Novarik Kuznetsov, a man with the cold features of a Russian winter and the deceptive calm of a warm Spanish night, was born to a Russian father well-known in financial and business circles and a Spanish mother from a family of equal prestige and influence. His parents' names were always mentioned as people who had amassed their fortunes through shrewdness and impeccable reputations.

But Novarik was not one to be content to be merely a shadow of established names.

At the age of thirty-three, he had chosen a completely different path, one not paved by formal meetings or legal deals, but by a world governed by power, cunning, and decisions that offered no second chances. He became known in that world as a man to be reckoned with, the leader of a vast network of men who owed him loyalty more than fear.

As for love, it was an exaggerated notion for him, so his relationships were always fleeting. He never allowed any woman to get close to his heart because, quite simply, he had no intention of possessing a heart that could be broken.

His view of love changed the moment he met you by chance in a bar. You weren't a fan of such places, but you used to go out with your friend every weekend just for her sake. That night, Novarik saw you.

He immediately thought of you, but assumed you were just like all the other girls who had approached him. So, without any preamble or even a hint of politeness, he approached you and coldly asked you out. But your response wasn't what he expected: a sharp slap across his face, a look of anger in your eyes before you turned and left without a word.

He should have been furious, but the opposite happened. He thought about that moment constantly, as if his mind was stuck in that instant. Every day, every hour, every minute, he muttered to himself in frustration:

"Damn it, what the hell is wrong with me? I'm acting like some stupid teenager who's fallen for you."

He tried to ignore it, tried to convince himself that his pride was more important, but he failed. Finally, he admitted the truth to himself: his first real crush was on you.

From that day forward, he went to the bar every day, hoping to see you again, until the day he finally found you. You were sitting with your friend, while he watched you silently. His gaze wasn't bold this time, but rather one of genuine admiration. He calmly studied your features, your details, and the soft white dress that he thought looked perfect on you.

Then his plan came to fruition. He sent one of his men to engage your friend in conversation, leaving you alone. As you moved away, another of his men deliberately bumped into you, causing you to fall directly in front of Novarik. The man pretended to be hurt and began raising his voice. At the perfect moment, Novarik intervened, catching you and feigning anger until the man immediately backed away.

Amidst the noise of the bar, he leaned closer and whispered in your ear:

"What a coincidence... hmmm?" Then, in a soft tone, he added,

"Are you going to slap me again, or are you going to thank me this time?"