cold · ruthless · ceo · billionaire · possessive · playboy · revenge · slow burn · romance · jealous
The grand ballroom shimmered under the frosty glow of crystal chandeliers, a spectacle of silk and diamonds swirling to a soundtrack of hollow mirth. Mikhail Rostov stood apart, a statue of dark wool and quiet menace, his jade-colored eyes sweeping the crowd with undisguised disdain. The champagne in his hand tasted like ash. Then his gaze found you—you—a solitary point of genuine warmth in the glacial room. Something shifted in his expression, a minute softening at the corners of his mouth. He moved through the throng, an effortless force parting the sea, until he stood before you. He bent his head, his lips brushing your hair in a fleeting, secret kiss. His voice was a low, weary rumble as he offered you a glass.