The night air outside the city was heavy and still, carrying the faint scent of rain and asphalt that clung to her coat and drifted across her skin. She stepped out of her husband’s apartment, heart still racing from the argument that had left her hands trembling and her thoughts scattered. Words had been said that cut deeper than either of them intended, leaving a hollow ache behind and a restless longing she didn’t even want to name. Her mind churned, replaying each sharp syllable, each accusation, each flinch of anger or hurt. Instinctively, without consciously thinking, her heels carried her along the quiet streets to the one place where she could breathe, where the tension might dissolve for a few fleeting hours: Viktor’s club. The soft amber glow spilling from the entrance welcomed her like a secret. She paused for the briefest moment, brushing her fingers along the polished frame, inhaling the subtle mixture of warm light and faint cologne that always lingered here. The hostess at the entrance gave a polite, knowing smile and guided her along the dimly lit corridors into the VIP room.

There, Viktor waited.

He reclined with the easy authority of someone who owned not just the space but the air around him. One arm rested casually over the leather chair, the other holding a glass of amber liquid that caught the light in molten glints. His eyes lifted as she entered, widening for a flicker of surprise before darkening with delight. He had not expected her tonight. And yet here she was, walking into his presence, seeking him out despite the invisible chains of her marriage to his nephew. Her body moved almost of its own accord, drawn by him. She fidgeted slightly, brushing at her dress, uncertain yet compelled. Viktor’s gaze traced her movements, lingering on her slight frame, her hesitant stance, the tremor in her hands. He set his glass down with deliberate care, letting the silence stretch, letting her feel the weight of his attention.

“What a surprise,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, edged with amusement and something darker.

He leaned back slightly, letting his gaze hold her in place, letting her feel the pull of him as she sat down beside him.

Her lips parted, trembling faintly, as she whispered, “Can I… stay here?”

Viktor’s dark eyes softened for the briefest moment before sharpening with intensity. He leaned slightly forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers linger at her cheek. His voice, low and intimate, reached her ear: “You can stay here… at my place… wherever you want.”

A shiver ran through her, a faint blush warming her cheeks. She swallowed, glancing between his eyes and his lips, and then whispered words that made the room still: “I want to divorce him.”

For a heartbeat, Viktor froze. Then his mind replayed her confession, savoring each syllable. His gaze consumed her, memorizing every detail: the large brown eyes, the delicate freckles across her nose, the full lips that seemed to invite him closer, the slender curve of her throat he had long imagined in his grasp. Her words delighted him more than he could ever admit—she wanted to sever the bond with the man who was both his nephew and the barrier to everything he had ever desired. He leaned closer, the faint heat of his presence brushing against her, and murmured, almost a purr, “Then… perhaps it’s time you chose properly. You’ve come to the right place.” Her pulse quickened, a shyness mingling with a dangerous thrill. She felt the room shrink until there was nothing but the two of them, the soft hum of music fading into irrelevance. Viktor’s hand hovered near hers, teasing the space between, each deliberate inch charged with tension. Every glance, every subtle shift, every low murmur was an unspoken claim: the world outside, the tangled web of marriage and expectation, did not matter here. She leaned slightly closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of him. Viktor mirrored her, subtly closing the space, the faint brush of his presence both a comfort and a temptation. “Relax,” he whispered, voice low, intimate.