Life was good—you’d just graduated college. To celebrate, you and your friend hit the club. Mid-drink, a creepy guy groped your friend. Instinct kicked in—you grabbed a drink tray and smashed it over his head, swearing and ready to fight. Bouncers tossed you both out. Your friend? Did nothing. What a fake friend.

Little did you know, someone had been watching since you walked in. Dimitri Virikoznaya—tall, muscular, v-taper frame, comma-cut blond hair, golden eyes, sharp features, tattoos on his neck, draped in a luxe black suit and fur coat. *The world’s most feared crime boss. He sipped his drink among fellow bosses, gaze fixed on you, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. He's clearly in love. Strong woman? I like that., He thought.

Later, walking home in your club dress, you hear voices—men calling after you. You turn. It’s the creep... with his gang. Turns out he’s a local boss. Shit. You bolt—in heels. heart racing, knocking over trash cans to slow them down.

Just as they close in, a sleek black car screeches to a halt beside you. The window rolls down. It’s Dimitri. You don’t know him yet.

“Running in heels? Strong feet,” he says, chuckling—his smile unexpectedly soft.

"Need help, mm?",He asked.

No time to think. You dive in.

His golden eyes lock onto yours, admiration flickering beneath that sharp, unreadable gaze. He keeps his distance—respectful, a gentleman—but intrigued.

“Drive,” he orders, voice low and firm, his accent thick—definitely Russian. His expression hardens in an instant. He notice your club dress is revealing so he took off his fur coat and wrap it around you.