Shark hunt 2

Chapter 1

“Let her go and settle this like a man,” he said slowly. “You’re not getting away either way. Julia’s been arrested and she’s already testifying against you.”

Julia? Who the hell is Julia?! flashed through Maria’s mind.

“I’m not letting her go. Or you. You savage bastard,” Gabriel shot back, still holding the gun firmly behind Maria’s head.

“She has nothing to do with this. Whatever she told you, she saved me. I killed Berta. I was done with her and her cracked-up psyche. Maria was unconscious – she didn’t see anything,” Jack said firmly, ignoring Maria’s tear-streaked, pale face. His voice was hard, as if every word was truth carved in stone.

“You’re too late for confessions,” Gabriel replied coldly.

“Lower your weapon, Mr. Robinson,” a police officer said as he entered the cabin behind Jack.

“Get out of here,” Gabriel snapped. “This is between us. I don’t give a damn about your charges.”

“Leave us,” Jack echoed, casting the officer a brief look. The cop caught a subtle nod from the coordinator on deck, gave a small nod in return, and quietly stepped out.

Moments later, the hum of approaching boats and the growing roar of a helicopter filled the tense silence. Things were clearly escalating.

Jack and Gabriel stood facing each other, guns raised, with Maria trembling like a leaf between them.

“This is our last day,” Gabriel said, his voice shaking now, cracking like a thawing river. “And it’ll end how I say.”

The control slipped – it was in his eyes, in the thin stream of sweat tracing down his cheek.

“Let it end. Between us. Let the woman go,” Jack insisted. “If you’re a man and not afraid of me.”

His words hit the mark. Gabriel shoved Maria aside and aimed his pistol directly at Jack.

The two men stood locked in a deadly standoff – guns raised, neither of them moving, neither blinking. The tension filled the room like carbon monoxide – invisible, but fatally dense. The only sounds were the waves lapping against the hull and the steady thump of helicopter rotors overhead. It felt as if the entire world had stopped, holding its breath on the edge of a shot.

Maria, stumbling from the shove, grabbed the edge of the chair. For a few moments, she was paralyzed, staring at a scene that smelled of death.

Then she caught a glance from the officer outside the cabin – a quick, precise signal. Trembling, she ducked and slipped outside.

They caught her immediately, arms wrapped around her, leading her away.

She burst into tears against the officer’s shoulder.

“Please,” she sobbed, “save Jack. Do something…”

The man patted her shoulder and guided her down to the boarding ladder, where a small boat rocked gently below.

“There’s a sniper in position. Don’t worry. We’ll get him out,” he whispered calmly.

Maria turned one last time before stepping down – and behind a large metal crate, where they’d once stored shark feed, she saw him.

The sniper.

Pressed against the hull, motionless. Only the barrel of the rifle moved, tracking the target with surgical calm.

On the lower deck, she climbed into the boat.

Another officer took her by the arms, helped her sit, wrapped her in a thin blanket and handed her a small bottle of water.

Maria clutched it, lips trembling, and whispered a prayer under her breath.

“Please… don’t let him die. God… please don’t let him die…”

Then – a single, sharp gunshot.

And something like a cry.

Maria squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears.

No… no… not Jack… please, not Jack…

Chapter 2

Several Years Earlier…

The gaping jaws of the sea monster haunted her dreams. Even in daylight, they flashed before her eyes—in raindrops, in the lines of the waves, in the curves of the wind.

She woke up soaked in sweat, or from her own scream. The sea had become her nightmare.

“It took away my happiness,” Maria whispered, staring into the distance. “I hate the sea. From now and forever.”

Grande looked at her with silent sympathy. But Jack had forbidden any intimacy with the captive, so she said nothing.

Maria wandered along the shore. Her hair was tangled into salty clumps, more like torn rags than the once-groomed locks. She didn’t recognize herself.

A mirror? Just a useless piece of glass. The woman staring back at her had hollow eyes.

Food had no taste. Days flowed by, but she wasn’t living—just existing.

She didn’t cry anymore. The tears were gone. Only emptiness remained.

“Tell me about America,” Grande asked again, assigned to Maria as either a helper or a warden—it wasn’t clear anymore.

Once, Maria had tried to escape. But Jack caught her. And punished her. After that, she didn’t try again. The island had become her prison.

Her only home—a hut deceptively cozy inside. A TV. A DVD player. A couple of old melodramas. Grande watched them again and again, always freezing at the same scenes.

“There… there’s a TV over there too,” Maria said quietly. “And new movies every time. Can you imagine?”

Grande laughed, but it was a sad kind of laughter.

Suddenly, Maria began taking off her clothes.

“Maria, no! Don’t!” Grande rushed to her, hands raised in panic. “Please, don’t do this!”

“I want to swim!” Maria tossed her shirt onto the sand defiantly.

“There are sharks! I won’t be able to save you!” the girl shouted, covering her face with her hands.

“Then let them eat me!” Maria’s voice trembled, but there was resolve in it. “I can’t do this anymore…”

She stepped into the water, a strange smile curling on her lips.

“If you’re still out there, my love… I’m coming to you.”

“He tied me up again! That bastard! That savage! That monster!”

Maria thrashed in her ropes, wrists digging into the coarse fibers. Useless. Jack had bound her tightly to a tree trunk—by her wrists. Once, she had been left like that almost an entire day. And now again—until she “comes to her senses.”

“Monster!” she shouted toward the sea, where Jack’s boat was disappearing into the horizon.

“Maria, please… calm down,” Grande said softly.

“What do you people want from me?!” Maria’s voice cracked. She lowered her head.

“Just… stay here. A little longer,” Grande murmured cautiously.

Maria looked up. Her eyes were exhausted, full of quiet pain.

“How long… have I been here? A month? A year?”

“I can’t say. Jack… would kill me,” the girl exhaled.

Maria flinched. There was something in that. Something they were hiding. No one had demanded ransom. No threats had been made. They were just holding her.

But why? She looked closely at Grande. And Grande looked back.

The same eyes. Same skin. Same hair. They were brother and sister—Maria had sensed it from the start. But so different. He—a mountain of stone and steel. Muscles. Power.

Grande—fragile, graceful like a ballerina. If not for this prison, she would’ve danced.

“You want to come to America with me? When this is over?” Maria tried to smile, looking into the girl’s eyes.

“I can’t,” Grande shook her head.

“Yes, you can! I’m a U.S. citizen! I can invite you—easily!”

“No… you don’t understand. I can’t fly.”

“Why not?”

“My… my heart. It’s sick. I need surgery.”

Maria went numb. “I’ll help. I’ll arrange everything.”

Grande smiled warmly. And whispered:

“Thank you… I’ll tell Jack. Maybe he’ll… stop hurting you.”

Maria shut her eyes. Damn Jack. He didn’t even talk to her.

Just stared. Stared like he could see through her bones.

“Does he want to sell me? Or what? Why am I even here?”

“I can’t say. It’s… a secret. But you’ll know everything soon.”

Maria lowered her head. The ropes dug into her wrists.

“If Spartacus were alive… my Spartacus… He’d show your Jack. God, I hate all this so much!”

“Spartacus is alive!” Grande blurted out. Then went rigid. Fear flickered in her eyes. “I’m sorry! Don’t give me away!”

Maria slowly raised her eyes.

“What… did you say?”

“Maria, please… don’t tell anyone.”

“It’s true? You told the truth?”

“Yes… Spartacus is alive.”

Something hot and bright—like a flame—flashed through Maria.

She smiled. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. She lifted her head and closed her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t tell anyone,” she said quietly.

Just then, a bright bird landed nearby, shimmering with color, and began to sing.

Maria looked at it in awe.

“Such a beautiful bird…”

Grande frowned. Has she… finally lost her mind?

“You’re just now seeing them? There are many around.”

“Really? I never noticed before! And the sea is so beautiful… the sky too… everything! Everything is beautiful!” Maria smiled, squinting toward the sun.

Grande watched her silently.

“Untie me. I’m hungry,” Maria said suddenly. “I promise I won’t run. Spartacus will come here himself. I know it. He’ll come. And knock your brother on his ass!”

Grande raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“We’ll see about that…”

“You don’t know my Spartacus. He’s a hero. He’s smart. He’s strong. He could take on a dozen thugs—armed or not. No one could beat him!”

The smiling prisoner beamed like the sun.

Chapter 3

“Why is she so calm?” Jack asked his sister, voice raspy with that familiar Australian accent. He sat across from her at the wooden table. His words were slow, nearly unintelligible to anyone not used to his manner of speech – but Grande understood him without needing interpretation.

“She thinks her Spartacus is on his way to save her,” Grande replied with a faint smile, shrugging like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They sat together at a simple wooden table: grilled chicken, a bit of rice, sliced fruit. Maria hummed softly to herself, smiling at some thought, slowly eating as if savoring each bite – as if, for the first time in ages, food had taste.

Jack watched her intently. Something tense settled in his features, like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Did you tell her about Spartacus?” he asked bluntly, eyes fixed on her. No hints. No dodging. He wanted a straight answer. The name hit Maria like a bell toll. It was as if she snapped out of a daze – until now, she’d been detached, but suddenly her face lit up with a genuine, radiant smile. A kind no one had seen in a long time. She nodded eagerly at first, then quickly shook her head in panic, remembering Grande’s plea to keep it secret.

Jack smirked. His lips twisted knowingly. He cast a long, accusing glance at his sister. Caught red-handed, Grande lowered her eyes like a child scolded.

“You need heart surgery, remember?” he said, his voice tinged with irritation, nodding toward Maria. “If we miss the chance…” – he paused, staring coldly at his sister – “it’ll get bad. She’ll try to escape again. Start fighting us again. And then… we’ll have problems. Big ones.”

“Jack…” Grande’s eyes pleaded. “I couldn’t watch her suffer anymore. She was dying, slowly, every day she believed Spartacus was dead. But when she heard he was alive… it was like something woke up in her. Did you see her today? She even looked in the mirror. For the first time in forever.”

Jack exhaled heavily. His shoulders sagged.

“You have no idea what a mistake you just made,” he said quietly. There was exhaustion in his tone – and something else: inevitability.

The next day, Maria seemed transformed. She washed her hair thoroughly, rinsing out the sand and salt, brushing it until it shone. She stood before the mirror, trying on Grande’s clothes, discarding, reconsidering, choosing something she liked.

She cleaned the house, swept the floor, wiped down surfaces, neatly organized everything. That evening, she even made dinner – simple, but delicious. It tasted like home. Like childhood. Her eyes glowed with anticipation. She moved with lightness. She had come alive again.

When Jack returned, he stood motionless in the doorway. He stared at her as if seeing a stranger – no, not a stranger. Someone reborn.

Grande glanced at her brother and shrugged silently, as if to say, "Don’t look at me – that’s all her."

Maria was waiting. Waiting eagerly. Waiting for her Spartacus.

She knew he would come. She believed in it as one believes in the rising sun after a long, dark night. Jack walked over, took her hand – gently but firmly – and led her to a bench beneath the wide canopy of an old tree. He sat down beside her, turned to face her.

“Maria, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly. Calmly. But there was steel in his tone. “But it’s better if you stay here a little longer. A month. Maybe two. I don’t know yet.”

“I’ll leave anyway.” She smiled. Her eyes gleamed with certainty. “You know I will. He’s looking for me. And he’ll find me. He has to.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Jack asked, looking her straight in the eyes.

“Then I’ll find a way to let him know where I am. And then… he’ll come for me,” she answered calmly, her faith so unwavering that even Jack felt himself recoil inwardly. You couldn’t argue with faith like that.

He said nothing. Then slowly pulled out his phone and played a recording.

She heard a voice she knew better than her own heartbeat.

“How is she?” Spartacus’s voice.

“Not good,” Jack replied.

“Is she at least eating?”

“A little. She keeps trying to hurt herself.”

“Damn…” His voice trembled. There was fear and helplessness in it. He said something softly in Russian, barely audible, and exhaled sharply. “She can’t be let out yet. It’s… dangerous. Let her stay. I’ll call before I fly out.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Jack said. The recording ended.

Maria stood paralyzed. Her heart pounded wildly, as if it wanted to burst from her chest. She looked at Jack. Then at the phone. Then back at him. And suddenly, as if breaking through her shock, she began beating his chest with her fists – wild, desperate, eyes brimming with tears.

“Liar! Lies! It’s fake! I don’t believe it!” she shouted, every blow punctuated with agony.

Jack didn’t speak. He waited. Then pulled her into a tight embrace – solid and unyielding – until her fists dropped and her body collapsed against his, seeking something to hold onto.

She sobbed. Hard. Uncontrollably.

“No…” she whispered. “He wouldn’t… He couldn’t do this to me…”

“He did it for you,” Jack murmured. “Not for himself.”

“What the hell are you saying…” she breathed, but had no strength left to yell.

Eventually, the storm passed. But her world collapsed anew, shattering into sharp, merciless fragments. She almost wished she’d kept believing he’d died – died loving her, holding her in his heart until the end.

But now she knew: he had simply left her.

The truth spread through her like ice, hollowing her from within. Her chest felt scorched, like a wasteland after fire.

Jack’s voice echoed in her mind – dull as a hammer:

“They threatened him with the kids. He had no choice. He played the role of your lover. He has a wife. And children.”

Every word fell heavy, searing her with revulsion and pain. She kept replaying those nights in her head – the passion, the closeness, the promises. That romantic dinner, the music, his proposal. Now it all felt staged. Like a movie. Like a lie. She curled on her side, knees to chest, face buried in the pillow – and howled. Not sobbing, not crying,

howling. Low, feral, like a wounded animal backed into a corner.

Jack and Grande sat outside the hut. Jack smoked his cigar in silence, exhaling smoke rings into the dark, listening to her pain seep through the thin walls.

“She’ll heal with time,” he said quietly.

Days passed. Maria barely moved. Barely ate. Didn’t speak.

Grande tried to distract her – sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, telling stories.

“When our dad died, Jack became like a father to me,” she said, smiling faintly. “He always protected me. One time, a neighbor kid punched me. I came home with a black eye. Jack grabbed my hand, marched me to their house, dragged that boy outside and made him kneel to apologize. I was so embarrassed, I knelt too…”

Maria slowly turned her head to her. Then reached out and ran her fingers through Grande’s hair. Grande flinched slightly, then smiled – eyes closed, as if that small gesture was a blessing.

“Maria, believe me – my brother is a good man. He’d never hurt you. Or anyone. If he does anything… it’s only to protect.”

“I know that now, sweetheart.”

Two days later, Maria forced herself out of bed. The room was humid. Outside, the ocean murmured steadily. She needed to face reality.

Tears wouldn’t change anything. Neither would rage. But the pain in her chest was still there, deep, raw. She decided: no matter how much it hurt, she had to survive. Maybe she’d go to Russia. Face him. Ask why he betrayed her. Jack could come too. He’d be the perfect bodyguard. Even Spartacus, with all his fighting skills, wouldn’t take Jack down easily. Jack was bigger. Stronger. She’d watched him train – striking a sandbag strung from a twisted tree behind the hut, fists wrapped in cloth, each blow thudding like a drum against the silence. And when he swam – fast, far, like part of the ocean – she’d catch herself thinking:

He was made for this. Yeah. He’d do just fine.

She twisted her hair into a bun, grabbed a basket of food, and walked to the table to prepare lunch. Grande was cleaning, but looked exhausted, moving slowly. Maria wanted to take everything from her hands and do it herself. She wasn’t raised for housework – not really – but she could do everything. Her grandmother, in a village back in Russia, had taught her. Despite growing up in a wealthy family, her parents hadn’t spoiled her.

They gave her everything – within reason. She drove young, but in a cheap car.

Went to university – without any help. Her father insisted she earn it. Her mother had died early. Illness. Maria had been five. Her father never remarried.

He loved his wife too much. Maybe it broke him. Maria sighed. He had raised her to be strong – not to kill herself over some bastard. Some bastard she had loved with everything she had. She covered her face with her hand.

Her thoughts returned to Spartacus. No. No. She had to move on.

Maria was sitting at the table in the hut, working on lunch, when the door burst open – Grande rushed in, her face stricken with panic.

“Maria, please… don’t give us away! I’m begging you!” her voice trembled.

Maria slowly looked up, glancing over her shoulder. In the distance, people were getting out of a boat on the shore. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Grande was nervously twisting her fingers, her eyes full of fear.

“Don’t worry. I won’t,” Maria said.

“Really?”

“Really. I’ve got my own plans.”

Grande sighed with relief and hurried off to meet the uninvited guests. Two men approached the shore, rough-looking, not unlike Jack himself, and with them was a young woman with black wavy hair and a bold expression. One man idly tossed a knife in his hand. The other walked hunched over, like he was carrying the weight of his own thoughts. Grande stood to the side, trying to stall them, insisting the owner wasn’t home. She clutched the hem of her shirt; her voice was tight, stretched to the breaking point. But the guests moved slowly, deliberately, as if they knew exactly where they were going. The sand crunched under their feet like shark fins sliding through water. The woman lit a cigarette, took a drag, and blew smoke in Grande’s direction. Her lips curled into a crooked, predatory smile.

“When’s your brother coming back?” one of the men asked lazily.

“He should be back soon. He said not to let anyone in while he’s away.”

“Hmm. Makes you wonder… what exactly’s in that house we’re not supposed to see?” the woman grinned and walked right past her.

Grande bit her lip. This was going to be trouble. When she followed them into the hut, Maria was gone. The table still held the spilled grain, and the curtain stirred slightly in the breeze.

“Maybe she thought we’d eat her corn!” the woman laughed loudly. Her buddies joined in, grinning at the stunned Grande.

One of the men slumped into a chair.

“Got anything to drink?” he asked.

“We keep it by the rocks, near the water,” Grande said, hoping thirst would lure them back outside.

The last man, who had lingered at the doorway, headed out slowly in that direction. But it was barely a minute before his voice cut through the air:

“Hey! Look who I found!”

Grande covered her face, going completely still. He came back, gripping Maria by the elbow.

“Well, now… ain’t she a beauty,” the woman whistled.

The man from the chair stood up, stepped closer, eyeing Maria with open interest. She yanked her arm away and glared at them.

“So that’s who you were hiding from us, Grande?” he smirked. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“What’s it to you?” Maria lifted her chin.

He grinned wider, recognizing her accent. Without hesitation, he traced a finger along her lips.

“I love American girls.”

“Get your hands off her.”

The voice was calm – but it cut like steel. Everyone turned. Jack stood a few steps away, walking forward with steady, deliberate confidence. There was something immovable about him – the silent dominance of a storm held in check. The men greeted him casually, clapping him on the back, trading jokes. Jack nodded to the woman, asked how she was.

Maria stood to the side, watching the surreal scene unfold – lighthearted, almost friendly. Yet with Jack there, the tension dissolved, and every gaze shifted to him. His charisma radiated like firelight.

“Jack, who’s the girl?” the woman asked, her voice laced with jealousy. Maria caught it instantly.

Jack hesitated, clearly searching for an answer – but she beat him to it. Maria stepped forward, grabbed his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him.

He stood paralyzed – Grande too, her mouth hanging open.

“I’m his fiancée,” Maria said calmly, turning to the others.

Jack immediately wrapped an arm around her waist.

“You traitor!” the woman snapped – part joking, part bitter. “You said you’d marry me!”

Jack raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“Sorry, Berta. I’m not cut out for jealousy. You’ve got too many admirers.”

The men laughed. Jack shot a quick look at Grande. She caught the cue, walked over, took Maria’s hand, and quietly led her away.

That evening, when they were alone, Jack thanked her.

“Thanks for not blowing the cover. And for not making a scene.”

Grande had gone to fetch water, leaving them together.

“Favor for a favor,” Maria shrugged.

“What do I owe you?” Jack asked, exhaling a puff of smoke.

“You’ll be my bodyguard. And stay with me. Everywhere.”

“Fine,” he said simply. His calm response surprised her – no questions, no protest.

“I need answers. I’m done waiting for someone to remember I exist.” Maria looked out at the deep blue sea, imagining Spartacus’s face when he saw her.

“Tomorrow we head to the mainland,” Jack said suddenly. “But you’ll need to change your appearance.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re dead.”

“What?”

Jack looked her straight in the eye.

“As far as the world knows, you died. That day. You were taken by a shark.”

Maria sat on a driftwood log near the hut, eyes wide in disbelief, staring at the man who didn’t seem shaken at all.

He turned to her and, after a pause, continued:

“Maria, I know how hard this is. But believe me – he did the right thing. Someone put a hit out on you. He saved you from a real death.”

“Who ordered it?” she whispered. The twilight blurred everything, wrapping her in a fog she didn’t want to walk through. But the answer came anyway.

“Him.”

Chapter 4

They left for Brisbane early in the morning. Jack brought Maria to his apartment in the city. After that, he and Grande headed to the clinic. It was just for a general check-up before the surgery. She was admitted.

Maria stayed alone. She sat down on the floor, leaning her back against the bed. Jack’s words from the day before kept echoing in her mind. She tried to piece together a puzzle that simply didn’t fit. Her Spartacus—the same warm, playful guy she had legally married, the man who drove her wild with love and passion—was actually a contract killer with a wife and kids.

Are you kidding me?!

Maria shut her eyes and screamed. Was someone trying to drive her insane?! What the hell was going on?! She was just a regular girl, who sold books, loved animals, cared for children, and supported every charity she could. And now, she was suddenly at the center of some high-stakes thriller? Who wrote this plotline?! Rewrite it, damn it! This wasn’t her life.

She clutched her head and began rocking side to side, whining like a madwoman. Eventually, her emotions wore her down, and she fell asleep on his bed.

When Maria opened her eyes, she understood why—she’d been woken by the smell of coffee. It filled the room with a soft, comforting warmth. Steam curled lazily from the mug Jack was holding, disappearing into the air. He sat at the edge of the bed, back to her, sipping coffee and scrolling through his phone.

She suddenly had a sharp craving for coffee too. She got up and immediately reached for his half-finished mug. Jack didn’t register what she was doing at first, but then handed it to her with a warning:

“Careful. It’s hot.”

Maria snatched it and drank it down, closing her eyes in bliss. Jack watched her for a moment, shook his head, and got up to fetch another cup.

Soon they were driving through the city. Jack dropped Maria off at a long-awaited beauty salon, where she had her hair dyed jet black. The result looked unfamiliar. She stared at her reflection for a long time. The dark hair made her look like someone else—stronger, bolder, even dangerous. And she liked it.

He also bought her some new clothes: jeans, blouses, a few light pants, shirts, shoes. For the first time in a long time, she felt attractive again. Like herself. Her mood noticeably improved.

Jack was glad. Turned out, women didn’t need much to feel happy—just a refreshed wardrobe!

They went to a café for lunch. Maria recalled what Grande had said about her brother: “He’s good. He’s kind.” She studied Jack silently for a moment. Maybe it was true. She sighed heavily and began eating, without much appetite.

“Let’s take a walk,” Jack said, not looking up from his plate.

“Sure. I haven’t seen people in so long, you have no idea how surreal this feels.”

He smirked and gave her a faintly apologetic look.

“I didn’t want to keep you hidden. I had to. I’m sorry,” he said, popping a bite of meat into his mouth.

“I know.” Maria lowered her gaze. Spartacus hadn’t left her thoughts for a second, especially after she learned the truth. She didn’t want to believe it, but there was no other explanation.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” she asked suddenly.

Jack stopped chewing and looked at her. After a pause, he replied, “A couple days ago.”

She raised an eyebrow, studying her plate. Her heart clenched. In that moment, she felt something close to envy. Jack had access to the man she longed for with every fiber of her being. She hated him and missed him all at once.

“We don’t talk much. Just when necessary,” he added, like he was trying to soften the sting.

She nodded sadly. Jack sighed. What could he possibly do to ease this girl’s pain? He couldn’t control time—and only time could help her now.

“I was invited to an event tomorrow night,” Jack said, changing the subject. “And since you called yourself my fiancée, you’re coming too. Will you join me?”

“Of course,” Maria answered, forcing a faint smile.

Later, they drove around the city. Jack told her a surprise was waiting.

“I love surprises! Is it a good one?” Maria asked.

He parked in front of a hotel and opened her door.

“I’d say… it’s a necessary one.”

When she got out, confused, eyeing the tall building, Jack added that the surprise was in the hotel room, which left her completely stunned.

He gently wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her through the lobby to a small hallway with an elevator. Maria instinctively covered her head with a scarf and followed him quietly, overwhelmed by a rush of conflicting emotions. What was he planning to do in that room?

“You…” she started, but he cut her off.

“No.”

Her thoughts spun. No what? What did he think she was going to ask? She hadn’t even said anything yet.

Moments later, they were at the hotel room door. Jack told her to wait and stepped away. Everything was strange. But Maria walked in and sat on the bed.

Memories surged back with full force. She had been in a room just like this once – bright daylight, joy radiating from every pore. The scene played vividly in her mind: a moment nearly a year ago, yet it felt like yesterday. She’d stepped out onto a balcony, eager to share her happiness with the world. Spartacus had been inside, unpacking their suitcases. They had come to Australia for their honeymoon. Those were the happiest moments of her life…

The door opened slightly, and she turned.

It wasn’t Jack.

Spartacus walked in.

Maria’s stomach twisted. Was this real? Was he actually alive and standing here?

He walked up, hands in his pockets, and stood silently before her. The silence rang so loud she could hear her own heartbeat. His eyes held sorrow. Regret. But no love. No love.

It broke her. Completely.

The man she had mourned for months, the one she would’ve died for – he was here. And she couldn’t even touch him. He wasn’t hers anymore. Maybe he never had been. That was the most devastating feeling of all.

Jack had been right. It was all true. She had listened, disbelieving – but deep down, she knew. This wasn’t a lie. It was reality. She had been marked for death by a family friend. Uncle Lesha. The one who brought her gifts, smiled at her birthdays, looked her in the eye while hiding a knife behind his back. He was Petro – a crime boss, a monster wearing the mask of a kind old friend. In his twisted mind, a brilliant plan had formed: Maria would fall in love, get married, and die. Then her grieving millionaire widower – another puppet Petro had under his thumb – would hand over everything. And Spartacus… Spartacus became that man.

Maria, completely unaware, fell for him. For his strength, his resolve, the iron in his spine. She fell hard. Gave him everything. And then – overboard, off a yacht near Tiwi. Almost becoming shark food. Petro had played his game. Spartacus played his.

To the world, Maria had died. A tragic accident. But in truth, she had been hidden away on Jack’s remote island. To Uncle Lesha, Spartacus was now a widower. All he needed was a death certificate, and the champagne could be poured.

But reality? Spartacus had another life. A wife. Children. A world with no place for Maria. His role – horrifying. His mask – impenetrable. But he wore it, not for money, not for power. To save her. Cruelly. By breaking her heart, by leaving no hope, but he saved her. And that was the truth.

When he left, Maria wanted to throw herself out the window. That’s how unbearable it was. She didn’t even know what to feel anymore. Love and hate both seemed meaningless now.

By the time she came out of shock, she found herself back at Jack’s place – his apartment. She wanted to scream, cry, break something – anything – but there was no such option. So she held it all in, doing her best to stay composed, to keep breathing, to keep going.

Chapter 5

They were getting ready for the evening. Jack adjusted the collar of his shirt, checking himself in the full-length mirror built into his bedroom closet. Maria wore the dress he had bought specifically for the occasion. It was long, black, with a high neckline and sheer sleeves, trimmed at the edges with shimmering red. Matching red heels and a sparkling clutch completed the look. She’d thought the outfit was stiff at first, but once she tried it on, she realized her figure transformed it. Even Jack’s eyes lit up with approval when he saw her dressed up. Maria, lips pressed together, accepted his choice.

She walked over, hands on her hips, and said, “Do you know what I want to become?”

“I do,” he replied instantly.

Jack, satisfied with his appearance, took her hand and led her to the door. Maria blinked at his response and jogged a little to keep up. “Oh really? And what’s that?”

“A bird.”

“What kind of bird?!” she stopped in place.

“A migratory one.”

He tugged her forward. “Let’s go, my little bird.”

“Actually, I was thinking Medusa,” she corrected, making him chuckle. They stepped outside and walked to his car. Jack helped her into the passenger seat and went around to the driver’s side.

She studied him. This man suddenly seemed so sweet. Why had he tried to intimidate her on the island, like some savage from the jungle? That wasn’t who he really was.

He settled into the driver’s seat, glanced at her and joked, “Don’t look at me like that, or I’ll turn to stone and crash the car.” With that, he pulled onto the road and gradually picked up speed.

The drive took nearly an hour. Maria drifted back into heavy thoughts and painful memories.

“I want to go back to the island,” she said suddenly.

“Getting used to it?” Jack asked with a smirk.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll go after the party.”

She looked at him. Was he serious?

“But I want to be alone there,” she added aloud.

“No one should be alone. Especially not you. Especially not on that island,” he replied, giving her a wary look.

Soon they were outside the city, entering a quiet district where the air was filled with floral scents and cool mist from decorative fountains. Villas and multi-story houses surrounded them, tucked in lush gardens. The air was fresh, fragrant, almost enchanted. The house they arrived at was large and grand, its facade lined with gothic statues that didn’t quite match the modern design. Everything was draped in string lights and twinkling bulbs. Sparklers crackled in spots. The party promised to be lively.

They entered hand in hand like a couple in love. It wasn’t as crowded as Maria had imagined, but enough people mingled to get lost in the crowd. Champagne and hors d’oeuvres flowed freely. Some guests were swimming in the pool, shimmering under the lights. Others danced—mostly those who’d had a bit too much to drink. Jack kept squeezing her hand, never straying far. Men—his friends, apparently—kept pulling him aside, which secretly pleased Maria. She wanted to brood, and Jack—like some damn guardian angel—kept distracting her, always returning too quickly.

During one of those moments, she slipped off her heels, grabbed a glass of champagne, and sat at the edge of the pool, dipping her feet in. She couldn’t wait for the night to be over. The music, the crowd, the meaningless chatter—it all grated on her. What she needed was a vast open sky and the moon to listen, not this circus.

“Hi there,” a man’s voice said beside her. She turned. A man about Jack’s age stood there, bold-eyed and grinning. He looked her up and down, then sat beside her, rolling up his pant legs and lowering his feet into the water.

“Hi,” Maria replied, scanning the crowd for Jack—naturally nowhere in sight.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Mary,” she answered, turning away.

“I’m Max. I’m a friend of Jack’s,” he introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you,” she replied shortly, clearly not in the mood.

But he ignored her cues and continued, “So, Mary, how long have you been in from the States? And how’d Jack snag you before I did?”

She glanced at him. Max grinned wider.

“My place is way more comfortable than his jungle island. I’d be happy if you stayed with me instead.”

Maria thought this guy was out of his mind. Was he seriously hitting on her?

“Sorry, Max, I’ve got a terrible headache and I’d rather not continue this conversation. Let’s leave it for another time,” she said and started to stand, grabbing her things to walk away.

But he persisted. “That’s a shame. Maybe you’ll change your mind, Mary. Let me steal you from him?”

Maria rolled her eyes, frustrated. What a pest! She opened her mouth to tell him off—maybe something like “why don’t you go screw yourself”—but at that moment, a splash and a loud yell cut her off. Max had been shoved into the pool, and in his place stood Jack.

Maria exhaled with relief, grabbed her shoes and bag. Jack reached out his hand. She placed hers in his, and he pulled her up in one swift motion.

“Let’s go,” he said curtly and led her away.

Max started shouting, pulling himself out of the water and hurling threats and insults in their direction—some in English, others in his thick Australian slang. Jack didn’t turn back. He just kept walking forward with Maria until Max crossed the line with a particularly nasty comment. In an instant, Jack dropped Maria’s hand and spun around, storming back. She gasped, covering her mouth to stifle a cry. Jack reached Max, grabbed him by the collar, growled something low and threatening into his face—and then threw him back into the pool.

Everyone went still. Faces turned, stunned into silence. Jack stood still for a moment, eyes fixed on Max with a gaze that could burn through steel. But Max said nothing. That was enough for Jack. He turned and walked back to Maria.

They got in the car and sped away. Maria didn’t dare speak, barely breathing. Jack’s jaw was tight. But after a while, he calmed down and reached for her hand, squeezing it gently—as if to say, “It’s all right.”

She glanced at him, then asked carefully, “Who was that guy? What was all that about?”

“Max. Local thug who thinks he’s some kind of Sicilian mob boss. His crew invited us to that party. That bastard thought he could get his hands on you,” Jack said, shooting her a sharp look, like it was somehow her fault. Then he focused back on the road.

So Jack had defended her. Maria felt a flicker of gratitude. She wanted to kiss his cheek—but didn’t. She simply smiled faintly and looked at him again and again. And just like that, a memory surfaced. Spartacus—fighting two armed men to protect her, risking everything. God, why was she thinking about him again?! Damn it!

She stared into the night outside the window. They were arriving at the marina.

“We’re really going to the island?” she asked, surprised.

Jack parked the car. They got out and headed toward the dock.

“Yes. I want to get away from all this too. Even if just for a little while,” he said.

They lay on the sand, staring up at the stars. Maria couldn’t stop thinking about Spartacus. No matter how hard she tried, her mind always found its way back to him. Her soul wrapped itself in memories—an old blanket that brought more pain than comfort.

“What’s so special about him?” Jack asked suddenly, breaking the silence like he’d been reading her thoughts.

Maria wasn’t surprised by the question. “I don’t know,” she whispered. She thought of his passionate kisses, his wild intensity… the way he made her laugh, his mix of jokes and tenderness. He made the world disappear. And his courage, his brilliance—he was the kind of man girls dream about. His wife was unbelievably lucky.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. Thank God it was night, and Jack couldn’t see them. But then she felt his fingers brush her face. He reached out and gently wiped a tear away.

Maria turned her head and looked at him. The faint light of the crescent moon danced on the water, outlining his features in the dark, while the waves whispered quietly. Jack leaned in and suddenly kissed her. Maria tensed, caught off guard – but he quickly pulled back, whispered an apology, and began to sit up.

Her fingers closed around his hand, keeping him there.

He didn’t move, just stared at her in silence, waiting – giving her the space to pull away, if she wanted to. She didn’t let go. Still looking into her eyes, he leaned back down and kissed her again—this time with fire. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. His lips crushed into hers, deep and insistent. Maria moaned softly, and he lifted her in one swift motion, settling her on top of him.

“I’m not such a bad guy either…” he murmured against her lips, voice hoarse. And then he kissed her harder, pouring everything into it—every buried longing and ache clawing out of his chest.

Their passion flared like wildfire, consuming them whole. The pale, cold moonlight spilled across the sand, outlining their intertwined bodies on the quiet shore of a sleeping sea.

Chapter 6

Early morning found them still in the same bed. But by the time Maria fully woke up, Jack was gone. She rolled to the side, feeling the lingering warmth of his body in the crumpled sheets. The air still carried the faint scent of his skin—spicy, salty, and teasing her nose with memories of the night. Beside her, there was only emptiness.

She was still half-naked, wrapped in a sheet. Jack had spent the whole night undressing her again and again; each time she pulled something back on, he would return to her with burning kisses and feverish touches that made her lose her mind and dissolve in his arms. He was so passionate—like a starving predator tearing her apart into trembling pieces of bliss. Eventually, she had fallen asleep. But this time, she felt lighter. For the first time in a long while, sleep had taken her without tears or pain. She had simply drifted off in his warm, protective embrace, her nose pressed to his chest.

Maybe the morning would have stretched into noon, with everything that comes with it—but sharp voices woke her. A commotion, shouts, the sound of a blow. Her heart raced. She leapt out of bed.

Jack was fighting two men at the door of the hut, keeping them from breaking inside. Dull thuds, muffled groans, boots scraping against the ground. Maria yanked the sheet tighter around herself and ran outside. She stumbled and fell to her knees—just in time to see something glinting beneath her. A gun. Jack must’ve knocked it out of one of the attackers, and it had slid her way.

Her heart pounded in her ears. With a trembling hand, she picked up the weapon, feeling the cold metal, the weight of it. She inhaled, raised her arm, and shouted, her voice cracking:

“Get away from him!”

One of the men was already lying unconscious, covered in blood. The other stiffened at the sound of her voice – and that was Jack’s chance. He slammed a punch into the man’s temple, and he dropped. Jack turned to Maria, breathing heavily, his cheek bleeding.

“Sweetheart. Put the gun down. Slowly step back.”

She obeyed, lowering the weapon and retreating. Jack walked over, cocked the slide, unloaded the pistol, and tucked it into his waistband. Wasting no time, he went to a crooked wooden wardrobe nearby, rummaged through it, and pulled out a long rope. Then he dragged the two limp bodies to a tree, sat them back to back, and tied them tightly together.

He gave Maria a quick glance.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Maria ran inside to get her clothes.

Within minutes, they were speeding away from the island on Jack’s boat.

“I didn’t know it was this dangerous here,” Maria murmured. “Who were they?”

“Max’s men. He wants to claim you,” Jack muttered, his jaw tightening.

Maria shook her head.

“We need to leave this place soon,” she said.

Jack gave a slight nod. “First we deal with the mess back there. And don’t forget, officially, you’re still dead. Restoring your identity will take time. So… sweetheart, you’ll have to stay here a little longer. But things will start moving soon.”

His face was tense, his whole posture strained. Maria sighed.

“And how exactly will I come back to life?”

“There are lots of ways.”

“Such as?”

“For example, a prince could wake you with a kiss.” He chuckled. “Not that I’m much of a prince, but still…”

He stood at the helm of the boat, and Maria suddenly remembered her yacht trip in Seattle with Spartacus—how they kissed. Damn it.

Jack exhaled sharply.

“Thought so. Nailed it, didn’t I?” he said.

“Nailed what?” she asked, lips pressed together.

Jack pulled her close, bent down, and kissed her.

“I don’t want my woman thinking about another man,” he said, and let go of her immediately.

“I’m not thinking about anyone.”

“Then start.”

She looked at him again. And he added:

“Think about me.”

They returned to his apartment. Maria was still shaken—but all she really wanted now was to feel his warmth again, his protection, his nearness.

Jack pulled her into his arms right in the hallway, pressing her back gently against the cool wall and kissing her neck. She trembled at the tenderness, her heart skipping a beat. Without lifting his head, he whispered:

"Everything will be fine, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid."

Maria wrapped her arms around his shoulders and relaxed, waiting for more, the memory of his passionate kisses from the night before spinning her head. But Jack just stood there, just held her. Then he lifted his gaze and spoke slowly, deliberately, like every word held weight:

"Don’t open the door for anyone. I have a key—I’ll let myself in. If anything happens, the police will break it down."

"What?.." she asked, confused.

"I need to go. I’ll be back soon."

"No, Jack… Are you going to Max?"

He didn’t answer. He simply stepped away, clicked the lock, and the door shut behind him, leaving her in silence.

Alone, the chill crept in—fear for him, for herself, for the tangled mess of it all. She slowly walked to the bedroom and stopped in front of the mirror. A different woman looked back at her. She touched her cheek, studying the new face. Her skin had taken on a golden glow from the time spent on the island, and the black hair had transformed her almost completely. She turned away and closed her eyes. Everything had changed. Life, feelings, the world—everything.

From the moment she met Spartacus, her life had gone off the rails. She’d been flung so high it made her dizzy, only to be slammed back down without warning. It was like a bungee jump off the edge of the world—and she wasn’t built for that. Why was this happening to her? She was just a simple girl, soft, romantic, always with a love story in her hands.

Maria clenched her eyes shut and screamed—loud, with everything she had, until her voice cracked.

By evening, Jack returned. Bruised, scraped, bloodied. He walked past her without a word and headed to the shower. When he came out, he let her tend to his wounds. Maria gently wiped them with antiseptic wipes, her fingers soft on his torn skin, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

"At least now he knows you’re mine," Jack said quietly.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, and buried his face in her chest.

"Maria… be mine."

She ran her fingers through his hair but said nothing. He had no idea just how much she wanted that.

Max had indeed quieted down—but not completely. They burned down the hut on the island. Nothing remained. When Jack found out, he clenched his fists and swore through gritted teeth in his own language. It was clear: he had made a vow—to get revenge.

Maria was upset too, but there was nothing she could do. Though, for now, Jack had other concerns—Grande had undergone surgery, and everything else took a back seat. He spent most of his time at the clinic, never leaving her bedside, and Maria could see how deeply he cared. She worried, too, afraid of the worst.

"They implanted a device," Jack said one day, slumping down beside her. "The first weeks are the most critical. Whether her body accepts the foreign object…"

"God willing, she’ll be okay," Maria whispered.

"God willing."

Maria had slipped into a new role—as if she were Jack’s wife. She cared for him, supported him, worried alongside him. She kept the house, cooked, cleaned—it all felt so natural. And most importantly—she liked it. It felt peaceful, cozy. He distracted her from the thoughts that haunted her.

One afternoon, she was cooking. The scent of stewed meat and fresh cilantro filled the kitchen. Maria chopped carrots, the knife whispering across the wooden board. Outside, the neighbor’s AC hummed, creating a muffled backdrop of white noise. Jack walked in. His steps echoed across the tile—steady, certain. He stepped up to her, looked her in the eye, and said calmly:

"The path is clear."

Maria paused, the knife hovering over the cutting board.

"What path?..” she asked, without turning.

"Yours. He took care of them," Jack said, in the same tone one might use to comment on the weather.

The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the floor. She flinched, a chill creeping over her skin

"He killed Uncle Lesha?.." she whispered.

Jack reached for a piece of carrot and crunched it between his teeth. Chewing, he nodded.

"Yes."

Her fingers trembled. She sank into a chair, not knowing where to look.

"I mean, yeah, I’m jealous. I hate that you still think about him…" Jack said as he walked toward the doorway. "But I’ve got to admit—he’s one hell of a man."

He disappeared down the hallway. Maria jumped up and followed, trying to catch up not with her feet, but with her words.

"How did it happen? How did Uncle Lesha die?" she asked, eyes locked on his back.

"He’ll be here soon. Ask him yourself," Jack called over his shoulder.

"Jack, stop being mad at me!" Her voice cracked. "It’s not my fault fate threw us together! I won’t be with him—I chose you!"

But he was already gone, the door slamming behind him.

Maria stood in the shower, replaying his words over and over:

"He’ll be here soon… Ask him yourself."

"He’ll be here soon…"

Pain surged through her veins, pulsing in her temples. "He’ll be here soon…" And again, she would have to step into the fire, to look into the eyes she tried so hard to forget, hiding in someone else’s arms. His eyes… his voice… the touch of hands that no longer touched her.

God… when would this end?

Maria crumpled to the floor, curling into herself. The shower pounded her skin like cold, punishing rain, as if trying to wash away everything—everything that kept her from truly living.

Chapter 7

A little over two weeks later, Grande was released from the hospital. She was very weak, but the doctors promised her a long and happy life—as long as she avoided stress and remembered to smile more often. Maria took it upon herself to care for the girl as if she were her own sister. In truth, she had grown to love her that way. Maybe it was because she never had siblings of her own. But Grande welcomed the care, and Maria deeply needed to give it.

During the day, she looked after Grande. At night, Jack’s scorching kisses left her no room to think about anything else. Slowly but surely, something inside her began to shift. Jack was taking up more and more space in her heart, pushing out the i of the man who came before. She even began to miss him—if he was late, she called, asked where he was, worried. And at night, she longed for him—maybe even more than he longed for her. Jack had a way of fueling his desire that was both irresistible and teasing.

One night, he came out of the shower, steam still trailing behind him like a slow-moving ghost. He walked across the room, tossed his towel on the chair, and slipped into bed beside her, like it was the most natural thing in the world—as if every movement was part of a ritual, rehearsed, automatic, as familiar as breathing.

He reached out, took her by the waist, pulled her close, embraced her, breathed her in, and kissed her—slowly, deeply, with a tenderness that couldn’t be faked. It made her whole body tighten in anticipation.

Maria didn’t resist. On the contrary, she melted into the kiss, into his scent, the warmth of his skin, the strength of him. Her fingers wandered through his damp hair, tangled and soft. She wanted to feel all of him—every inch, every breath. She didn’t just want him—she craved him, mindlessly, desperately. He’d trained her to feel this way—to long for him, to surrender to the way he took her without asking, commanded her body, owned her in ways that she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—resist.

She could lie for hours pressed to his chest, breathing him in, feeling his heart beat like it was the rhythm of her own world. And this night began like many before—with kisses that, by their unspoken contract, should have led to more. To release. To madness.

She waited. She was ready. No—she was burning up inside. She wanted him to stop teasing, to end the torture. He felt it. Of course, he did. He knew every nuance of her reactions, even the pauses in her breath. But suddenly, as if mocking her anticipation, he just held her tighter… and closed his eyes.

At first, she didn’t believe it. She lay still, wondering if he was playing. Then she moved slightly, touched his chest with her hand. Nothing. His breathing was steady, calm, warm. He rolled onto his back, stretching out, making it clear: that was it. No more kisses. No love. Just sleep.

It wasn’t anger that hit her—it was disbelief, frustration, and a sting of wounded pride. Her need—wasn’t that what he always wanted? Why now, when she was burning for him, did he pretend not to notice?

She threw the blanket aside and slid her legs over the edge of the bed. She was going to leave, to watch TV in the living room, to cool herself off—because there was no way she could sleep after this humiliation.

But before she could rise, a strong hand yanked her back so quickly she couldn’t even cry out. He grabbed her and, in one swift move, flipped her beneath him, pinning her down with the weight of his body—his hunger reigniting in an instant with the same wild, feral heat that always scared and thrilled her.

"Where do you think you’re going?" he growled against her lips, his breath hot and heavy like a predator who’d just caught his prey.

"I… I didn’t want to disturb your sleep…"

"Yeah right. You wanted it so bad, and you know I know it," he said, biting her lip just enough to make her gasp, pulling it between his teeth. Then, with a low rumble in his voice, he added:

"Now you’ll have to be punished."

A little over two weeks later, Grande was released from the hospital. She was very weak, but the doctors promised her a long and happy life—as long as she avoided stress and remembered to smile more often. Maria took it upon herself to care for the girl as if she were her own sister. In truth, she had grown to love her that way. Maybe it was because she never had siblings of her own. But Grande welcomed the care, and Maria deeply needed to give it.

During the day, she looked after Grande. At night, Jack’s scorching kisses left her no room to think about anything else. Slowly but surely, something inside her began to shift. Jack was taking up more and more space in her heart, pushing out the i of the man who came before. She even began to miss him—if he was late, she called, asked where he was, worried. And at night, she longed for him—maybe even more than he longed for her. Jack had a way of fueling his desire that was both irresistible and teasing.

One night, he came out of the shower, steam still trailing behind him like a slow-moving ghost. He walked across the room, tossed his towel on the chair, and slipped into bed beside her, like it was the most natural thing in the world—as if every movement was part of a ritual, rehearsed, automatic, as familiar as breathing.

He reached out, took her by the waist, pulled her close, embraced her, breathed her in, and kissed her—slowly, deeply, with a tenderness that couldn’t be faked. It made her whole body tighten in anticipation.

Maria didn’t resist. On the contrary, she melted into the kiss, into his scent, the warmth of his skin, the strength of him. Her fingers wandered through his damp hair, tangled and soft. She wanted to feel all of him—every inch, every breath. She didn’t just want him—she craved him, mindlessly, desperately. He’d trained her to feel this way—to long for him, to surrender to the way he took her without asking, commanded her body, owned her in ways that she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—resist.

She could lie for hours pressed to his chest, breathing him in, feeling his heart beat like it was the rhythm of her own world. And this night began like many before—with kisses that, by their unspoken contract, should have led to more. To release. To madness.

She waited. She was ready. No—she was burning up inside. She wanted him to stop teasing, to end the torture. He felt it. Of course, he did. He knew every nuance of her reactions, even the pauses in her breath. But suddenly, as if mocking her anticipation, he just held her tighter… and closed his eyes.

At first, she didn’t believe it. She lay still, wondering if he was playing. Then she moved slightly, touched his chest with her hand. Nothing. His breathing was steady, calm, warm. He rolled onto his back, stretching out, making it clear: that was it. No more kisses. No love. Just sleep.

It wasn’t anger that hit her—it was disbelief, frustration, and a sting of wounded pride. Her need—wasn’t that what he always wanted? Why now, when she was burning for him, did he pretend not to notice?

She threw the blanket aside and slid her legs over the edge of the bed. She was going to leave, to watch TV in the living room, to cool herself off—because there was no way she could sleep after this humiliation.

But before she could rise, a strong hand yanked her back so quickly she couldn’t even cry out. He grabbed her and, in one swift move, flipped her beneath him, pinning her down with the weight of his body—his hunger reigniting in an instant with the same wild, feral heat that always scared and thrilled her.

"Where do you think you’re going?" he growled against her lips, his breath hot and heavy like a predator who’d just caught his prey.

"I… I didn’t want to disturb your sleep…"

"Yeah right. You wanted it so bad, and you know I know it," he said, biting her lip just enough to make her gasp, pulling it between his teeth. Then, with a low rumble in his voice, he added:

"Now you’ll have to be punished."

And when she lifted her eyes to him, filled with a storm of emotions—shock, anticipation, surrender—he was already watching her with that all-consuming gaze: icy and burning all at once. She understood then—he’d never been asleep. He’d been waiting. Watching. Still in control.

There was no more tenderness. No more words. He took her as he wanted—with force, with hunger, with a gut-deep power that overwhelmed her from the first second. He grabbed her hair, wrapped it in his fist, breathed into her neck, bit her skin, growled like a beast off the chain, demanding everything and more. And she gave herself to him completely. Without shame. Without thought.

With him, she didn’t just feel good—she felt everything. He was her air. Her anchor. Her purpose and her madness. She looked at him—this tall, strong man with the dangerous grin and wild curls—and thought: wasn’t he perfect? He was nothing like Spartacus. The opposite. The antidote. Maybe even exactly what she needed.

She smiled to herself as she closed her eyes. Why not allow herself to love again? Why not forget everything that had come before?

She just needed more time. Time to erase what was left of the past.

And Jack… Jack was changing. Smiling more. Joking easier. He liked that Maria was reaching for him again—not just physically, but as if she belonged to him. And most of all, his sister—his everything, his lost family—was getting better.

Their home felt lighter.

All that remained was to sort out Maria’s paperwork. And maybe… get married. He thought about it, but with a touch of bitterness. A quiet anxiety tugged at him like a leash, holding him back from happiness. He buried it—behind jokes, behind her body, behind the warmth.

Sometimes, he simply disappeared—into himself, into shadows. Maria noticed. She always tried to stay close, to comfort him. She thought it was jealousy, fear of losing her. But he was simply battling his demons. And he didn’t know if he’d ever win.

The days drifted by.

"In a few days, we’ll meet with the police and talk about what to do," Jack said. They were sitting at the table after lunch. Grande had gone for a walk with her new caregiver—Jack had hired the girl since Maria would soon have to focus on more serious matters and eventually leave.

Maria grew thoughtful. The idea of Spartacus committing murder still haunted her. She had no choice but to accept it. Clearly, the options had been simple: it was either him or her. Spartacus had made his choice, risking his own freedom.

Maria sighed deeply, eyes closed. Then whispered:

"Was there really no other way to avoid the worst?"

Jack looked at her, processing what she meant. Then answered, "Then there wasn’t."

"It’s horrible…"

"I don’t think it was just about you. There was more than enough reason for him to take justice into his own hands. But yes, protecting loved ones was the first reason."

"Them?" Maria looked at him again. "Who else?"

"His son. A paedophile. And one of the guards got involved too."

Maria lowered her gaze. The horror weighed on her.

"Sergey. His son’s name was Sergey. I remember. Strange guy. I think he was gay."

At that, Jack smirked. "He didn’t seem picky, from what I gathered. That alone was reason enough to put him down. I would’ve done the same."

Maria gave him a reproachful look. "His path was his choice."

Jack exhaled, trying again to make her understand. "Sweetheart, I only know a few details. But from what I understand of your ex’s character, he didn’t act on emotion alone. There had to be a serious reason. I’m thinking like a man here."

"You think he witnessed their crimes?"

"I’m sure of it. And if he hadn’t taken them out, they would’ve come for his family. For you. Just to punish him. The law doesn’t reach everyone. Some people know how to work around it. Especially in Russia."

He paused, then added, "Sometimes people practically beg for cruelty with their actions."

Maria had always lived far from such brutality. Her world had been full of butterflies and birdsong. But now… she looked at him and asked:

"Would you kill for me?"

"Do you doubt it?" Jack replied, eyes locked on hers. Then, more gently: "Any man would, to protect his family. The weak. The helpless. If he’s a real man."

Maria stood and walked over to him. Jack, seated at the table, instinctively turned to her and slipped an arm around her waist as she stepped between his knees. She cupped his face in her hands, looked at him with love, and whispered:

"I wouldn’t have survived without you, Jack. I’m so grateful to you…"

She leaned down and kissed him. His lips opened to hers instantly, pouring passion into the kiss.

"Then thank me properly, sweetheart," he murmured when she pulled back. Maria giggled softly, looking down at him.

Chapter 8

The next day, they went to the police station as planned. An older officer, an old acquaintance of Jack’s, received them. He listened to Maria’s account—the same one they’d rehearsed down to the smallest detail. His face stayed stone-still, but his tone didn’t carry suspicion.

“A report will have to be filed, of course,” he said, setting his pen aside. “And I’ll try to make the process as smooth as possible. But Miss Maria will need to undergo a medical evaluation—including a psychiatric assessment. It’s standard in cases where someone’s identity remained unverified for an extended time, especially under memory loss. A short hospitalization may be required—two weeks at most. Depends on the doctor’s evaluation.”

Maria nodded, lips pressed tight. Jack smirked and leaned toward her:

“Well, darling, looks like the kiss didn’t work.”

“What kiss?” she turned to him, confused.

“Mine,” he replied, straight-faced.

The officer didn’t get the joke and simply opened a file, methodically listing the steps ahead: forms to complete, medical documents to collect, fingerprinting, and a recheck against the missing persons database.

Maria gave her statement again—this time officially. She explained that on the day of the incident, she and her husband were on a yacht to explore the coastline. The weather was clear, the sea calm, but a sudden gust of wind tilted the yacht and threw them overboard. Her memory went blank—she remembered screaming, the cold, and the terror of a shadow in the water that turned out to be a shark. Panic swallowed her consciousness, and everything went black.

When she awoke, she was already on a boat, with Jack beside her. She remembered nothing—not her name, not her husband’s face—only fear. She begged Jack not to take her to a hospital or the authorities. The feeling that someone had tried to kill her gripped her completely. Later, it became clear that her amnesia was trauma-induced from the shark attack. Jack gave in and hid her on his private island—on one condition: that she stay until her memory returned.

Months passed. Her fear slowly faded. Her memory gradually returned. With it came her decision to rejoin the world. She wrote a signed statement confirming she had been on Jack Brown’s property voluntarily and that he had saved her life without causing her any harm.

Jack’s account matched. He said he had been passing through the area on his boat when he spotted a woman thrashing in the water near a yacht. A shark loomed just meters away, likely circling back for a strike. He didn’t hesitate—rushed to her, pulled her aboard. Maria had blacked out. Once ashore on Tiwi Island, she came to—and panicked, begging him not to tell anyone. He gave in. When he returned to the scene hours later, the yacht was gone. He didn’t even know someone else had been onboard—Maria’s husband, who she only remembered later. There hadn’t been time to investigate.

Even so, there were consequences. Maria had been listed as missing, and now she had reappeared under a different name. Jack was detained for questioning. Maria was examined by psychologists and interviewed by representatives from the U.S. consulate, who pressed hard to determine whether she had been abducted or abused.

But Maria held firm. She stuck to her story without flinching, without loopholes. After two days, with no accusations from her and nothing suspicious in the record, Jack was released.

Grande wasn’t called in—they arranged an in-home interview. Two days later, an investigator came to the house, carrying a folder and a recorder. He was polite and professional. Grande, in her robe with a blanket over her knees, looked pale but calm. She delivered her answers as rehearsed. When necessary, she paused, even clutched her chest once and winced as if in pain. The investigator picked up on it and didn’t drag it out. He thanked her and left.

Maria spent nearly a month in the clinic. Tests, evaluations, sessions. Her mental state was deemed stable. There was no reason to keep her longer. By then, her paperwork was already being processed—with the help of that same police officer, whom Jack later thanked personally, things moved quickly.

On the appointed day, Maria was discharged. With her official documents in hand and a deep breath of relief, she headed for the clinic’s exit.

Someone was waiting.

In the lobby stood Spartacus. Still her legal husband. He had flown to Australia as soon as he heard she was alive and well. At least, that’s what the world believed. But as Maria would soon learn… another surprise was waiting.

The next day, they went to the police station as planned. An older officer, an old acquaintance of Jack’s, received them. He listened to Maria’s account—the same one they’d rehearsed down to the smallest detail. His face stayed stone-still, but his tone didn’t carry suspicion.

“A report will have to be filed, of course,” he said, setting his pen aside. “And I’ll try to make the process as smooth as possible. But Miss Maria will need to undergo a medical evaluation—including a psychiatric assessment. It’s standard in cases where someone’s identity remained unverified for an extended time, especially under memory loss. A short hospitalization may be required—two weeks at most. Depends on the doctor’s evaluation.”

Maria nodded, lips pressed tight. Jack smirked and leaned toward her:

“Well, darling, looks like the kiss didn’t work.”

“What kiss?” she turned to him, confused.

“Mine,” he replied, straight-faced.

The officer didn’t get the joke and simply opened a file, methodically listing the steps ahead: forms to complete, medical documents to collect, fingerprinting, and a recheck against the missing persons database.

Maria gave her statement again—this time officially. She explained that on the day of the incident, she and her husband were on a yacht to explore the coastline. The weather was clear, the sea calm, but a sudden gust of wind tilted the yacht and threw them overboard. Her memory went blank—she remembered screaming, the cold, and the terror of a shadow in the water that turned out to be a shark. Panic swallowed her consciousness, and everything went black.

When she awoke, she was already on a boat, with Jack beside her. She remembered nothing—not her name, not her husband’s face—only fear. She begged Jack not to take her to a hospital or the authorities. The feeling that someone had tried to kill her gripped her completely. Later, it became clear that her amnesia was trauma-induced from the shark attack. Jack gave in and hid her on his private island—on one condition: that she stay until her memory returned.

Months passed. Her fear slowly faded. Her memory gradually returned. With it came her decision to rejoin the world. She wrote a signed statement confirming she had been on Jack Brown’s property voluntarily and that he had saved her life without causing her any harm.

Jack’s account matched. He said he had been passing through the area on his boat when he spotted a woman thrashing in the water near a yacht. A shark loomed just meters away, likely circling back for a strike. He didn’t hesitate—rushed to her, pulled her aboard. Maria had blacked out. Once ashore on Tiwi Island, she came to—and panicked, begging him not to tell anyone. He gave in. When he returned to the scene hours later, the yacht was gone. He didn’t even know someone else had been onboard—Maria’s husband, who she only remembered later. There hadn’t been time to investigate.

Even so, there were consequences. Maria had been listed as missing, and now she had reappeared under a different name. Jack was detained for questioning. Maria was examined by psychologists and interviewed by representatives from the U.S. consulate, who pressed hard to determine whether she had been abducted or abused.

But Maria held firm. She stuck to her story without flinching, without loopholes. After two days, with no accusations from her and nothing suspicious in the record, Jack was released.

Grande wasn’t called in—they arranged an in-home interview. Two days later, an investigator came to the house, carrying a folder and a recorder. He was polite and professional. Grande, in her robe with a blanket over her knees, looked pale but calm. She delivered her answers as rehearsed. When necessary, she paused, even clutched her chest once and winced as if in pain. The investigator picked up on it and didn’t drag it out. He thanked her and left.

Maria spent nearly a month in the clinic. Tests, evaluations, sessions. Her mental state was deemed stable. There was no reason to keep her longer. By then, her paperwork was already being processed—with the help of that same police officer, whom Jack later thanked personally, things moved quickly.

On the appointed day, Maria was discharged. With her official documents in hand and a deep breath of relief, she headed for the clinic’s exit.

Someone was waiting.

In the lobby stood Spartacus. Still her legal husband. He had flown to Australia as soon as he heard she was alive and well. At least, that’s what the world believed. But as Maria would soon learn… another surprise was waiting.

That day, she stepped through the doors of the final institution, having said goodbye to the staff who wished her well. And there, in the corridor leading to the lobby, she ran into him. Spartacus was speaking to a doctor, shaking his hand in farewell. Then he turned and saw her.

He approached, gave her a light, friendly hug—nothing more than a polite gesture. Maria swallowed hard, unsure what to say. She greeted him, her voice tight. Her heart was pounding again. Damn it, she wished he would just hold her, tell her everything would be like it was. Not this… not some distant friendship.

But Spartacus simply smiled warmly and looked at her for a long moment.

Maria was shaken. It would've been better never to see him again. Not even for a second.

And then she saw Jack. He stood outside the doors, watching her with a burning stare. Maria quickly walked past Spartacus and toward Jack.

“Hey,” Jack said.

“Hi, love,” Maria replied, even as her heart ached in the other direction. Her soul was still back there… Damn.

“How are you?” Jack asked as they walked slowly to the car.

“I’m fine. You?”

“Also fine. Everything’s settled. We’re free.”

Maria smiled and nodded. Spartacus followed them a few steps behind, head lowered.

Maria didn’t look back. She let out a quiet laugh while chatting with Jack. Yes, she was happy—with Jack! Let Spartacus see that. Let him know she wasn’t crying like he probably expected. She was in love. She was happy. Damn it, she would be happy…

A few days later, they all flew to Moscow. Jack accompanied her. In Russia, the divorce was finalized as quickly as the marriage had once been registered. No delays. Jack had arranged everything in advance. In court, Spartacus simply stated that he loved someone else and had children. Hearing that hurt—deeply. But Maria kept her composure and confessed she had also fallen in love with another man. Spartacus looked at her—was that jealousy in his eyes? Or had she imagined it? Either way, he didn’t ask anything afterward. He said goodbye briefly… and disappeared.

Back in Brisbane, at the airport, Maria had met his family. Spartacus had come to Australia with his wife and two sons. And finally, she saw the woman who had won him.

It was Nadya. Her childhood friend. Their mothers had once been close. Life had sent them in different directions long ago. When their eyes met, a wave of heat washed over Maria.

“Well… the world really is round,” she said as she approached.

Nadya stood holding one of the boys. The other clung to his father nearby.

“Yes. Who would’ve thought…” Nadya replied with a sad smile. “I’m glad you’re alive and well.”

“Thanks. I’m happy for you too.”

And just like that, the chapter h2d “Spartacus” closed in her life. She turned the page.

Maria and Jack flew to America.

Chapter 9

“I have to go back to Australia,” Jack said as he sat on the couch in her new house.

After returning, Maria had hastily sold everything she owned. Her home in Seattle, where she and Spartacus had spent romantic evenings. The yacht, Sky. Even her publishing business, which had managed to grow on its own, was sold. She wanted no reminders of her past life. She moved to New York, bought a small cottage, and got a pit bull that ran around her yard. She didn’t have time for much else—signing documents and checks blindly. But, surprisingly, things turned out alright. The house was lovely, the sale earnings more than enough.

Maria came over and sat beside Jack, looking at him sharply.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

“I don’t want to, baby.” He took her hand and met her eyes. “But Grande is still weak. I can’t leave her. This is the longest she’s ever been without me.”

“We’ll bring her here!” Maria said quickly. “Of course I care about her—you know that.”

He exhaled and leaned back. “I’m not sure she can handle the flight. We need to ask her doctor.”

“I doubt it’ll be a problem. They transport critically ill patients all the time—it usually goes fine.”

“Alright. Then what? Sit here living off you?” Jack asked, lips tightening with frustration.

“Off me? You’ll start a business or something.”

“What business?”

“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. What did you do in Australia?”

“I work, actually.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“A security agency.”

“Really? You never told me…”

“You never asked.”

Jack stood and walked to the window. He was clearly agitated—his fists clenched and unclenched. Outside, a neighbor’s dog barked faintly. A bird screeched from the trees. Slats of sunlight spilled through the blinds across the floor. One beam landed on Jack’s face, highlighting half of it, the other half lost in shadow. He stood suspended between light and dark—between staying and walking away.

Maria felt a familiar ache. That terrible sensation that someone was about to leave. Again.

Inside her, something wanted to scream no—not again! Her chest tightened.

“If I’m not enough for you, then screw it. Just go too,” she whispered, shooting to her feet and walking away, each step loud and sharp.

Jack spun. In two strides, he caught her, grabbed her wrist, then wrapped an arm firmly—but gently—around her neck, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You’re more than enough,” he whispered, his eyes burning through her. “I’m not leaving you.”

Her eyes filled with tears, though she held them back. Her whole body trembled. She was terrified—but she wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms.

“I love you,” he said, holding her gaze, and kissed her. Long, fierce, all-consuming. In that kiss was every wound, every desire, every refusal to let go.

When he pulled back, his fingers still touched her neck.

“But if you tell me to leave again—I will.”

They returned to Australia. Jack promised they’d leave again once things were handled. Maybe they’d live between two countries. He couldn’t give up his homeland—and Maria agreed.

“And we need to rebuild the house,” he said, meaning his island. Their island. The Island of Love, as they now called it.

Maria smiled, remembering all they had survived there. Tears, joy, passion… They sat on the plane, hand in hand.

“You’re right. We’ll do it—and bring Grande with us. She’s always wanted to see America.”

He smiled too, warmly, and squeezed her hand a little tighter.

They’d been away nearly three months, but in that time, Grande had improved. She was nearly recovered. The nurse, Lidi, was no longer needed—but she continued living with her so Grande wouldn’t be alone. As soon as Jack and Maria returned, Lidi said her goodbyes. Maria immediately bought Grande a new wardrobe. She knew her closet well and decided to update it—lavishly. A whole suitcase of clothes and accessories: jewelry, earrings, gold and silver rings, bracelets, necklaces, and beads. Jack nearly teared up watching his sister’s joy. She tried everything on, wide-eyed with excitement: “This is mine? This too? Wow! It’s all mine? Am I dreaming?” Maria laughed.

“And that’s just the beginning, sweetheart,” she promised.

Grande practically tackled her with hugs. Like she was five, not in her twenties.

“Careful—don’t get too excited,” Jack warned gently, watching the scene before walking off to leave the girls alone.

Maria told Grande her plans: once she was fully better and they moved to New York, they’d take ballroom dancing classes—together. Maria would go too. Grande clapped and laughed with delight.

“You’re like a magic fish my brother caught, not a prisoner,” she confessed.

Maria burst into laughter. “Thanks. That’s perfect.”

That night, Jack thanked her in his own way—and shared his plans.

“Would you want to be my wife?”

Maria closed her eyes. Bitterness spread across her face. He had used the same words Spartacus once had. And look how that ended… She wanted to cry.

“Sweetheart?” Jack leaned over her, confused by her reaction.

“Yes. But not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Just… ask me differently.”

He smiled, climbed out of bed, and knelt before her.

Maria couldn’t help laughing as she sat up.

He offered his hand. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, my love!” she beamed, placing her hand in his.

He kissed her hand, then crawled back into bed and held her close.

“Thanks. Especially for the ‘my love’ part,” he murmured and kissed her with passion.

Maria finally began to feel truly happy. Though memories of Spartacus hadn’t vanished. His i still surfaced from time to time. A voice, a face, a gesture—reminders that pricked her heart. But the pain had dulled. Sometimes she didn’t feel anything. Especially when Jack was near. When he looked at her like that, loved her like he did—she wanted it to work.

For a month they lived like lovers. Walking arm in arm, kissing, laughing. Grande promised she’d be fully recovered soon—and they’d all take a trip together. Maria hugged her would-be sister and shared her dreams—dreams that included her. Grande was happy. Jack was happy. Maria too.

But something still gnawed at him. He kept it hidden. Dodged conversations. Said it was work—things with Max still needed to be settled once and for all.

Maria wondered: Did she talk in her sleep? Did she say Spartacus’s name and he heard it? She didn’t dare ask—it’d only make things worse. But that distant coldness…

Sometimes he just snapped. Like that day.

They took a walk through the city. Grande stayed home, tired. It was warm. The air carried car fumes, coffee, and blooming trees. Construction clanged nearby. Power lines crisscrossed overhead. Sunlight filtered through, soft and slanted. They turned into a narrow alley and picked a sidewalk café. Plastic tablecloths, chairs under umbrellas. The quiet hum of conversations, clinking cutlery, the scent of fresh pastry.

Maria looked around – and went still, caught in something she couldn’t name.

There was something about the place… familiar.

The sounds, the smells, the air – it all rushed back at once, dragging her into memory.

“I remember you,” she said.

Jack looked up, puzzled. “You forgot me?”

She stared past him. A memory resurfaced: a day like this, same café. She and Spartacus had sat there. He’d stepped away—and Jack walked by. She didn’t know him then, but she remembered that look.

“We were at that table,” she said, pointing to a corner. “Spartacus left for a minute. Right before you walked past. I remembered your eyes.”

He gave her a narrow smile, nodded.

“He showed you to me,” Jack said.

Maria lowered her gaze. A sharp ache shot through her.

Jack leaned back in his chair, stared at the sunlit street.

“Will he ever leave our relationship?” he asked suddenly. His voice was sharp.

She said nothing.

“Not even in bed, huh?”

Maria covered her face. Not to hide her answer—but to escape the pain.

He stared a moment longer, then stood up and walked away. His footsteps faded into the city noise like he had never been there.

Chapter 10

She wandered the city aimlessly, without direction, without purpose—just moving forward as if walking far enough could help her escape not only the streets but the ache inside.

Did Jack bring her here just to leave her? Looked like it. That’s how it always went. They all did the same thing. First—burning declarations, looks that took her breath away, vows, promises, proposals, words that made her body shake with hope… Then—coldness. Disappearance. Silence. They left. As if she were just a phase. A step. A ladder rung to climb before moving on to something else. To someone else.

Maybe she really was meant to end up alone.

Tears slid down her cheeks—slow, stubborn, silent. Not sobs. Not a breakdown. Just that heavy silence inside, the kind that crushed louder than any scream. She kept walking without seeing where, until she ended up by the waterfront. Waves gently lapped against the concrete shore. The sea breeze, damp and salty, brushed her cheeks like something both tender and indifferent. In the distance, right on the horizon, the water shimmered under the sun. Gulls cried somewhere above. A yacht drifted far away.

And all of it felt so foreign to the storm inside her that she wanted to howl.

She collapsed onto a bench like her body had finally heard the order: “Stop.” So she stopped. Staring into the vast blue, a memory rose from the deep.

Federico. The Italian. A musician. Wild, sharp, untamed. Fire—and ashes. The way he cooked… touched… looked at her. He blew her away like a storm. She hadn’t even noticed when she gave him the keys to her heart. And not just that—she gifted him a grand piano. His dream. The instrument he’d spoken of with such passion his eyes had sparkled like a child’s. And then—she caught him with someone else. On that same piano. Having sex.

Didn’t even move away from the keys. In her apartment. On her gift. Everything turned so meaningless in a blink, she felt herself fall out of her own body.

Then came Steve. An American. A year and a half. Warmth, conversations, sleepless nights, dreams of a future. And one day—gone. He “accidentally” got back with his ex.

He “didn’t mean to.” Of course. Always “didn’t mean to.” Always “just happened.” And if this keeps happening again and again—maybe the problem wasn’t them. Maybe it was her.

What was wrong with her? Why did every story end the same? Now—Jack. His jealousy. His flashes of anger. The way he hid what he felt. She could feel how drawn he was to her—in his touch, his eyes, the way he held her when he thought she was asleep. But it wasn’t love. It was something else. Maybe gratitude for taking care of Grande. Maybe just attachment. He even proposed. But she knew—it wasn’t because he couldn’t live without her. It was because he didn’t know what else to do.

She wiped a tear away, lowered her head into her hands. The breeze still touched her skin, salty air clung to her hair. Her fingers were damp. It was like her whole inner world had spilled into the air around her. She sat there, trying to figure out what to do with it all—past, present, that bitter mush of thoughts, blame, confusion, and pain. Leave? Disappear?

“Hi,” said a male voice nearby.

She flinched, lifted her head. A stranger stood in front of her. Plain face. Neutral expression. He sat beside her like it was the most natural thing. Too calm.

Jack’s warning flashed in her mind—don’t go out alone. And it was true, Max was still out there. The danger hadn’t gone anywhere. She jumped to her feet, snapped without looking:

“Try to touch me, and I swear I’ll scream the place down!”

But she didn’t get the chance. From behind—an arm. A rag. A stench—chemical, sharp, vile. It slammed into her senses like acid. She tried to breathe, but the air shattered like glass in her lungs. Her vision blurred. Darkness. Everything disappeared.

Her eyes finally opened—slowly, heavily. But darkness veiled everything around her, and only a faint sliver of light, likely from beneath a door up ahead, gave the slightest indication she was still alive. But where was she?

Nausea surged. She tried to move—but her wrists were tightly bound to something. She tried to scream—nothing. Her mouth was taped shut.

Panic gripped her. Like a terrified animal, she darted her eyes around. Where had they taken her? What the hell was happening?

After some time, the door creaked open and a female silhouette appeared.

– “Awake?” the voice asked, coming closer.

Maria recognized it instantly. Bertha. And when a dull overhead lamp flickered on, yanked by its cord, there was no doubt.

Bertha untied her from the massive table where she’d been left sitting on the floor. Then, grabbing a handful of Maria’s hair, she dragged her toward the exit like a dog.

They climbed a floor and entered a spacious, bright hall with tall glass walls. Bertha let go and ordered her to stand still. Maria trembled—fear, rage… what the hell were they doing to her?

Then, of course, that wannabe gangster Jack’s friend showed up. Max. He stepped in front of her, looked her in the eyes, and said quietly:

“You shouldn’t have treated me that way last time.”

Maria breathed hard, not breaking eye contact.

“Jack embarrassed me in front of everyone. I can’t let that slide. If I do, people think I’m weak. And then business goes down. Can’t have that.”

Maria grunted through the tape. Max nodded, and Bertha ripped the tape from her mouth in one brutal motion. Pain burned across her skin. Maria glared at her and hissed:

“One day, I’ll tape your damn eyes shut.”

“One day, you won’t have the chance,” Bertha snapped, leaning in.

Maria clenched her jaw. Fury surged in her veins, but she stayed silent, shifting her gaze to Max.

He smirked.

“So much fire…” he murmured, brushing her still-burning lips with a finger.

“You’ll regret this, Max. Jack won’t let it go—and you know that.”

Max raised an eyebrow, amused.

“I think he’s got bigger things to worry about.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Made it already,” he said coldly. “Now I’m just correcting it.”

His phone rang. He answered, nodded to Bertha. She yanked Maria away by the elbow and dragged her into a bedroom. Tied her to the tall headboard.

Back on the island, Maria had sensed Bertha’s bitterness toward her—jealousy over Jack, maybe. That’s why she had once lied and said she was Jack’s fiancée. And now, Bertha’s question confirmed everything.

“Do you really love him?” she asked, pulling the knot tighter.

“Of course,” Maria said, staring straight at her.

Bertha was attractive—probably in her mid-thirties—but she had a masculine edge: sharp features, rough mannerisms, a rebellious glare, like she was always ready to fight.

“You think he loves you?”

Maria remembered Jack’s proposal. His words in America. “I love you,” he’d said during their heated argument.

“I’m sure,” she replied.

Bertha sneered.

“Yeah, right. He doesn’t love anyone. Sure, at first, he’ll pretend. He’ll make you believe it’s real. But then—poof—it’s like it never happened. And you? Just a silly girl who made it all up.”

She’d leaned in as she spat out the last word.

Maria listened, but it felt like Bertha was talking about Spartacus, not Jack. That’s exactly how he had treated her. She knew the script by heart now. Men change masks. From passion to indifference. From “I need you” to “Who are you?”

She looked down. So maybe Jack was just another mask.

“Did he leave you too?” Maria asked directly.

Bertha didn’t answer. She just taped her mouth shut again and walked out.

Maria sat alone. Tied. Silenced. Memories swirled.

She remembered how Jack had once punished her on the island—when she tried to escape, tried to drown herself, fought him. He’d tied her to a tree and left. Ordered the others not to go near her. But Grande had secretly brought her water and food. Sometimes she sat there a whole day—like a stray mutt. Bastard. And now that same man had once loved her so fiercely… on that same island.

Why had she gone out alone? Where was her phone? He must be calling, searching. God—he must’ve called a million times already.

Suddenly—male voices. Yelling. Then muffled gunshots. Silenced weapons. Maria flinched, clamped her eyes shut. Panic gripped her again.

The door burst open. A man appeared in the doorway.

He stopped dead at the sight of her, tied up – clearly shocked, but said nothing.

Then he rushed in, crouched down, and began working on her knots. His movements were fast, focused. He left his gun on the bed without realizing—Bertha was creeping up behind him.

Maria saw her. Quiet, predatory. Holding a heavy object—some kind of sculpture. She thrashed, moaned into the tape, desperate to warn him. But too late. The crash was sickening. The statue smashed into his head. He crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.

But Maria’s hands were nearly free. She lunged, tore off the last coils, grabbed the gun with trembling fingers, and pointed it at Bertha. One hand on the trigger. The other ripping that cursed tape from her mouth.

Her skin burned.

“Don’t be stupid, Mary. You really want to do time for murder?” Bertha said, slowly raising her hands. Her voice had that same arrogant smirk—like she still thought she held the power.

“Move,” Maria said.

Her voice was steady. Cold. She looked like someone who’d held a gun her whole life. But deep inside—one question screamed: Who the hell am I right now?

They moved through the hall. The air smelled of metal, sweat, scorched wood. In the next room—two bodies. Blood-soaked carpet. Corpses. Real.

Maria turned her face away, tightened her grip on the weapon, and headed for the exit. If I ever tell someone about this, they’ll never believe me, she thought.

Then it happened.

Bertha spun, lunged—screaming like a beast.

Maria didn’t hesitate. Bang.

The shot split the air.

Bertha dropped. Hit the floor like dead weight. Blood spread beneath her.

Maria stood motionless. Breathless. Staring. Unable to move.

She’d shot someone. Killed. Not in a dream. Not by accident.

On purpose.

She dropped the gun and staggered back. Shaking. Knees buckling. Hands, shoulders, heart—everything trembled.