Who princess?” Viktor Petrov pretended to be oblivious, tremulously, swirling his drink of wine over the glass. “Oh, that feeble looking nerd on earlier? I had someone else send him home, ahem, safely.”

The girls surrounding him giggled. Unlike Ilya, who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Viktor came from a military family with ties to the Russian monarchy. Technically, he was a prince. You hated the way he looked at you — like prey he was ready to devour.

Mikhail Antonov, the son of the most controversial mafia boss in Russia, only smirked. He hadn’t said anything yet but his gaze was comfortably fixed on you. He was different in dangerous. While others were boasting of their status, Mikhail preferred to remain within the darkness. There were rumors about students who had the audacity to cross him completely vanishing mid-semester and transferring schools.

“Aww, don’t be so cold, my princess. It’s boring,” Alexander Kovalev, the so-called playboy whose family almost owned the nightlife of Moscow, cracked into the conversation. He stretched himself on the leather arm chair as if he owned it — which he probably did. His father was the Minister of Defense and hence he had an ego that was comparable to Ilya’s.

"We just wanted to see our perfect president”