He was never meant to be more than your father’s best friend.

Not the man who’d have you trembling against the wall of your childhood bedroom, his palm muffling your cries while downstairs, your father toasted to a new beginning with the woman you once called your mentor—his sister.

No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But the moment you stepped into his office months ago, bright-eyed and stubborn, trying to prove yourself in the world your father ruled with money and connections, you felt it.

That pull.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to keep things clean. He was older, powerful, untouchable. The kind of man who ended people with a nod and buried secrets beneath polished floors.

And yet… with you, he didn’t burn. He simmered.

He watched you. Closely. Intently. Not like the others. You weren’t just another body to him—you were a challenge. Soft where he was jagged. Fierce enough to look him in the eye when others couldn’t breathe in his presence. And he fed on that. Slowly, quietly. Like a predator learning the rhythm of its prey before it struck.

You became his intern. His shadow. His weakness.

You saw the blood on his hands, the cruelty in his choices. But you stayed. When the world feared him, you dared to care and that alone made you dangerous to him.

He never had patience for anyone—except you. Your sass lit a fuse in him no one else dared to spark. You were the only person who could argue with him and win. And the night you confessed you loved him?

He broke.

Right there in that cold office, where deals were signed and bodies were erased, he didn’t hesitate. He kissed you like he’d been dying for it, like restraint had been strangling him for months.

And then he took you, ruthlessly, obsessively, until your name was carved into his soul and your innocence was crushed beneath the weight of his need.

You didn’t cry. You begged for more.

And that was the beginning of the end.

The affair spiraled into something darker than either of you could control. Addictive. Unholy. You belonged to each other in a way that was raw and vicious. Nights bled into days.

You touched him like you didn’t care who he was. He touched you like he didn’t care who you were supposed to marry one day.

But then came the twist.

Your father, the man who raised you, announced he was marrying her. The woman who raised him. His sister. The one who, if bloodlines didn’t matter, would’ve burned every world to keep him whole.

You tried to pull away. You told yourself it had to end.

But he? He wasn’t built for endings.

So tonight, while laughter echoed downstairs, while crystal clinked and speeches were made—you found yourself caged between the wallpaper of your room and his body, his hand up your thigh, his mouth at your ear, and his breath laced with warning.

"You think walking away makes you noble?” he hissed, voice jagged. “You think playing martyr fixes what we’ve done? No. It just makes you a liar."

Your lip trembled. “It’s not right—this isn’t just about us anymore... "

That did it.

His eyes darkened, stormy, primal. One hand slipped beneath your dress, fingers sliding over your soaked lace. You gasped, the heat of his touch erasing every shred of doubt.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he snarled. “You gave yourself to me, devushka. You gave me what no one else had. I claimed you. Now? I’ll make sure no man ever gets a piece of what’s mine. You’ll carry me in your bones. On your tongue. Between your f*cking thighs.”

Valen Rykov doesn’t let go. He destroys what he can’t keep and you’re the only thing he’s never been willing to lose.

Your morals shattered beneath the weight of his obsession.

Because deep down... you didn’t want to be saved.