Page 16 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

Dmitri

Gray raindrops hammered against the office windows, each strike drilling straight into my nerves.

I stood with my back to the door, facing the dartboard, a silver dart cold and heavy between my fingers. Morning light filtered through thick clouds, casting long shadows across the mahogany floor.

The dart left my hand, tracing a perfect arc before hitting the outer eight-ring with a crisp metallic thud that echoed through the office.

"Boss, the North District shipment got held up at the transfer point last night."

Nick's voice came from behind, but I didn't turn. I picked up another dart, feeling its balance between my fingers. This focus helped shift my thoughts away from that haunting figure, if only for a moment.

"Go on." My voice was calm as the second dart left my hand, hitting the nine-ring this time.

"The dock shipment was inspected. South District's been wiped clean, too.

And the money laundering channel from last week—the bank suddenly tightened its controls.

" Nick's voice carried obvious tension. "They moved fast, set up roadblocks under the pretense of routine checks.

Our guys held their ground; shipment's been pulled back to Warehouse Three for now. "

The third dart spun between my fingers. These incidents were happening too frequently, too precisely. Someone was pulling strings from the shadows, someone who knew our every move.

"Same as before?" I asked, releasing the dart. It landed dead center in the bullseye.

"Yes, Boss. All evidence points to Ivanov's territory.

But the traces disappear quickly, like they're deliberately misleading us.

" Nick paused, his voice dropping lower.

"There's another issue. Warehouse Three's backup code was changed just last week.

Only the core team knows it. They seem to know our internal procedures inside out. "

My fingers froze on the fourth dart. Internal procedures. Core team. We both knew what that meant.

I turned slowly, my gaze settling on Nick's face. The scar on his face looked more menacing in the shadows, his eyes full of concern. I turned back to the dartboard, raising the dart in my hand.

"So you think we have a rat." My voice remained calm, not a ripple of emotion.

The dart flew like lightning straight at the bullseye. The metallic impact rang out sharper than before—it hit the tail of the third dart dead-on, knocking it from the board while embedding itself firmly in the center.

"Yes, Boss." Nick's voice trembled slightly.

I didn't show anger. No cursing, not even a frown. I just watched the fallen dart quietly, listening to it roll across the floor. Nick swallowed hard; I could feel his body go rigid.

"Interesting." I turned and walked to my desk, pulling my gun from the drawer and checking the magazine with practiced ease. "Clean out the entire western network. Focus on the nodes with access to core information."

"Understood, Boss."

"Check their accounts, communication records, everyone they've been in contact with. Every unusual money movement and suspicious interaction in the past six months."

I looked up, meeting Nick's eyes directly. "Turn over every stone. I want to know which rat is feeding Vladimir."

Nick took a deep breath. "Yes, Boss. I'll handle it personally."

"Take them alive. I want a chat."

I put the gun back in the drawer, a hint of ice finally creeping into my voice. "I'm curious how much their loyalty is worth."

After Nick hurried out, the office fell silent again. I walked back to the dartboard and picked up the fallen dart.

Darkness, killing, conspiracy, calculation. In this black world, the struggle never ends. There's always a new power trying to become the bullseye, but that position belongs only to the strongest.

The rain pelted harder against the floor-to-ceiling windows, each impact like tiny needles piercing my temples.

A familiar pain spread beneath my skull—this old problem had plagued me since that rainy night years ago.

Ever since then, whenever the headaches struck, the throbbing pain echoed like an alarm bell, making me instinctively keep my distance in crowds, scrutinize every smile, and when facing adversity, choose the coldest solutions without hesitation, protecting myself at any cost.

This constant torment didn't just eat at my body—it was branded deep into my soul, ensuring I could never escape that vigilance and isolation.

I closed my eyes, pressing hard against my throbbing temples, trying to drive away the annoying pain.

But more stubborn was the figure that haunted my mind.

Three days since I'd parted from her that night.

She hadn't come looking for me. But the feel of her slender waist beneath my palm on the dance floor, her intoxicating scent—they lingered in my heart.

Along with her evasive eyes and pathetic lies.

I couldn't wait for her to confess anymore. I needed to confirm some things myself.

I picked up the internal phone. "Get Thomas in here. Now."

Minutes later, Thomas pushed through the door. His blonde hair was disheveled, tie askew, suspicious lipstick marks on his shirt. He wore his usual devil-may-care grin, as if nothing in this world was worth taking seriously.

"Hey, man, what's up?" He slouched into the chair across from me, completely ignoring the deadly atmosphere.

"Sit up." My voice froze his smile for a second.

He immediately adjusted his posture, but the dismissiveness in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. Thomas was my half-brother. He'd inherited our father's blonde hair and blue eyes, but not his meticulous, serious nature. To him, this dark empire was just an exciting game.

"Ella Solovyeva." I cut straight to the point, each syllable squeezed through gritted teeth. "Tell me everything about her."

Thomas's smile stiffened. "That little beauty? Whoa, you really like her?"

"Age, occupation, background, origins. Talk. Now." My tone dropped the office temperature to freezing.

Thomas, finally cowed by my severity, got serious. "Ella Solovyeva, 25, photographer, does some modeling on the side. She's been active at several high-end art exhibitions lately. Lina from the Rubin Gallery introduced her."

"Photo," I said suddenly.

"Photo? Is that really necessary?" Thomas looked at me, confused.

"Show me a photo. Now."

Thomas didn't dare question further, quickly working his phone before turning the screen toward me.

A carefully edited artistic photo appeared on screen. Golden hair styled in fashionable waves, flawless makeup, and a professional smile playing at her lips.

Beautiful. Exactly what you'd expect from a rising model darling.

But it wasn't her.

"Fuck." The blood in my veins slowly congealed. All the pieces assembled like a puzzle in my mind. I knew she was hiding something from me, but I never imagined even her identity was fake.

And I, Dmitri Belov, had been played like a fool .

"That's all. You can go." I closed my eyes, my voice terrifyingly calm.

Thomas gave me a suspicious look but finally left.

The door had barely closed when there was another knock.

"Come in."

My financial assistant, Andre, entered, carrying a stack of files. He was a cautious young man who handled every number meticulously.

"Boss, here's this month's..."

But I couldn't hear what Andre was saying anymore. The truth hit my chest like a sledgehammer. The woman who'd made me feel warmth in this cold world, the woman who'd trembled in my arms, that seductive dance—it was all an elaborate trap!

And the most ironic part? Even knowing it was all a lie, my heart still raced at the thought of her.

Long-dormant rage erupted like a volcano in my chest. Not because I'd been deceived—in my world, deception was as common as breathing. I was furious at my own weakness, at allowing myself to fall for a woman, at being naive enough to believe something pure could exist.

"Fuck!" I shot to my feet, slamming my fist onto the desk.

Andre nearly jumped out of his skin, the folder slipping from his hands, papers scattering like snowflakes.

"B-Boss?" His voice shook.

Looking at Andre's terrified face, I suddenly realized I'd lost control. This young man had done nothing wrong. He'd just come to report on work. And I'd roared at him like a rabid beast.

Deep breaths, Dmitri. This isn't like you. Calm down, fucking calm down.

"Sorry, Andre." I struggled to control the tremor in my voice, rubbing my aching knuckles. "Leave the files here. We'll discuss them tomorrow. Notify the finance department to freeze all outgoing transfers until we figure out what's happening."

Andre fled like he'd been pardoned, leaving me alone to face this cruel reality.

I slowly sank back into my chair, feeling the dull ache in my fist. That moment of lost control shocked me. When had I become so fragile? One woman's deception and I lose all self-control?

Ella. No, she wasn't Ella.

Even knowing she might be a spy, even knowing she approached me with an agenda, I still couldn't stop missing her. Her laughter, her scent, her trembling body in my arms—it was all branded deep in my memory.

I pulled out my phone, its cold light illuminating my face. Those messages I'd sent lay quietly in the chat window.

Me: goodnight, Miss Liar.

How fucking ironic. I'd actually guessed right. She was lying to me, had been from the start. Maybe to her, I was just another fool blinded by lust, a dying king about to be led to the guillotine.

My finger hovered over the screen. Logic told me to delete her contact, to pretend she never existed. She was a threat, a trap, a ticking time bomb that could destroy everything. Any rational person would choose to stay away from this danger.

But my finger trembled.

What was I panicking about? I'm Dmitri Belov. No one defeats me. Especially not some pretty spy. She wants to play with fire? I'll play till the end. She wants my life? Better be ready to trade her own!

But in the most hidden corner of my heart, a weak voice whispered: What if some part of her feelings was real? What if she really... cared?

This ridiculous thought consumed me, while the only woman who'd made me lose focus between the killing and scheming had vanished into the crowd, taking her mysteries and lies with her.

I started typing a new message.

Me: come to me

I knew she probably wouldn't reply. I knew she might have already completed her mission, reporting my intel to her handler somewhere I couldn't reach. I also knew if she did show up, it might mean even greater danger.

But I hit send anyway .

The moment the message was sent, a strange relief washed over me. Like a gambler pushing in his last chip—I couldn't turn back now.

I walked to the office liquor cabinet and grabbed the vodka Thomas had stashed there. The liquid burned down my throat, cold straight to my core.

I raised my glass to the empty office.

"To you, Ella. Or whoever you are."

Even if you're the enemy, even if you come with killing intent, I have to see you again. Not for revenge, not for information, but because in this abyss of lies and betrayal, you're the only one who made my heart truly race.

Even if that truth itself was one massive, carefully woven lie.

But I still want to see you again, even if it's the last time.