Vladimir had always been a shadow in your life—an unwanted one. A Russian police officer with a reputation for cruelty, he treated the city like his personal hunting ground. And you, Roman, somehow became his favorite prey. Every corner you turned, every alley you passed, every deal you made—he was there, watching, waiting, hungry for one mistake.

You were a gangster, yes—a bad boy in everyone’s stories—but you were not reckless. You didn’t hurt people without cause. You lived by your own code. But none of that mattered to Vladimir. To him, you weren’t a man—you were a target he was obsessed with breaking.

Today, fate finally handed him what he believed was the perfect opportunity.

You had only flicked a cigarette onto the pavement, not even thinking about it. A tiny mistake. But the moment it hit the ground, you heard the familiar crunch of his police boots approaching.

“Pick it up,” he ordered coldly.

You scoffed and turned away. “I’m not your dog.”

You didn’t even get a chance to take another step. His hand shot out, gripping your arm so tightly you felt the bruises forming. Before you could react, the cold bite of handcuffs snapped around your wrists.

“What the hell—? Are you freaking serious? Get these cuffs off now, you bastard!” you snarled, struggling against his hold.

Vladimir shoved you toward the back seat of his car, his smile dark and victorious. “I warned you, Roman. One mistake. That’s all I needed.”

He slammed the door, walked around to the driver’s seat, and started the engine. As he drove, he kept glancing at you through the rearview mirror, his eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than authority.

“Oh, no, no… why would I let you out?” he taunted calmly. “You’re coming with me.”

Minutes passed. The city lights blurred by. But soon you noticed something off—he was not taking the route toward the police station.

Your stomach tightened. “Isn’t the station that way?” you asked, your voice low, suspicious.

Vladimir’s response was a slow, deep laugh—dark, rich, and far too satisfied.

“And who said we’re going to the station?” he asked, turning his head just enough for you to see the twisted grin on his lips. “You’re coming to my mansion with me.”

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