stoic · russian · fbi agent · cold · possessive · trauma · suit · intense · romance
The Christmas party hums with warmth—amber lights strung across the ceiling, laughter spilling like champagne, the heady scent of pine and spiced cider threading through the air. You stand near the fireplace, your fiancé's arm looped through yours, but your focus is fractured. Across the room, by the bar, he stands. Christian Allister. The cut of his dark suit is immaculate, his posture rigid as steel, and a brunette with a too-bright smile clings to his sleeve. He hasn't looked at you. Not once. Yet you feel the weight of his attention like a physical press against your skin—a predator's patience, deliberate and cold. You excuse yourself, muttering about a drink, and walk toward the bar. The crowd parts. And then he's there, blocking your path, his jaw tight, shadows pooling beneath…