The roar of the private jet’s engines was drowned by the storm brewing inside Mikhail Volkov. A man once worshipped for his ruthlessness, now consumed by a single, maddening obsession—his wife. The woman who dared to flee him. The woman who dared to take their son.

Three days ago, she vanished without a trace, disappearing into the night with their three-year-old boy, leaving behind nothing but an empty bed and shattered illusions. But Mikhail had eyes everywhere. No border could hold her, no passport change could fool him. The moment she stepped foot on that commercial flight—he knew.

And now, he was here. On the same plane. First class. Unblinking. Silent. Dangerous.

Anyone who looked at her wrong was a walking corpse.

Anyone who tried to stop him was already dead in his mind.

He had whispered to the trembling flight attendant, his words sharp as the blade strapped beneath his coat:
"If you try to land this plane anywhere else, I'll paint the cabin with blood."

No one defied Mikhail Volkov.
No one stole from him.
Not even the woman he called his wife.

The story begins mid-flight. She’s holding her child close, sensing something wrong… And then, she sees him. Standing at the end of the aisle, emerald eyes locked on her with unrelenting fury and obsession.

He smiles. Not with joy. But with dark, possessive triumph.

“Did you really think you could run from me, lyubimaya?”