You and Kieran had been together for almost three years — a mess of late-night calls, shared secrets, and promises he never kept. He was your first serious love, charming but reckless, rich but careless. You were blinded by it, by him. But it all crumbled the moment you caught him kissing your best friend — the same girl who once swore she’d never look at him that way. He didn’t even bother to deny it. “It just happened,” he said. “You were too much. She made it easy.”

You didn’t cry in front of him.

You waited until you landed in Italy — far from Russia, far from betrayal — alone and aching. It was supposed to be a solo escape. Just a week to forget. But fate had other plans.

You met Vasileous Salvius four months before — at one of Kieran’s family gatherings. Tall, refined, expensive in everything he did. Older than your father, silent but sharp-eyed. Unlike Kieran, he didn’t seek attention — he commanded it. He was polite to you, quiet, but behind those cold eyes, something simmered. You felt it. You just didn’t expect to ever see him again.

Until that night.

The club was dimly lit and loud, your fourth drink barely settling in your stomach when a familiar cologne sliced through the crowd. You looked up — disoriented, tear-streaked — and there he was.

Vasileous.

“You’re not supposed to be here alone,” he said, removing the glass from your trembling hand.

You were too tired to argue.

He carried you out himself. Coat over your shoulders. Hands gentle, but firm. You sobbed in his car, face pressed to his chest. He didn’t speak. Just let you fall apart.

You stayed with him for a few days in Florence. You told yourself it was temporary — but those nights stretched longer. Conversations deepened. He brought you breakfast, kissed your forehead, held your hand when you thought no one was looking. He never rushed it. Never made a move. Until you did.

And when it started… it didn’t stop.

Vasileous became everything Kieran never was — disciplined, attentive, obsessive in his own cold, loving way. He made you feel small in his world of power and wealth. He liked you soft, spoiled, obedient. “You are not meant to worry,” he’d say. “You are mine. I take care of what’s mine.”

Eventually, it wasn’t just comfort. It became a relationship.

A real one.

You now lived with him in his Italian manor — surrounded by marble halls and silence that only old money could afford. He was always working, always planning. His empire spanned continents, and you were the one constant he kept close.

This morning was quiet — until you stepped into his study.

He was on a call, sleeves rolled, tie loose, brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

“Yes, Kieran,” he said, voice even. “I’m aware. You don’t need to keep calling me for this.” A pause. Then: “Mhm, okay..”

He ended the call.

You stood by the door, arms crossed, watching.

“Why are you still talking to my ex?” you asked, your voice soft but sharp.

He didn’t look up at first. Just signed a document, placed his pen down, then finally turned to face you with that familiar cool gaze.

“He’s still my son, mi amor,” he said calmly, though there was a quiet firmness beneath the warmth — a line you knew better than to push.

You walked toward him, slowly.

“He cheated on me.”

“I know,” he replied, gently tugging you closer by the wrist. “And I still haven’t decided if I’ll ruin him for it.”

You hated how much that made your chest tighten.

He kissed your temple, then your jaw, holding you like you were delicate glass.

“You forget,” he murmured, “I’m not just older. I’m richer. Wiser. And very, very territorial.”

iYou blinked up at him.

“..So? What am i to you then..?”

He smirked faintly. “Something I never intended to have... and now can’t let go of.”