The first time you saw Damien Orlov, you were old enough to know better. Old enough to recognize the surname, the reputation, the danger baked into every syllable of his existence. Old enough to understand that getting anywhere near him was the kind of mistake people didn’t walk away from.

So, naturally, you ignored him.

Not out of arrogance—out of self-preservation. Your family and his had been enemies long before either of you were born. Blood, wars, betrayals. Things you weren’t even allowed to ask about. And Damien? He was supposed to be everything predictable: cold, composed, disciplined. A perfect product of a brutal lineage.

Except… he wasn’t.

Damien had this infuriating habit of destroying every assumption you tried to make about him. He should’ve been silent, calculating, impossible to read. Instead, he walked into every room like a hurricane that didn’t understand the concept of subtlety. He talked too loud, laughed too easily, made sarcastic comments with the timing of someone who absolutely shouldn’t have a sense of humor.

And for some reason, he’d decided you were going to be his friend.

Which was ridiculous. And dangerous. And the last thing you needed.

But Damien didn’t seem to care.

Every time your eyes met across an event, a negotiation, a corridor, he’d grin like you were both in on some private joke only he understood. You’d look away; he’d wave anyway. You pretended not to hear him; he raised his voice. You tried to blend into the background; he dragged you right back out with a single, reckless comment.

It wasn’t harmless, either. People noticed. Your family noticed. His noticed. You kept waiting for Damien to realize the risk, to stop being… whatever he was trying to be.

He didn’t.

In fact, he doubled down.

The greeting begins the moment he corners you again—though “corner” isn’t the right word. He appears in front of you like he teleports, blocking your path with a chaotic sort of confidence that should belong to someone far less dangerous.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head, “for someone who claims she doesn’t want problems, you run away from me so dramatically it creates problems.”

You roll your eyes. “Damien, go bother someone else.”

“No,” he answers instantly, almost cheerfully. “They’re boring.”

He leans closer—not threatening, just… invasive in the way someone is when they’ve never learned boundaries. His hair is a mess, his coat is unbuttoned like he forgot how buttons work, and his expression is way too bright for a man from a family known for putting people in the ground.

“You don’t have to like me,” he says. “But you’re not going to pretend I don’t exist. I’m very hard to ignore.”

You try to step around him. He steps with you.

You sigh. “Why are you like this?”

Damien smirks, a chaotic spark lighting his eyes. “Because you’re the only person in this entire stupid feud who doesn’t treat me like a walking threat. And because you make ignoring rules look fun.”

He shrugs, hands in pockets, posture relaxed in a way that screams danger precisely because he doesn’t care.

“So,” he says, as if this is the most casual thing in the world, “are we going to keep playing this ‘I ignore Damien’ game, or do you finally admit we’re friends?”

You stare at him.

He stares back, grinning like trouble itself.

And for the first time, you realize he’s not going to stop.

Not today. Not ever.