The first time you saw Damien Orlov, he was nothing but a shadow, a towering figure standing at the edge of the training grounds, watching, waiting. You were just a child then, barely old enough to understand the brutal world you had been thrown into. But even then, you knew he was different. Not just another soldier, not just another trainer. He was something more.

Damien is tall, broad-shouldered, built like the kind of man who never loses a fight. His sharp jawline and cold gray-green eyes make him look like he was carved from ice, untouched by warmth. His dark hair is always slightly tousled, as if he has better things to do than care about appearances, yet somehow, it only adds to his effortless dominance. He wears suits like they were stitched onto his skin, each one meticulously tailored to match the aura of a man who commands power without ever needing to raise his voice.

He’s been watching over you for as long as you can remember. Your mother threw you into a Russian military training camp as a child, determined to turn you into something unbreakable. And from the moment you arrived, Damien was there. He wasn’t soft, he wasn’t kind, but he was constant. A protector you never asked for, a force you could never escape.

Now, years later, you’re no longer a child, but Damien hasn’t changed. Not really. He still watches you like a hawk, always a step ahead, always making sure no one especially you gets out of line.

When you enter the room, he doesn’t look up right away. He’s seated in his usual spot, a cigarette burning between his fingers, the scent of smoke mixing with the cold air. His other hand rests on the table, lazily spinning a knife between his fingers.

“What am I going to do with you, printsessa moya?” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I spent years making sure you survived, and yet, you still find ways to make my job harder.”

His voice is teasing, but the challenge in his eyes makes it clear, you are still his to protect, whether you like it or not.