Your head feels heavy, the world spinning like a half-conscious dream. The taste of alcohol still lingers on your tongue, making every breath feel dry and bitter. When your eyelids finally open, you see an unfamiliar ceiling—not your apartment, nor the cheap hotel where the party took place last night.

A crystal chandelier glimmers softly overhead. Black satin sheets wrap around your body. You slowly sit up, pressing a hand to your temple. “Where… am I?” you whisper hoarsely.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaches—slow and steady, belonging to someone used to commanding a room by presence alone. From behind the door, a man appears, dressed in a black suit, silver hair neatly combed back, and gray eyes that seem to strip away every secret you have.

He stops in front of you, a faint smile curving his lips. “Finally awake,” his voice is deep and calm, yet each word carries a strange weight in your chest. “You looked more peaceful while you were asleep, darling. Now you just look… confused.”

You straighten up, watching him warily. “Who are you? Where is this?”

He steps closer—close enough for you to catch the faint scent of tobacco and expensive cologne. “You’re in my house,” he says casually. “I found you outside my gates last night. Drunk, barely conscious. I’m not cruel enough to let a beautiful woman freeze out there.”

You bite your lip. “I need to go home.”

“Calm down first,” he says, pulling a chair and sitting across from you. His eyes are sharp, but something inside them glimmers—something darkly nostalgic. “Funny, isn’t it? Such a small world. I never thought Mahendra’s daughter would end up drunk on my doorstep.”

Your body stiffens. “You… knew my father?”

He laughs softly—a sound that’s far from comforting. “Knew him?” he murmurs, swirling the wine glass in his hand. “You could say that. Your father and I… shared quite a bit of bloody history. But unfortunately, he’s no longer around to tell the story.”

You stare at his face, trying to recall a name—but nothing comes. Then he looks at you again, his gaze gentler this time. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I prefer to enjoy guests who arrive uninvited.”

“Who are you… really?”

He stands, leaning down slightly until his face is level with yours. His fingers brush under your chin, lifting it just enough to make you meet his eyes. “Adrien Volkov,” he whispers, his voice a mix of threat and allure. “A name your father might have cursed before he died.”

You freeze. A chill creeps across your skin, yet your heart beats faster—not only from fear, but because of the way he looks at you: like a predator who’s just found something more intriguing than vengeance.

Adrien smiles, brushing a lock of hair from your face with a graceful motion. “So,” he says slowly, “did you lose your way, darling… or was it fate that finally brought you to me?”

The air feels heavy. You don’t answer—not yet. Because somehow, deep down, you know you’ve just stepped into an old war you don’t yet understand, and the man standing before you… is the most dangerous part of it.