled and the bed unmade, a clear sign that Kit had been awake. 

He checked the bathroom next—empty. Finally, he strode into the massive walk-in closet, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. 

The shopping bags he’d left on the island were still there, but they were empty and scattered. The fluffy winter boots were gone. The cream cashmere turtleneck was gone. Maksim let out a low, dangerous huff, his fingers tightening around the small bag he was still carrying.

"I told you not to leave, and yet you decide to go against me," Maksim mumbled, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling growl of irritation. 

He pulled his phone from his coat pocket and dialed the lobby desk immediately. When the receptionist answered, her voice trembling slightly with the weight of who was calling, Maksim didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Has anyone left the hotel while I was gone? Specifically an Omega in a white parka and fluffy boots?" 

On the other end of the line, the receptionist hesitated, her heart hammering against her ribs. She told him that no one matching that description had "left" the hotel, but just as Maksim was about to cut the call in frustration, she stammered out that there was a "situation" in the security wing.

Maksim’s jaw tightened. "Handle it," he snapped, his patience already worn thin by Kit’s disappearance. "I don’t pay you to bring me situations." But the woman was persistent, her voice high and desperate as she begged him to come down and take a look so they would know how to proceed with the "thief" they had apprehended. 

Maksim ended the call with a sharp flick of his thumb, letting out a long, heavy sigh that bordered on a snarl. First, he comes home to find his little peach has fled the nest, and now he has to deal with some trivial security drama. He turned on his heel, leaving the penthouse behind as he headed back to the elevator, his mind already calculating exactly how he was going to punish Kit once he tracked him down.

Downstairs, the atmosphere in the security hallway was suffocating. Maksim walked toward the holding room, his fur coat sweeping the floor and his presence making the guards stand as straight as iron rods. 

He didn't know yet what he was walking into, but his mood was blacker than the Moscow night. 

He pushed open the heavy steel door of the security office, expecting to see some common pickpocket or a disgruntled employee. 

Instead, his eyes landed on a bruised, handcuffed figure sitting defiantly in a hard plastic chair, wearing the very clothes Maksim had personally selected for him.

He stood in the center of the cramped, sterile security room, his presence making the walls feel like they were closing in. He didn't look at the guards, and he didn't look at the shattered pieces of the phone on the table; he just kept his eyes fixed on Kit’s bruised, defiant face. 

The receptionist, still riding the high of her "catch," scurried to Maksim’s side, her voice filled with a self-important trill. "Boss, he was caught trying to sneak out through the main lobby. He was wearing these luxury items—the clothes, the boots—all and all, we knew he had to have stolen them because he arrived here in rags three days ago. We were just waiting for you to tell us how to proceed with the thief, eh? He's been nothing but trouble, cursing at the staff."

Maksim didn't speak for a long time, the silence stretching until the receptionist began to fidget with her skirt. Finally, he turned his head just a fraction, his icy gaze landing on her.

 "The key," he said, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. The woman blinked, her smile faltering as she stammered, "B-but sir, he’s dangerous—" Maksim didn't repeat himself; he just held out his gloved hand until she trembling placed the key to the handcuffs in his palm. 

He stepped toward Kit, the scent of expensive tobacco and cold winter air cutting through the smell of floor wax. With a clinical click, he unlocked the cuffs, the heavy metal hitting the floor with a dull thud.

"I’m sorry, Persicheck," Maksim murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle as he reached out to touch Kit's reddened wrists. "The meeting took far too long to finish, and I came back much later than I intended. But you didn't have to leave like this, eh? I told you to wait for me. As for whoever laid their filthy hands on you and left these marks... consider them fired. They won't work anywhere in any country"

Kit’s head snapped up, his eyes swimming with molten, unshed tears of pure rage. Before Maksim could even finish his sentence, 

His hand flew through the air, delivering a sharp, echoing slap that jerked Maksim’s head to the side. The guards let out a collective gasp, their hands flying to their holsters, but Maksim didn't move an inch. He didn't even touch his stinging cheek.

"You motherfucker!" Kit screamed, his voice a jagged ruin. "Who the hell do you think you are? 'You didn't have to leave'? Are you kidding me? You left me in that room like a fucking used condom! I satisfied you for thirty goddamn rounds until my spine felt like it was breaking, and this is how you treat me? You probably threw my real clothes in the incinerator just so I’d have to wear this cashmere shit and look like your pet!" Kit wiped his eyes roughly, his body shaking with a mix of exhaustion and hatred. "You said if I stayed, you'd pay me a fortune, but you know what? Keep your fucking money! I don't want a cent from a Sokolov. I did it for free, okay? I did it just so I could get out of here and never see your white-haired face again!"

Kit’s gaze shifted to the receptionist, who was staring at him in frozen horror. "And you!" Kit hissed, pointing a trembling finger at her. "Tell this bitch to fix my phone! I was out for three days! My life is in that phone—my work, my friends, people who actually give a shit if I'm alive! And this bitch shattered it against the wall just because she wanted to play hero for her boss! I've had enough of this 'luxury' bullshit!"

The adrenaline finally boiled over. 

Kit didn't wait for a response; he lunged. He caught the receptionist completely off guard, his weight slamming her into the floor with a sickening thud. "You think you can slap me? You think you can break my things?" Kit yelled as he pinned her down, his fists flying. He started punching, hitting her face black and blue, venting every ounce of the trauma from the last three days into every strike. 

The security guards moved instantly, drawing their tasers and shouting for Kit to get off, but they were stopped by a roar that shook the very foundation of the room.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Maksim bellowed, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, murderous light as he glared at his men. "If you lay so much as a finger on him again, I will burn this entire wing down with you inside it. Get back!" 

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