Page 38 of Sexted By a Stranger

Ruslan

"Пахан, the Middle Eastern buyers have confirmed receipt. Final payment of thirty million has been wired to our Swiss accounts."

Dimitri's voice echoed through the conference room with its usual cold precision, no emotion bleeding through.

I leaned back into the leather couch, swirling the crystal tumbler in my hand, watching the whiskey chase itself in slow circles.

The top-floor conference room of Yvann Group was equipped with state-of-the-art soundproofing and surveillance systems. This was my kingdom, the place where I handled my most sensitive business.

"Our guys are saying Joseph's losing his shit over this one," Dimitri continued, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "He spent six months laying groundwork for this arms deal, even flew to Dubai twice personally. Never saw it coming that we'd snatch it right out from under him."

My own lips curved into a cold smirk. Joseph Monteiro—that self-important piece of shit never could figure out how this game actually worked. In this world, it wasn't about who made the first move. It was about who had the bigger stick and the better connections.

The Monteiro Family's decline wasn't an accident. It was inevitable.

His old man, old Monteiro, had been a respectable Siberian bear—vicious and stubborn, knew when to lie low and when to show his claws. But Joseph? He inherited the old bear's temper without half his patience or wisdom. Nothing but a chihuahua barking on the sidewalk. Loud as hell, but zero threat.

"However, пахан," Dimitri's tone carried a note of warning—part of his job as my most trusted lieutenant, "Joseph's the vindictive type.

He might not be much of a player, but he likes pulling dirty tricks from the shadows.

Our legitimate operations around the city—Platinum Plus, the real estate projects—might need extra security. "

I set my glass down on the table with deliberate force, the crystal meeting wood with a sharp clink. Even that sound carried more weight than any threat Joseph could make.

"Let him come," I said, my voice carrying the boredom of someone tired of playing with amateurs.

"I've been getting restless lately anyway.

He wants to stick his claws where they don't belong?

I'll chop them off one by one. Joseph doesn't have many useful people left, and most of them are small-time punks who couldn't handle real violence if their lives depended on it.

They touch our businesses, I'll show them what actual brutality looks like. "

"Understood," Dimitri nodded.

I stood and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the Los Angeles skyline. The city lights sparkled like stars, but I knew what lurked beneath all that pretty glitter—dirty deals and bloody feuds that never made it into the tourist brochures.

"One more thing," Dimitri's voice cut through my thoughts. He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "It's about Casimir."

I turned around, my eyes sharpening instantly.

Casimir Yvannov—one of my father's many bastards.

After Dad passed the crown to me, he'd planted Casimir in Bratva's inner circle, claiming it was for support.

Really, he was just a chess piece meant to keep me on edge, never letting me get too comfortable.

My dear brother always watched me from the shadows with those jealous, poison-filled eyes, hunting for any weakness he could exploit.

"Since the old boss died, Casimir's been moving differently," Dimitri frowned. "He's been having private meetings with some of the family's old-timers—especially the ones who got sidelined after you took over. I think he might be planning something, trying to build support."

Planning? Building support? I let out a cold laugh.

Dad was dead, and this dog that had been leashed for half his life finally couldn't resist trying to bite. He thought a few washed-up has-beens could shake my foundation? Did he think I was still that same Ruslan from ten years ago, desperate to prove himself to Daddy?

"His little games won't amount to shit," I told Dimitri, my gaze ice-cold. "Keep watching him. But don't spook him yet. I like watching prey think they're safe while they walk straight into my trap. When he shows all his cards, we'll settle everything at once."

"Yes, пахан." Dimitri understood exactly what I meant. His surveillance on Casimir would ramp up, but it would be completely invisible.

I nodded and waved him off. Dimitri bowed slightly and slipped out of the conference room without a sound.

After handling those tedious details, that familiar emptiness crept back in. I settled back into the couch.

Power, money, victory... these things brought excitement, but after the rush faded, all that remained was deeper loneliness.

My world was like this conference room—vast, cold, sterile.

That's when my phone buzzed against the table, the sound jarring in the silence.

As someone who valued privacy above almost everything else, only a handful of people had this number—core family members, important business partners, and the select few who had access to my private life.

I frowned and picked up the phone, seeing a message from an unknown number.

The text was short. Some girl named Eva Stone, claiming to be an actress, looking for representation opportunities. Three photos attached.

My patience evaporated instantly. Another delusional bitch thinking she could climb her way to the top with a pretty face and spread legs. Over the years, countless women had tried to get into my bed. Their methods varied, but their boring-ass motives were always the same.

My thumb moved toward the delete button. My time's too damn valuable to deal with this smug, idiotic nonsense.

But when my finger touched the screen, I accidentally swiped to the first photo.

My eyes swept over the image, and my breathing stopped for a beat.

The background was a plain wall, dimly lit like there was just a small bedside lamp creating shadows that perfectly outlined an almost flawless female form.

She wore black lace lingerie that left very little to the imagination, exposing expanses of pale, smooth skin that looked like expensive cream, radiating a kind of lethal, primal temptation under the moody lighting.

Her body had fluid lines and obvious strength—not the sickly thinness that came from starvation diets, but the kind of toned vitality that could take a hard impact and give back twice as much force.

A waist so narrow I could probably span it with my hands, hips curved and full like ripe fruit, legs that went on for miles.

Every part of her looked like God's finest work, hitting every primitive male desire with surgical precision.

But none of that would've made me pause. I'd seen plenty of bodies more perfect than hers—professional models and actresses who'd been sculpted by personal trainers and expensive treatments. They were like assembly-line art pieces: beautiful but predictable, lacking any real soul.

What actually stopped me was her eyes.

My finger unconsciously swiped across the screen, zooming in until I could clearly see those slightly upturned green eyes.

Those eyes stared straight at me through the screen. There wasn't a trace of pleasing, flattery, or cheap seduction in them.

Quite the opposite.

Those eyes were full of stubborn life force, a pure and fearless gaze.

Like a poor cat that had accidentally fallen into a hunter's trap but still arched her back, bared her claws at the man with the gun, and growled threats from deep in her throat.

маленькая кошка.

A surge of heat I'd almost forgotten existed shot up from deep in my gut, racing through my bloodstream and spreading to every limb. The feeling was so intense it stirred desires that had been dormant for years.

My Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily as I grabbed my glass and drained the remaining whiskey.

The burning liquid scorched my throat but couldn't suppress the fire building from the inside out.

My finger seemed pulled by an invisible force as I swiped to the second photo.

She was kneeling on the bed, body leaning slightly forward, head tilted back to expose the elegant curve of her neck and the vulnerable hollow of her throat. It was a position that screamed submission, designed to trigger a man's sadistic instincts.

If I wanted, I felt like I could reach through the screen and wrap my hand around that throat, feel her pulse jumping under my palm.

I swiped to the third image—a close-up headshot. The lighting was softer here, falling perfectly across her face so I could even see the fine golden down on her nose. From this angle, her green eyes held not just desire and ambition, but a hint of defiance.

Interesting. Fucking fascinating.

My heart—which had been numbed and hardened by years of power struggles, conspiracies, and bloodshed—actually felt a spark of long-forgotten pleasure because of this little surprise. It had been way too long since something this unpredictable had entered my world.

I leaned back against the soft couch cushions and closed my eyes.

My mind conjured clear images of my so-called parents.

My father, the former boss, a man who ruled the family with an iron fist and had countless mistresses and bastard children scattered everywhere.

He'd told me more than once that emotions were weakness, unnecessary baggage that had to be cut away, that marriage was just a transaction to consolidate power.

My mother, a rich princess from old St. Petersburg aristocracy, maintained the dignified facade of the Yvannov Family matriarch with cold elegance, never questioning Dad's affairs because she had her own lovers, her own life.

They never hid any of it from me, using the most direct and brutal actions to show me that so-called love was nothing but a contract where everyone got what they needed. No love—just exchanges of interests and desires.

So I'd never believed in pure emotion. I only trusted transactions I could see and touch.

And this Eva Stone girl—what she was offering was obviously her most valuable and tempting bargaining chip: that vibrant body, those ambitious eyes, and her soul that refused to accept mediocrity and burned to mean something.

What did she want? The answer was obvious. Fame, status, better roles.

And I happened to be able to give her everything she dreamed of.

As for what I wanted...

I opened my eyes and clicked back to the first photo, my gaze locking onto those wildcat eyes.

I wanted to see those defiant eyes lose focus and fill with tears from overwhelming pleasure beneath me, until all that remained was begging and dependence directed at me alone.

Fuck.

My cock was already hard and aching. I shifted to a more comfortable position.

I set the phone on the table, my fingertips lightly stroking the screen.

The whiskey scent in the room grew heavier, probably because my breathing had gotten faster. I considered how to respond to this little surprise.

Ask her price directly? No, too crude.

Even though we both knew what this was about, transactions always needed classier packaging.

I imagined what she looked like right now. She was probably sitting in some cheap apartment, staring anxiously at her phone screen, waiting for a response.

Maybe she was biting her nails. Maybe she was pacing. Maybe she was regretting this reckless move.

That uncertainty, that vulnerable waiting—it was more exciting than any carefully planned seduction.

She'd chosen this route to climb the ladder, which meant she had balls and ambition. In this business, scared little girls didn't last long.

But more importantly, she was smart enough to know her advantages and how to use them.

She thought she was texting some agent who could get her started in the industry.

She was wrong.

I picked up my phone again, my fingers dancing across the screen. For the first time in a long while, a genuinely amused smile crossed my face.

My fingers stopped. The message had been sent.