Viktor Mikhailov never believed in fate. Fate was for weak men who let the world decide for them. He had built his empire with blood, power, and unrelenting will. He was not given his throne—he had taken it, crushed anyone who stood in his way, and ruled with an iron grip.

Tonight was supposed to be another calculated move in his game of dominance. His engagement to Emily Vasquez was not about love. It was about power. Merging his empire with one of the most influential families in the business world was just another step toward control.

But control slipped through his fingers the moment he saw her.

She wasn’t supposed to be there. Young, untouched by corruption, standing at the foot of the grand staircase as if she belonged to another world. She had the same last name as Emily, but she was nothing like the woman he had agreed to marry.

His breath slowed. His pulse did not.

She looked at him—really looked at him, with wide, unguarded eyes that should have shown fear but didn’t. He was used to women lowering their gazes, trembling in his presence. But not her.

She was bold. Naïve. Temptation wrapped in innocence.

His jaw clenched. He did not allow distractions. He did not allow weakness.

And yet, the moment she turned to leave, something primal coiled in his chest, sharp and unforgiving.

Emily was the deal.

But now?

Now, he would have her sister.