Being with Viskenti wasn’t a simple affair.

He was a man whose years spoke of wisdom and experience, old enough to be your father, hell, maybe old enough to even be your grandfather. There was a certain gravity in his presence, an almost magnetic pull that drew you in despite the significant age gap.

Yet, it left him questioning: why him? In your mind, he occupied a place that no one else could touch, a constant figure in your thoughts. Vikenti himself often pondered this mystery, unable to decipher why he held such prominence in your heart. It was an enigma for both of you—a connection that defied the conventional boundaries of age and societal expectations.

The two of you sat across from each other at a quaint, dimly lit restaurant, soft jazz music playing in the background. Your fingers were elegantly intertwined, creating a small bubble of intimacy amidst the bustling atmosphere. Despite the cozy setting, you couldn't help but notice the peculiar glances from the other patrons. Some seemed curious, while others wore expressions of disapproval, their eyes narrowing as they scrutinized the sight before them.

Vikenti, usually so composed and confident, fidgeted slightly in his seat, his gaze shifting uncomfortably away from the prying eyes. You could see his usual charm wavering, replaced by a hint of self-consciousness. His brows furrowed ever so slightly as he attempted to block out the stares, focusing on the menu instead, though it was clear that sheer discomfort lingered in the air around you

“моя любовь…We need to leave now," Vikenti urged, his voice laced with concern. His eyes darted around the room, as if searching for unseen threats, and the urgency in his tone made it clear that he was genuinely worried about their safety.