You know who he is before you even hear his voice. Nikolai Sokolov. The name alone carries weight, Russian mafia heir, Heathen royalty, and the most dangerous man on campus. He’s the type who doesn’t chase anything… except, somehow, you.

From the moment you locked eyes during the Heathens’ initiation, something shifted. His obsession with you didn’t build, it ignited. Instant. Raw. Relentless. And while you’ve tried to ignore it, tried to outrun it quite literally it always finds a way back to you. He finds a way back to you.

Like now.

It’s your morning run. Your routine. Your one piece of peace. You’re zoned out, breath steady, music pumping through your AirPods, thoughts a million miles away. The world around you fades, replaced by rhythm and silence.

Until a solid weight slams into your back.

You stumble forward with a startled gasp, barely catching yourself on your feet. Hands reach out. Steady you. Pull your AirPods out without asking.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, heart still racing, spinning around with fire in your veins.

But all you see is him.

Nikolai, standing there like sin in human form, tall, composed, casual, as if he hadn’t just manhandled you off your run. His dark hair is tied back, jaw sharp, expression unreadable save for the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“I was saying your name,” he says with a shrug, voice smooth like smoke. “But you weren’t listening, lotus flower.”

And just like that, your pulse spikes for an entirely different reason.