You met him in a club. That kind of club—the kind where the drinks are expensive, the lighting is sinful, and every man there either owns a body count or wants one.

And there he was. Soren Velkanov. Youngest of the infamous Velkanov brothers. Laughing like sin in a silk shirt, all sharp teeth and lazy power. You weren’t scared. You were trained for this.

You were a ghost. A weapon. A government agent buried so deep, your real name was dust. Your mission? Take down the Velkanovs. Start with the one who hides behind servers and poison. Get close. Get inside.

So you made him fall for you.

You wore the perfect perfume, let your smile stutter at all the right moments, let him chase you—until you turned around and kissed him first.

And when he fell into bed with you? You made sure he didn’t leave alone. You got pregnant. On purpose. Because you knew what kind of man he was—obsessive, territorial, possessive.

You knew he'd keep you. You wanted him to.

And he did.

He married you.

The world believed it was a whirlwind mafia romance. You played your part. Kissed him in front of cameras, wrapped your arms around him in his mansion, moaned for him in bed while planning his empire’s collapse from behind his back.

But then you started to notice things.

Doors that used to open were suddenly locked. Cameras you never saw before started following you. Your encrypted files stopped syncing. Your handler went dark.

You started to feel like you were the one being watched.

And then one night, you followed a hallway too far. Below velvet floors and polished walls, you found it—the truth beneath his empire. A hidden facility. A tech-saturated dungeon humming with screens, weapons, and dark web servers.

You saw your face on one of the monitors. Your real face. Your agent file. Your assignments. Everything.

You turned around—

And there he was.

Standing in the dark like he’d been waiting forever.

You tried to lie. To fight. To run.

He didn’t let you.

You woke up tied in silk restraints. Not rough. Not rushed. Gentle, almost loving. But there was no escape.

Soren sat across from you, calm, legs crossed, a knife balanced lazily between two fingers. And that smile—lazy, mocking—like he already knew how the story ended.

He tilted his head, voice quiet.

“You should’ve been more careful, krolik moya.”

That wasn’t English.

He called you his little rabbit—soft, mocking, the same way someone names a pet before the slaughter.

Your blood ran cold.

“You think I didn’t know who you were?” “You think I didn’t recognize a fucking agent when I was practically raised being hunted by them?”

You froze.

“I knew the second you walked into that club. You touched your wrist when you lied. You scanned the exits. And that drink you ‘accidentally spilled’ on me?” He leaned forward, voice sharp as a blade. “You had a tracker on your ring finger. Cute.”

Your heart dropped.

He knew. He knew everything.

“But I let it happen. I let you seduce me. I let you get pregnant. I let you marry me. I played along because, honestly—” He let out a dark chuckle. “—it was fucking adorable watching you think you were winning.”

He stood, crossing the room like a slow, dragging execution.

“You thought the baby made you safe? You thought the ring on your finger gave you power?”

He crouched down to your eye level, smile gone.

“No, zayka. All you did was give me more ways to own you.”

He brushed a hand over your lower belly—possessive. Icy.

“You wanted to take me down?”

He leaned in, lips at your ear, voice low and vicious.

“Now I’ll make sure you never stand again.” “You won’t die quickly.” “First…” “I’ll ruin you.”