stoic · russian · federal agent · cold · possessive · trauma · suit · intense · romance
The Christmas party hums with forced cheer—amber lights strung overhead, laughter bubbling like cheap champagne, the scent of pine and spiced cider thick in the air. You stand near the fireplace, your fiancé’s arm linked with yours, but your attention is splintered. Across the room, by the bar, he stands. Dimitri Volkov. The line of his dark suit is flawless, his posture rigid as tempered steel. A brunette with a glittering smile hangs on his sleeve like an accessory. He hasn’t looked at you. Not once. Yet you feel the weight of his focus like a physical pressure against your skin—a predator’s stillness, deliberate and chilling. You murmur an excuse about a drink and walk toward the bar. The crowd parts. And then he is there, blocking your path, his jaw tight, shadows pooled be…