Chapter 1
The phone buzzed against my palm before I even made it to my desk, Andrej’s name flashing on the screen like a command.
“Moya devochka, don’t be late tonight. It’s an important dinner.”
“I know, I know,” I said, smoothing down my skirt as I pulled out my office chair. “I’ll be there on time. I love you.”
“I love you even more. Wear the red dress.”
He hung up.
Andrej had been talking about this business dinner for days, and I was dreading it. I could predict the exact layout of the evening: an arrogant man with a silent, scantily clad girl draped over his arm like an expensive accessory, and a ring of stone-faced men who barely breathed, let alone spoke.
Always the same. Why Andrej insisted on me being there remained a mystery. Half the room usually spoke fluent Russian, leaving me to sip my wine, run through my weekly to-do lists in my head, and pretend I wasn’t just decorative wall art.
I booted up my computer. Tilly’s desk across from mine was still empty—strange, considering she was usually here twenty minutes before me. I prayed she hadn’t called in sick; surviving a Friday at Daisy’s headquarters without her was a punishment I wasn’t prepared for.
Right on cue, the glass doors swung open and Tilly practically burst inside, flushed and out of breath.
”Have you been running?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
”Yes! Oh my god, I got totally distracted by this ridiculously handsome guy,” she gasped, dropping her handbag onto her desk. “He stopped me outside to ask for directions to the nearest Daisy’s retail store. When I told him I worked at headquarters, we started talking. He was so polite. And handsome. Did I say that? A total gentleman!”
I smiled, opening my overflowing inbox. Tilly’s rapid-fire crush encounters were a daily occurrence, so I only half-listened as she rambled on about his sharp suit and blue eyes.
“Well, can I?”
I looked at her confused. “Can you what?”
She sighed. “You’re not listening…I invited my handsome stranger to join us at the club tomorrow night. He actually said yes! That’s fine, right?”
I laughed, looking up from my monitor. “Of course. But be careful, okay? A date with a random guy who cornered you on the street sounds a little reckless.”
”Hey, we can’t all snag a rich, gorgeous Russian hunk,” Tilly smirked, winking at me. “Some of us have to take our chances with mysterious strangers.”
”Anyway,” she said, her dreamy smile still plastered over her face. ”Got any plans tonight? Or are you free for once?”
”Andrej has another business dinner,” I sighed. “I can’t bear them.”
”Honestly? I think it’s sweet,” she said, leaning against her desk. “He wants you on his arm everywhere he goes. He’s obsessed with you! Plus, I love those sweet Russian nicknames he uses.”
“I’m not on his arm, Tilly. I’m a prop. Nobody speaks to me.”
”Well, props don’t get taken to five-star restaurants,” Tilly teased.
We kept talking, drifting from gossip to work and back again, the way we always did. Eventually the laughter softened, replaced by the steady rhythm of typing, ringing phones, and half‑finished coffees. The afternoon blurred into spreadsheets and a flooded inbox, the kind of busy that makes time slip through your fingers.
By five o’clock, I said goodbye to Tilly, packed up my bag, and headed back to my apartment to get ready.
Waiting on my bed was a sleek luxury box wrapped in black ribbon. Inside lay the red dress: silk, backless, with a slit high enough to make a priest blush. It was stunning, but completely wrong for a semi-formal business dinner—unless the business was pure seduction. I set it aside and chose a classy, knee-length black cocktail dress instead, sweeping my hair up into an elegant twist.
At seven sharp, Andrej’s blacked-out SUV pulled up to my curb. His driver, Viktor, opened the door for me in complete, stoic silence.
The drive away from the city toward Andrej’s sprawling estate always felt surreal. Passing through the massive iron gates was like entering a private fortress. Andrej was paranoid about high-profile executive safety, insisting on 24/7 personal bodyguards to check every vehicle entering the property. I watched through the tinted window as a guard in a tailored suit scanned the undercarriage of the car before waving us up the winding driveway.
When I walked through the heavy front door of the estate, Andrej’s voice was already booming through the grand foyer, barking orders in sharp Russian to his staff. His dark eyes snapped to me, his expression shifting from commanding to slightly displeased as he took in my outfit.
“I had a beautiful red dress sent over to your apartment,” he said, stepping toward me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he took in my black cocktail dress. “Why are you not wearing it?”
“Come on, Andrej,” I said softly, stepping closer and resting a hand against his chest. “I’ll be happy to wear it for you later, but that dress isn’t exactly appropriate for a business dinner.”
A dark, slow grin broke across his face. “Okay. But you better wear it for me tonight, then.”
I smiled and leaned in to kiss him. The second my lips brushed his, his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tightly against his hard frame in a deep, possessive embrace.
”Malysh,” he murmured against my lips, his breath warm. “I missed you all day. Are you ready for dinner? They will be here soon.”
With a quiet sigh, I nodded.
Dinner went exactly the way I knew it would, though with one small mercy: neither the business associate nor his girlfriend spoke Russian. They were Mexican, thank God, which meant at least I wouldn’t have to sit through a dinner, where no one spoke English.
Andrej sat where he always did: centered, commanding, surrounded by his top men. His guest mirrored the posture, arriving with his own wall of suited security. It was all so predictable, so rehearsed, like a play I’d watched a hundred times. I slipped into my role without thinking—quiet, polished, decorative. The beautiful partner on Andrej’s arm.
Once the meal was finished, the men excused themselves to the library, closing the heavy double doors behind them. It took another hour before they finally emerged. After a round of low handshakes and gruff goodbyes, I watched them leave with a wave of sheer relief. I was never comfortable at these gatherings; they weren’t warm dinners with friends, but tense corporate displays disguised as hospitality.
“So,” I said, turning to Andrej once the front doors shut and the guests’ voices faded into the quiet hallway. “Did you get what you wanted out of the dinner?”
“Yes,” he said, sliding an arm around my waist and drawing me in with tenderness. The kiss he gave me was slow and lingering, warm enough to melt the last traces of tension from my shoulders. “I think we can do some very lucrative business together. He has something I really want.”
He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. The kind that always made my chest tighten with love.
“Moy zaychik,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lightly along my cheek, “I need a few minutes with the team to go over details. Why don’t you go upstairs and get comfortable? I’ll come find you soon.”
I nodded and headed up the marble staircase toward his master suite, passing two stoic guards posted in the upper corridor, discreet holsters hidden beneath their dark blazers.
Andrej was undeniably successful. He was a self-made mogul owning a massive portfolio of nightclubs, luxury restaurants, and commercial real estate. But in his world, elite net worth came with constant paranoia. He always insisted that the heavy security detail was a necessary evil to protect his empire. Even so, walking past armed bodyguards whenever I stayed over at his place always left a subtle knot of unease in my stomach.
I closed the bedroom door behind me, finally letting out a long breath in the quiet.
The master suite was lavishly decorated—deep velvets, gold accents, and heavy silk drapes. His Russian heritage was evident in every opulent detail. The room smelled faintly of his signature cologne: spicy, smoky, with rich undertones of leather and dark cedar. I unzipped my dress, pulled the plush quilt over myself, and waited for him.
Some moments later, Andrej walked in. He unbuttoned his shirt in one smooth motion, shedding it to reveal the hard, sculpted lines of his body, covered in ink. His dark eyes glinted with mischief as he climbed onto the mattress, straddled my thighs, and ran his fingers through my hair, whispering soft Russian endearments.
He leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to my cheek. “Always so beautiful, moy zaychik.”
As he moved his lips down to my throat, my eyes caught the heavy black handgun sitting casually on the nightstand.
“I wish you wouldn’t leave that right there,” I murmured, my hand resting against his chest. “Having armed bodyguards at every corner of the house is stressful enough, Andrej, but I really can’t relax with a gun pointing at my head.”
He chuckled softly, reaching over to toss the weapon into the nightstand drawer before sliding back over me.
“By the way,” I said, trying to hold his gaze as his hands moved down my waist. “Tilly met someone today. She asked if she could bring him along club tomorrow night.”
“To the VIP lounge?” He paused, his dark eyebrows pulling together. “You know my security team usually vets people first, moya devochka.”
“I know,” I pleaded gently. “But she was so excited. She rarely goes on dates. Can we please just let it pass this once?”
“Sure,” he grunted.
Before I could thank him, he drove himself into me without warning.
My back arched instantly, my fingers knotting into the silk sheets. His thrusts were heavy, powerful, and relentless. I bit my lower lip, shifting my hips beneath his weight, trying desperately to find a rhythm that offered less pain and a shred of pleasure. He moved with a fierce, animalistic vigor, driving hard and deep. I let out a soft, strained moan, hungry for the release I so badly craved—yet as the seconds ticked by, the sensation slipped further out of reach.
It always did.
With a low, guttural growl against my neck, Andrej came, his body tensing before he collapsed heavily against me. I fell back against the pillows, my body aching and unsatisfied, denied the climax I still hoped for.
He pressed a quick kiss to my temple, rolled off me, and drifted into sleep within minutes.
I sat up quietly, letting my back rest against the headboard. Sleep felt far away. My fingertips traced the dark, intricate tattoos sprawling across his broad back—the dense, heavy ink that marked every chapter of his life long before I entered it. Black lines covered him from his legs to the base of his neck, spilling down his arms and across his knuckles like a living history.
I traced the curve of a heavy linework piece near his shoulder blade. It wasn’t the kind of man my mother imagined for me. It wasn’t the polished son-in-law, she had hoped for.
The memory of that terrible dinner years ago rushed back with a sharp sting.
I could still see my mother’s face across the table, her eyes locking instantly on the dark ink peeking past his collar. She didn’t look away once. The entire evening, she watched him as if an escaped convict had wandered into her home. She was unable — or unwilling — to see anything beyond the danger she imagined.
The passive‑aggressive comments started before the main course. Then came the quiet, pointed questions about his lifestyle. About where his money really came from. Finally, she accused him of isolating me.
And Andrej… he didn’t tolerate disrespect. Not from anyone.
The fallout was fast and absolute.
For a while she sent me articles about toxic relationships and red flags, each one more desperate than the last. She was convinced he was isolating me. Convinced she had to save me.
When Andrej found out, he didn’t shout. He didn’t argue. He simply made it clear that anyone trying to undermine our life together had no place in it.
I hadn’t spoken to her in years. If only she could see how much he loved me. How much I loved him.
The contrast, the dangerous ink beneath tailored Italian suits, wasn’t frightening to me. It was him. It was the man I loved, even if the price of keeping him had been everything else I left behind.
