Chapter 207: Chapter 207 Into The Lion’s Den

Liam stared at Lana, watching her retreat into the wardrobe with a small, annoyed frown on her face. The knock earlier had shattered the moment between them like glass. His hand had been at the back of her bra, seconds away from unhooking it, his body already responding to her warmth, her touch, her moans—and then, Knock Knock!—just like that, it was gone.

He clicked his tongue, eyes trailing to the door again as if expecting it to knock once more. “Cockblock of the year,” he muttered under his breath.

The tension had been molten between them, and now it was like someone had thrown cold water over both their heads. Lana wasn’t saying anything—just searching through the wardrobe, her movements sharp, almost mechanical.

Liam sighed and shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. He needed to clear his mind. Maybe get some answers.

He picked up his phone and opened Ann’s contact. If the Sokolov family was really the one Ann was being married into, then there was no way she wasn’t involved with this so-called “Midnight party.”

He hit the call icon and lifted the phone to his ear.

Ring… ring… ring…

No answer.

His thumb hesitated over the redial button for a second, then he pressed it again.

Still nothing.

“Maybe she’s busy…” he muttered aloud, although the words didn’t come out with much conviction. The situation was too weird, too carefully timed, too deliberate. An anonymous invitation. A powerful royal family. A silent girlfriend. She agreeing to the marriage without his consent. None of it sat right with him.

He glanced back toward the wardrobe and then walked over to Lana.

“No formal clothes,” he said, after a quick look through his side. “Didn’t exactly plan for a royal masquerade when I packed.”

“Same here,” Lana replied, not even glancing back. “Only brought basic stuff.”

Liam exhaled and scratched the back of his head. “Well, looks like we’re going shopping.”

—

The rest of the day was a blur of fabric, price tags, and velvet-lined dressing rooms. he knew they had to make an impression—especially if the Sokolovs were half as powerful as Lana claimed. They went from one high-end store to another in the heart of St. Petersburg, the kind of places that didn’t even bother displaying price tags because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.

Lana had an eye for fashion, sharp and decisive. She rejected three dresses in under thirty seconds and told one store assistant that a gown “looked like something a blind nun would wear.” Liam chuckled the entire time, though he mostly stuck to simple choices. A tailored suit, polished shoes, something clean and sharp.

By the time the sun dipped low and the evening breeze drifted through the city, they were back at the hotel room. The sky outside the window had turned orange and gold, casting soft shadows across the room. The invitation sat on the desk beside a crystal glass of untouched vodka.

Liam stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie with slow precision. The knot was tight, straight, perfect. His eyes scanned his own reflection, and for a moment, he just stood still, taking it in.

The man looking back at him wore a white button-up shirt that clung slightly to his broad chest, tucked neatly into perfectly tailored black trousers that hugged his waist and legs with clean lines. His shoes gleamed, polished to a mirror shine. He’d considered wearing the jacket—the final piece of the suit—but decided against it. Somehow, the absence made him look more sleek. Confident. Like a man who knew he didn’t need to follow every rule to dominate the room.

His dark hair was slightly tousled, not messy, just enough to show he hadn’t tried too hard. His deep blue eyes, framed by long lashes, stared back with a quiet intensity, and that sharp jawline made his reflection feel like something out of a magazine cover. Liam didn’t usually care about appearances, but right now—even he had to admit—he looked good.

No. He looked lethal.

He reached for his cuff and adjusted it slightly, then turned away from the mirror—

And froze.

Lana stood there.

And for a moment, Liam forgot how to breathe.

She wore a long, black gown that clung to her figure like it was made for her body alone. The fabric shimmered faintly under the warm light, like liquid obsidian. It swept lightly across the floor as she took a single step forward, the hem gliding over the wooden panels with an effortless grace. A slit ran up one side—high. Very high—almost to her upper thigh—revealing long, toned legs wrapped in sheer stockings and black heels that added several inches to her already tall frame.

His gaze climbed.

The top of the dress was sculpted yet loose enough that it struggled to contain the soft curves of her breasts. A small portion of cleavage peeked from the plunging neckline, just enough to draw attention without being vulgar. But the real temptation came from the way the gown shifted with each movement, allowing glimpses of the softness that pressed subtly against the fabric—clearly unrestrained beneath.

And those hips.

Liam nearly choked.

The way the dress hugged her waist and flared around her hips made his throat go dry. The curves were sinful—dangerous even. She moved with the kind of grace that no one could teach—a slow, feminine sway that made his blood heat instantly.

Her dark brown hair was styled elegantly, cascading down one side of her shoulder in soft waves. Her makeup was minimal but flawless—accentuating her cheekbones, her full lips glossed just enough to make them look like something that demanded to be kissed. Her green eyes sparkled, watching him carefully for his reaction.

And oh, she noticed.

Liam’s jaw had gone slightly slack. He wasn’t even trying to hide the way he was staring at her. For once, he didn’t care.

“Damn…” he muttered.

Lana smiled, one hand resting lightly on her hip. “That good?”

“You look…” He paused, searching for words, but his brain had short-circuited. “You look like trouble.”

“Then I’ll fit right in,” she replied smoothly, stepping closer.

Liam swallowed. Hard.

—

The elevator descended with a soft chime and a smooth hum, gliding down toward the hotel lobby. Liam stood beside Lana, adjusting his cuff one last time. He could feel the quiet confidence radiating off her—shoulders back, head held high, hips swaying with each slight movement. There was an electricity between them, silent and dangerous. Not a word passed between them as the floor numbers ticked down.

Ding.

The doors parted.

And silence fell over the lobby.

The receptionist, a young woman in her mid-twenties, looked up from her desk—and froze.

She had seen them before. Over the past two days, Liam and Lana had passed her more than a few times. She’d always thought they were a good-looking pair—insanely good-looking, in fact. She even told her coworker that they looked like models hiding from paparazzi. But right now?

Now they looked like they didn’t belong to this world.

Lana’s gown shimmered under the chandelier lights like it was woven from midnight itself, the slit exposing her sculpted leg with every graceful step. Liam beside her was tall, elegant, lethal in black and white—his shirt tight across his chest, every line of his body screaming dominance. They moved like they owned the building, like royalty on a stroll.

The receptionist blinked.

Then, unable to hold it in, she murmured in Russian, “Вы двое как Lana turned her head slightly, offered a small smile, and replied in perfect Russian, “Спасибо, это очень мило.”

Liam, walking just a step ahead, smirked as he leaned toward Lana, lowering his voice. “Alright, I’ll bite—what were you two whispering about?”

“She said we look like movie stars,” Lana replied, still smiling as they strolled past the desk. “I said thank you.”

Liam chuckled. “She’s got good eyes.”

Outside, the city night was cool and quiet, street lamps flickering golden on the pavement. Parked by the curb was a machine that looked like it had no business being on normal roads.

Liam had pulled some strings earlier and dipped into his Black Lotus reserves.

The car waiting for them was a black Aston Martin Valour—matte finish, deep silver accents, wide tires, with an engine that purred like a panther barely holding back a roar. The headlights blinked to life as Liam pressed the fob.

Lana paused, eyes sweeping the car with appreciation. “Well, this is subtle.”

Liam grinned. “You know me. I don’t do cheap.”

He walked around and opened the passenger door with a slight flourish, bowing his head like a chauffeur.

Lana rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “What, I can’t open a door for a queen?”

“I’m not helpless,” she shot back, stepping forward.

“Didn’t say you were,” he said smoothly, eyes glittering. “I just figured you deserve someone who knows how to treat you right.”

Lana gave a small chuckle despite herself. “Smooth.”

“Always,” Liam said as he gently closed the door after her, his fingers lingering on the handle for half a second.

He circled around, got in on the driver’s side, and sank into the plush seat. The interior was all dark leather and blue ambient lighting, sleek and silent. He pulled the folded invitation from his pocket, gave it a glance, and muttered under his breath, “Here we come.”

He shifted the car into gear.

The engine roared to life—not loud, but deep, throaty, commanding.

And then they were off.

—

The streets of St. Petersburg rolled by in a blur of gold and steel. Streetlights and car beams flickered past, neon signs glowing softly above them. They didn’t speak much during the drive—there was no need. The tension was rising, and both of them felt it in the air. Like something massive was waiting ahead, coiled like a storm on the horizon.

Liam’s fingers tapped the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the road.

When they finally turned onto Nevsky Prospekt, it was clear they were no longer in the part of town where normal people lived.

The buildings grew older—grand, ornate, imperial in design. And then, after passing through a row of towering trees lining the road like sentinels, they saw it.

The palace.

It wasn’t just a mansion—it was a fortress of wealth and history. Marble towers rose into the night sky, archways lit with golden sconces, windows glowing like eyes. The estate was surrounded by a black iron fence that stood two stories high, every point adorned with sharpened spears. The gate itself was open, guarded by men in tailored black suits and earpieces, each carrying the casual stiffness of someone who could kill without hesitation.

Liam slowed the car as they approached.

Rows of luxury vehicles were already parked along the vast circular driveway—Bugattis, Rolls-Royces, Ferraris—each more expensive than the last. The gathering was not just for the wealthy. It was for those who lived above wealth. The elite of the elite.

He pulled into a spot beside a blood-red Lamborghini and cut the engine.

Silence filled the car.

Lana let out a slow breath, staring at the palace.

Liam opened his door and stepped out, the cold night air hitting his skin like a whisper of warning. He walked around and opened Lana’s door once again, ignoring the way she glanced at him with mock exasperation.

She stepped out gracefully, heels clicking on the stone beneath them.

Together, they turned to face the palace.

Neither of them spoke.

The building loomed before them like a cathedral of power. Music drifted faintly from somewhere within—classical, elegant, sharp. Light spilled from every window. More guests were arriving, all dressed in pairs, all walking with the rehearsed poise of aristocracy.

Liam’s eyes scanned the scene. Men and women, arm in arm, gliding up the marble steps toward the arched doors. Everyone was coupled up. Like it was a rule.

He looked at Lana beside him.

She was gazing ahead, chin lifted, expression unreadable.

Without a word, he reached out, took her hand gently, and slid it into the crook of his arm. Not forcefully. Not dramatically. Just… naturally. Like it had always belonged there.

Lana turned to glance at him, her lips parting slightly—but she didn’t pull away.

They walked forward together.

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