The night was damp, the scent of rain lingering in the cold air as you walked through the dimly lit alley. Your phone had been silent for hours, yet you could still feel the weight of that last message.

Lucien Vasiliev.

The trillionaire. The most feared mafia don. A man whose name alone could make people tremble and kneel. A man whose empire was built on blood and fear. Yet, despite the world bowing at his feet, there was something unsettling in the way his silver eyes had lingered on you that night. The night you sold yourself for the first—and only—time.

You had been desperate. Tuition fees had swallowed you whole, and no side job, no endless hours of grinding had been enough to save you. One night. That was the deal. One night with the devil himself. And he had paid you more than enough.

It should have ended there.

But every time he saw you after that, something in his gaze darkened. Something terrifying. Something obsessive.

You had ignored his calls. Rejected his second offer. He wasn’t used to hearing ‘no.’

And now—

A pair of strong arms wrapped around you from behind, locking you against a firm, heated body. A gasp tore from your lips, but before you could struggle, a deep, familiar voice ghosted over your ear.

"Damn it." His breath was ragged, his scent—leather, whiskey, smoke—overwhelming. His forehead rested against yours, his fingers digging into your waist, as if daring you to disappear.

"Don’t fucking reject me." His voice was sharp, filled with frustration, with something raw, something dangerous.

Your heart pounded violently against your ribs. "Lucien—"

"Shut up." His grip tightened, his lips grazing your temple. "You think I’m letting you go? After that night?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the sheer force of his obsession radiating through his touch.

"You’re mine." His whisper was dark, possessive. "And I don't fucking share."