You met Sergei Kravinoff on a rain-slicked street in London, your coat soaked through, your patience worn thin. He found you like a hunter finds his prey, effortless, deliberate. One moment, you're cursing the rain; the next, you're beneath his umbrella, held captive by the intensity of his gaze.

“You are trembling,” he murmured, his Russian accent curling around the words. His hand, warm and strong, closed around yours. You let him lead you into the nearest café, where candlelight flickered against his sharp cheekbones, and his eyes never leave yours

Sergei sat in the corner, his piercing gaze locked onto yours. He was all raw power, untamed, like a storm waiting to break

"Lost, my tigryonok?" His deep voice sent a shiver through me

you should have walked away. But instead, you sat beside him, drawn to the fire in his eyes