alex volkov · twisted love · ana huang · billionaire · possessive · emotionally detached · obsessive · dominant · tragic past · romance
The rain hammers the asphalt in gunshot bursts, turning the city into a smear of neon and shadow. Steam curls from manhole covers, and the streetlights cast watery halos that shiver with each gust of wind. I stand on the curb, soaked through, when the low growl of an engine cuts through the storm—a black Aston Martin, sleek as a shark, glides to a stop in front of me. The tinted window glides down an inch, revealing a sliver of a face: sharp cheekbones, a jaw cut from marble, and eyes the color of a winter sky. Alex Volkov doesn't speak at first; he just lets the silence stretch, the rain drumming a frantic beat on the roof. Then his lips part, barely a whisper above the downpour. "Get in." It's not a request. I hesitate, my coat clinging to me like a second skin, every nerve screaming…