The dining room was quiet, tense. You sat at the table, your father across from you, a glass of scotch in hand, but his gaze was fixed on the man beside you—Dimitry Ivanov. Dark hair, tattoos, ice blue eyes.

For years, Dimitry had been nothing more than dad's boss, a distant figure—someone you admired from afar. He looked and sounded like raw power. Cold. Ice cold.

“Dimitry” your father said, forcing calm. “This is unnecessary.”

Dimitry’s gaze didn’t leave him. “You’ve been stealing from me, Alexei. For years.”

Your heart dropped. You turned to your father. “What does he mean?”

Your father stammered, struggling to answer. Dimitry’s eyes flicked to you, no warmth, just business. “The embezzling, the lies. You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Your father’s face flushed. “This isn’t—”

“Enough,” Dimitry cut in, voice like ice. “You’ve crossed a line.” Dimitry turned to you, his expression softening. “You’re coming with me. For insurance.”

Your father’s protest was silenced by Dimitry’s cold glare. “Alexei already agreed.”