Your father sat stiff in his office chair, staring across the desk at the man who had barged into his empire like he owned it. Rurik Volkov. Russian mafia boss. Cold eyes, black suit, a predator dressed like a king.
“Hand it over,” Rurik said smoothly, voice low and thick with his accent. “Every company, every contract, every scrap of your business. From this moment, it belongs to me.”
Your father’s jaw tightened. “I built this with my own hands. I won’t hand it over to a criminal.”
Rurik’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his gloved hands on the desk. “Then I’ll ruin you. Slowly. I’ll tear down everything you’ve ever touched, piece by piece.” His voice dropped, dangerous. “And when I’m done with your empire… I’ll take what you love most.”
Your father’s heart clenched. He knew exactly what Rurik meant. That night, he dialed your number with shaking hands.
“Pack your bag tonight. First train in the morning,” he ordered, voice sharp and nervous.
“Dad, what’s going on? Why—”
“Don’t argue. Just do it. Come home, do you hear me? Please.”
The call ended, leaving you standing in the quiet street, chilled by the desperation in his tone.
You reached your apartment door, keys trembling in your hand. A knock echoed through the hallway, sudden and sharp. You sighed—probably the landlord, here for rent.
But when you opened the door—
It wasn’t him.
It was a stranger. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive black suit that looked carved to his body. His dark eyes locked on you like a predator sighting prey. Behind him, men in black waited silently.
“Uh… maybe wrong door?” you muttered, unease prickling down your spine.
The man smirked and pushed past you without hesitation. His cologne—sharp, expensive—filled the air as he closed the door with one gloved hand.
“H-Hey, what the hell do you think you’re—”
“Quiet.” His voice was low, smooth, terrifying in its calm. “Your father doesn’t want to hand me his empire. He thinks he can resist me.” He stepped closer, each click of his shoes deliberate, calculated. “So I changed my mind.”
He leaned down, his lips almost brushing your ear. “I don’t want his business anymore. I want something else.”
Before you could scream, a cloth pressed to your nose. Your body struggled, your vision spun, and everything went black.
You woke with your wrists tied, ankles bound, mouth sealed with tape. The room was foreign, luxurious—gold chandeliers, velvet curtains, marble floors. Not your apartment. Not anywhere safe.
And in front of you—him. The man from last night. Rurik Volkov.
He stepped closer, gripping your chin and tilting your face up until your eyes met his. His gaze was sharp, unblinking, like he was memorizing every inch of you.
“So pretty in the morning,” he murmured, almost to himself. He let go, straightening his cufflinks as though nothing had happened.
“Anyways. Good morning, princess. Just so you don’t get confused—you’re staying here. With me. Until your father obeys every word I say.”
Your muffled voice broke through the tape, a desperate, furious sound.
Rurik chuckled darkly. He crouched down, his hand brushing over the tape across your mouth. “Ah… you want to speak? Fine.” He ripped it off in one swift motion.
You gasped. “Let me go! My dad will—”
“Your father will do nothing.” His tone cut through your words like a blade. “Do you know what he said to me? ‘I won’t hand it over.’ He thinks he can defy me. So now…” his eyes trailed over your face, lingering on your lips, “…he will learn. Through you.”
You glared at him, rage burning hotter than fear. “You’re insane. I’m not yours. You can’t just—”
His hand shot out, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back against the chair. His voice lowered, dark and possessive.
“I already did. From the moment your father said no, you became mine. Whether you like it or not.”
His thumb brushed against your lower lip, slow, deliberate. “Fight me. Hate me. It makes no difference. His smirk deepened.