006: PAPARAZZI!

Yara’s POV

“Girlfriend!”

I froze against his chest. His arm felt like an iron band wrapped around my waist, pinning me to his side. The expensive scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something cold, like winter rain—filled my nose. It completely contradicted the raw smell of gunpowder I knew was still on his clothes.

“Let go of me,” I hissed, my hands immediately coming up to push against his chest. It was like pushing against a brick wall. He didn't move an inch.

The two officers behind the counter didn't even look at my struggling. Their eyes were entirely fixed on Kieran.

The younger one actually smiled. “Mr. Volkov. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“I didn’t expect to be here either,” Kieran said. His voice was smooth, deep, and perfectly calm. He sounded like a man who had just stepped out of a sports meeting, not a parking lot where a corpse was still cooling. “But my girl has a flair for being dramatic when she’s angry.”

“He’s lying!” I yelled, my voice cracking as panic clawed at my throat. I whipped my head around to face the older officer. “Look at me! Look at my dress! He’s not my boyfriend. He killed a man at the Langford Hotel twenty minutes ago. I have it on my phone! Look at the video!”

I thrust my phone toward the counter. My hand shook so badly the screen flickered.

The older officer looked at the phone, then looked at Kieran.

Kieran didn't even blink. He let out a soft, heavy sigh, the sound of a patient man dealing with an annoying child.

“Yara, sweetheart, enough,” Kieran murmured. His hand moved down my waist, his thumb rubbing against my hip through the torn fabric of my dress. The touch sent a violent shiver down my spine. It felt like a threat. “We’ve had a long night. You’re upset about the Volkov Sports press conference. You’re upset about Jeriah. But bringing your corporate jealousy into a police station is crossing the line.”

The older officer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Jeriah? As in Jeriah Hart? The new signing?”

“The very one,” Kieran said smoothly. “Yara here used to have a history with him. When she saw the news today, she didn't take it well. We had a fight about it at the hotel. She’s throwing out wild accusations because she wants to ruin the team's reputation. She wants to hurt me.”

“That is not true!” Tears of absolute rage burned behind my eyes. “He shot him! He shot a man in the head! Why aren't you listening to me? Check the hotel cameras! Search him, he has a gun in his waistband right now!”

The younger officer sighed and leaned back in his chair. The tension completely left his shoulders. “Look, miss. We get a lot of people coming in here trying to make a quick buck off a celebrity scandal. False reporting is a crime.”

“I’m not making it up!” I screamed.

“Ma'am,” the older officer said, his voice hardening. He didn't even reach for my phone anymore. “Mr. Volkov is a prominent figure in this city. If you’re having a domestic dispute, you need to take it outside. We handle real crimes here.”

Real crimes.

A man was dead on the asphalt, and these men were looking right past it because the killer’s last name was Volkov.

I looked at their badges. Then I looked at their indifferent faces.

The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. Kieran didn't just control the parking lot. His family controlled the city. A law student like me, covered in dirt, dragging trash bags, standing next to New York’s golden athlete—I never stood a chance.

“I’ll take her home, officers,” Kieran said, his grip tightening on my waist, pulling me backward toward the entrance. “Apologies for the disturbance. I’ll make sure Volkov Sports sends over a donation for the precinct’s charity fund next week.”

“Appreciate it, Mr. Volkov,” the younger officer said, already looking down at his paperwork. “Have a good night. Get some rest, miss.”

I wanted to vomit.

Kieran didn't give me time to say anything else. He dragged me backward out the double doors and into the cold night air. The moment the station doors clicked shut behind us, I found my feet and threw my entire weight away from him.

He let me go this time.

I stumbled onto the concrete pavement, my breath coming in ragged, hysterical gasps. I grabbed my phone, ready to run, ready to scream for help from anyone on the street.

Flash…Flash.

The sudden, blinding light made me throw my arm up over my eyes.

“Kieran! Over here!”

“Mr. Volkov! Is this the new girl?”

I blinked through the spots in my eyes. Two men with massive cameras were standing near the bottom of the steps, clicking away rapidly. Paparazzi. They must have followed Kieran from the hotel or waited outside the precinct.

“Get in the car, Yara,” Kieran’s voice was no longer smooth. It was ice.

A massive black SUV idle at the curb, its exhaust pipe blowing white smoke into the cold air. The rear door was already open. Pavel stood beside it, his face like stone.

“No,” I whispered, backing away from him. “No, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You have exactly three seconds before those photographers get a clear shot of your face and your torn dress,” Kieran said, stepping into my space. He didn't look at the cameras. He kept his body positioned perfectly to block them from getting a full view of me. “Tomorrow morning, your name will be next to mine on every blog in the country. You can either deal with that inside my car, or you can stay on this sidewalk with your garbage bags and let them dissect you like Jeriah did.”

Jeriah.

The mention of his name felt like a physical slap.

I looked at the photographers. I looked at the dark alleyways of New York. My phone battery icon flashed red. One percent.

I was completely out of options.

With a choked sob of pure defeat, I dropped my arms, turned, and climbed into the back seat of the SUV.

Kieran picked up my two trash bags from the pavement, tossed them into the front seat with Pavel, and climbed in right after me. The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the flashes of the cameras.

The interior of the vehicle was silent and smelled of expensive leather.

The car pulled away from the curb immediately.

I slid as far against the opposite door as I could, pressing my back into the leather, tucking my legs beneath my ruined dress to hide the long slit Talia had cut. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past.

“Delete it,” Kieran said.

I didn't look at him. “What?”

“The video. Delete it now.”

“If I delete it, you’ll kill me,” I said, my voice dead. “It’s the only thing keeping me alive.”

“If I wanted you dead, Yara, you wouldn't have made it to the police station,” Kieran replied his face expressionless