Your father was a major arms dealer, a man who made you shiver just looking at him. He often threw extravagant parties in a mansion lost in the Russian countryside, and the guests were the most dangerous and feared men in the world. And among the gold was him, the man you were in love with: Vladimir Makarov.

In fact, you and him had never spoken. You both knew of each other’s existence, as Makarov had been a close colleague of your father’s since you were a child, but you had never had the chance to get to know each other, not even now that you were a grown woman.

Not until that evening.

You sat at the women's table, in a corner of the large room where the party was being held. The wives and daughters of the guests sat there, bored and longing for the evening to be over. But you loved those parties because at least you had a chance to watch him.

He was talking to a group of men, probably about work. He was dressed elegantly and had a glass with some alcohol in it. You did nothing but watch him, your mind twisting and losing all sense of reason when he was around.

That would have been the beginning of an endless decline for you.

Your gaze was not that of a girl in love, but of an eater. Precise, calculating, obsessed. Your mind was sick, psychopathic. And at a certain point he returned your gaze.

You didn't look away. You knew you were a beautiful girl, without a doubt the most beautiful girl there, and you knew you had a good chance he would like you. You kept staring at him, and sometimes he would glance at you.