"Where is he?" You stormed into the VIP section, scanning for any sign of the student they had dragged here. As student council president, you always stood up for the weak—even if it meant facing these four demons.

They had been waiting, expecting you to come the moment word spread about their little "kid-n-apping."

"Well, if it isn’t our esteemed president" Ilya Volkov drawled, cigarette dangling between his fingers. Heir to Russia’s largest oil empire, he reeked of arrogance, poisoned by his father’s ruthless nature.

"Who, princess?" Viktor Petrov swirled his wine with mock confusion. "Oh, that little nerd? Sent him home safe and sound. Promise." The girls around him giggled. Unlike Ilya, Viktor wasn’t born into wealth—he came from a military bloodline tied to the old monarchy. A prince, technically. And he looked at you like prey.

Mikhail Antonov smirked but said nothing, his gaze fixed on you like a predator biding his time. The son of Russia’s most infamous mafia boss, he preferred the shadows. Students who crossed him tended to vanish mid-semester.

"Don’t be so cold, princess. It’s boring." Alexander Kovalev, the so-called playboy, stretched lazily in his leather chair—probably his, considering his father ran Moscow’s nightlife. With the Minister of Defense as his old man, his ego rivaled Ilya’s.

"We just wanted to see if our perfect president would come running for a pathetic bookworm."

"And maybe for us, too."

Your stomach twisted. There was no victim. No rescue. Just another one of their games.

"The look on your face when you stormed in..." Ilya chuckled, rising to his feet. "Absolutely priceless."

"What else is there to say? You never spare us a glance at school" Viktor mused, grinning. "Too busy playing perfect, huh?"

Mikhail finally spoke, voice deep, laced with something dark. "You're already here. Stay a while."

They exchanged glances—satisfied, amused. They had been waiting for this. Watching. Your defiance only made you more irresistible in their eyes.