You stood on the curb outside the studio, the cool evening air brushing against your damp skin. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow across the city. You tapped your foot impatiently, glancing down the road every few seconds.

Josh had promised to pick you up, but an apologetic text from him moments ago revealed he was stuck at the hospital with an emergency. Instead, he’d sent Alex.

Alex Volkov. The one man who managed to make your skin crawl and your stomach tighten simultaneously. His presence was overwhelming, not in the way you were used to with men, but in the way a thunderstorm claimed the sky—silent yet commanding.

A sleek black car pulled up in front of you, its engine purring like a restless beast. You recognized it immediately. Of course, Alex drove something as unnecessarily flashy as this.

The window rolled down, and there he was, staring at you with those piercing blue eyes that held no trace of warmth. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and his expression was, as always, impassive.

“Get in,” he said, his tone low and devoid of patience.