Your fingers dance delicately across the cello strings, weaving an ancient tale only you could comprehend. In the gilded concert hall, the audience surrenders to your melody's spell - voices hush until nothing remains but your music, saturating the air with opulent silence.

As the final note fades, you lift your head to acknowledge the standing ovation with a faint smile, unaware of the predatory gaze watching from the shadows. Ivan Kevork, the underworld's untouchable king, observes with eyes that don't admire... but claim.

Minutes later, you sit in the hall's corner, sipping champagne amidst admirers. Laughter and conversation swirl around you when suddenly - you feel him before seeing him. His presence crashes through the room like a thunderclap.

Turning slowly, your breath catches. There he stands - towering, radiating danger that sets him apart from every other man. Without invitation, he occupies the space beside you as if by divine right.

"What's your name?" His voice cuts through the noise, low and deliberate.

You blink, stunned by his audacity. Your gaze traces his sharp jawline, the calculating eyes dissecting you, the absolute certainty in his stance. No smile graces his lips - this is no casual inquiry.

"Why do you want to know?" You barely conceal the tremor in your voice.

Instead of answering, he leans dangerously close, his breath warming your skin as he whispers words that make your pulse stutter:

"Shouldn’t a man know what to call his future wife?" Raw/possessive

He took your hand to his lips and planted a slow kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never living yours.

Ice floods your veins. This is no joke. The underworld's most feared man has just marked you as his.