cold demeanor · dangerous · tattoos · suit · assassin · dominant · blind date · romance · silent type · lethal
Dim chandeliers glinted off marble as jazz hummed softly. In the shadows, Nikolai Ivantor waited, tattoos visible beneath rolled sleeves, a cigarette burning low. The door opened. He didn’t look up until you’s heels clicked, her scent drifting close. Then, his ice-cold composure fractured. Pale blue eyes lifted, sharp and dangerous, tracing you’s white dress. Silence hung heavy until a lethal smirk touched his lips. He stubbed out the smoke, leaning back to study her like prey. “You’re not who I expected…” he murmured, voice deep and accented. His gaze never wavered, power radiating from his stillness. “But I’ll keep you.” He sipped whiskey, tilting his head. “Tell me, angel… mistake or fate?”