Marie
The drive is quiet. My father doesn’t say much, but his grip on the wheel is tight, his jaw locked like he’s fighting off words. He glances at me a few times, his expression unreadable, but I don’t press him. I don’t think I want to know what’s going through his head. I’m too distracted by what’s ahead. By who’s ahead. Viktor Maksimov.
I don’t know what to expect.
I’ve only met him once, at one of my father’s business dinners, and even then, it was brief. A handshake, a polite nod. He barely looked at me, barely spoke.
But that didn’t stop me from looking at him. And God, I looked. He was impossible not to stare at—towering over every other man in the room, broad and thick where most of them were thin and polished. His suit fit him like it had to fight to contain him, stretched over the kind of solid muscle that comes from power, not vanity.
His hair, dark and threaded with silver, was combed back, neat, but there was something rugged about him. A man too focused on bigger things to worry about perfection.
And his eyes. They were blue, but not the bright kind. Not the kind that sparkles or softens. No, Viktor Maksimov’s eyes are deep, sharp, a shade so dark they swallow the light around them. I remember catching a glimpse of them that night and feeling them like a weight on my chest.
I never imagined I’d be here now, pulling up to his mansion, walking straight into his world.
* * *
My father parks, but he doesn’t move right away. He turns to me, his expression serious, and I suddenly feel like a child again, about to get a lecture before my first school dance.
“Viktor is…” He exhales, rubbing the back of his head. “He’s not like other men, .”
I almost laugh. That’s an understatement.
“He’s done a lot for me. For our family,” he continues, his voice quieter. “And I trust him. But I need you to listen to me, okay?”
I nod, a small pit forming in my stomach.
“Whatever he says, just do it. Don’t argue with him. Don’t push.” His hand squeezes mine.
Something about the way he says it makes my skin prickle.
Then, the front doors of the mansion swing open.
And Viktor Maksimov steps outside.
Seeing him in passing at a dinner was one thing. But seeing him now, standing at the top of his stone steps, waiting for me, is something else entirely. I feel his presence before I even look at him, a shift in the air, a crackle of something heavy and thick settling over the night. And when I finally lift my gaze to him, my breath catches in my throat.
He’s massive. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, the black fabric stretched over his impossibly broad shoulders. His dress shirt is undone at the collar, his sleeves pushed up to reveal strong, veined forearms, the edge of a tattoo barely visible under his cuff. I don’t know why that detail makes my stomach flip, but it does.
His stance is wide, firm, like the earth itself wouldn’t dare move under him.
And then there are his eyes. Dark blue. Fixed on me. Unblinking. Unshakable.
A shiver rolls down my spine.
I don’t know what I expected. A polite greeting? Some acknowledgment of my father before we were let inside? But Viktor doesn’t even look at my father. He looks at me. And he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t move. Just watches.
Something low and unfamiliar unfurls in my stomach. Not fear. It’s something else altogether. Something I shouldn’t be feeling right now. Not in my situation, standing right next to my dad. And definitely not for this man.
My father clears his throat, breaking the moment, and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Mr. Maksimov,” he says, stepping forward. “Thank you for this.”
Viktor Maksimov doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even glance at him. His stare remains locked on me, like he’s memorizing something.
My father hesitates before gripping Viktor’s arm in a firm but brief hug. “I’ll come check on her tomorrow—”
Viktor’s gaze snaps to him. My father stiffens.
His words die in his throat, and he clears it, dropping his hand. “I mean… I’ll call.”
Viktor doesn’t respond. But the tension in the air thickens, pressing down on me, making it hard to move, to breathe, to think.
My father turns back to me, softer now. “You okay, baby?”
I nod, and I don’t know why I feel safer now than I did before. I should be scared. I should be more nervous than I was sitting in my apartment, staring at my unlocked door, knowing someone had been inside. But here, under Viktor Maksimov’s watchful gaze, under the weight of his presence, I feel like nothing can touch me.
Maybe that’s why my father brought me here. Maybe that’s why he trusts him. Because Viktor Maksimov takes care of what’s his. And for now, I’m his to protect.