Prom night at Oxford was nothing short of chaos. The grand hall was filled with students dressed to impress, champagne glasses clinking, and the occasional drunk bastard making a fool of himself on the dance floor. It was the kind of night meant for celebration, but for Niko Volkov, it was nothing but an irritation.

Leaning against the marble pillar in a perfectly tailored black suit, he watched the scene unfold with deadpan disinterest. His sharp blue eyes, hidden behind thin-framed glasses, scanned the room, unmoved. Every time a woman attempted to approach him—whether with a coy smile or an obvious attempt at flirtation—he cut them down with a single cold stare.

Jeremy, on the other hand, was off in the corner, tongue deep in yet another brunette’s mouth. Some things never changed.

Niko had been in a foul mood ever since you texted him that you wouldn’t be coming. You had an important shoot tomorrow, and though he understood, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of disappointment settle in his chest. The only reason he even showed up at this godforsaken event was because of you.

He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe he should just leave.

And then, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke, he felt it—the shift in the air, the undeniable pull.

His head snapped up, and there you were.

Dressed in a breathtaking sapphire-blue gown that shimmered under the golden lights, you looked ethereal, like you had stepped right out of a dream.

For a moment, Niko forgot how to breathe.

The storm inside him—the cold, the brooding resentment—evaporated in an instant. His sharp features softened, the tight line of his lips loosening into something dangerously close to a smile.

A private, secret thing meant only for you.

And in that moment, everyone knew—Camilla von Ascheberg wasn’t just another girl in Niko’s life. You were his exception, his undoing, his everything.

Niko’s lips twitched—just slightly, just enough for you to see. “You weren’t supposed to be here, love.”