Damien Volkov did not believe in accidents.

Every move he made was calculated, precise, like a blade sharpened to perfection. His enemies feared him, his allies obeyed him, and the world—presidents, billionaires, entire governments—bowed beneath his feet.

At thirty-seven years old, Damien had built an empire that controlled arms, drugs, human lives—a kingdom drenched in blood, ruled by his iron fist. There was nothing in this world that he could not have.

And yet, on an otherwise unremarkable evening, he found himself fixated on something unexpected.

Someone.

It had been a chance glance from his penthouse suite at the Imperial Hotel, where he had just concluded a meeting with foreign investors—men who begged for his favor but could never meet his eyes.

Damien had been bored, sipping his whiskey as he gazed down at the city below, its streets buzzing with life, insignificant and forgettable.

Until he saw him.

A young man—delicate, unassuming, unaware of the monster watching him from above.

He was stepping out of the university gates, bundled in an oversized brown coat that looked a size too big for his slender frame. A book was clutched tightly against his chest, his hands small and pale against the leather cover.

Damien’s eyes sharpened.

His features were soft, untouched by violence—chestnut-brown hair that curled slightly at the ends, dark expressive eyes, lips flushed pink from the cold. He looked fragile. Breakable.

And yet, the boy was not weak.

Damien could see it in the way he held himself, in the way he tilted his head slightly, glancing around like he was aware of being watched—but not yet afraid.

Then, one of his friends called out his name, and the boy turned, smiling—a small, hesitant thing that made something inside Damien tighten.

Something he hadn’t felt in years.

Hunger. But not just lust—lust was easy, forgettable, something Damien had taken and discarded more times than he could count.

No, this was something darker.

Possession.

His jaw clenched. He had not expected this.

And yet, here he was, staring down at a boy who should mean nothing, and feeling his pulse slow to a lethal, deliberate rhythm.

Mine.

Damien turned to Lev Morozov, his second-in-command, who stood silently at his side.

"Find out who he is," Damien said, his voice smooth, dangerous.

Lev didn’t hesitate. He never did. "By morning."

And just like that, the boy’s fate was sealed.

---

Luca Ivanov had always been safe.

His life was quiet, predictable, filled with love.

The son of two renowned doctors, raised in privilege and warmth, Luca had never known what it was to be afraid. His older sister, Valarie Ivanov, was a police officer—strong, fierce, overprotective—and his parents had spent their lives ensuring that their son would never have to know the darkness that lurked beyond their perfect little world.

He had never been followed before.

Never been watched.

Never been hunted.

That changed the moment the gifts began to arrive.

---

The First Gift

It was waiting for him when he got home—a small, elegantly wrapped box on his doorstep.

Luca frowned, bending down to pick it up, the weight of it heavier than he expected.

Inside, nestled in velvet, was a watch—sleek, black, and unmistakably expensive.

His brows furrowed.

There was no note. No sender.

A mistake?

He left it untouched.

---

The Second Gift

The car was impossible to ignore.

Luca had stepped out of his apartment the next morning only to freeze.

A black Aston Martin, sleek and gleaming under the streetlights, was parked directly in front of his building.

A small velvet box sat on the hood.

Inside—a key.

His breath hitched.

It was a gift. For him.

But from who?

His heart pounded as he backed away. This wasn’t a mistake. Someone was watching him. Someone knew where he lived.

He should have gone to the police.

He should have told his sister.

But he didn’t...

..

Luca told himself it was a mistake. A misunderstanding.

People didn’t just send gifts like this, especially not to him. He wasn’t anyone special—just a law student, just a boy with his head buried in books and lectures.

And yet, the evidence was right there—the watch still lying in its box, untouched on his desk. The car, parked outside his apartment like a silent guardian. The velvet box with the key, taunting him.

Someone was watching him.

Someone who had the money and power to do whatever they wanted.

Luca wrapped his arms around himself as he sat at his desk, staring at the watch like it might suddenly explain itself. Why him? He had no enemies. No admirers rich enough to do something this absurd.

A joke?

No.

No one was laughing.

A chill ran down his spine as he reached for his phone, his fingers unsteady as he pulled up a familiar contact.

Valarie Ivanov – Big Sister.

His thumb hovered over the call button.

She was the kind of person who never let things slide. She was overprotective, fiercely loyal, and terrifying when angry. If he told her about this, she’d be at his apartment in minutes, demanding answers.

But answers from who?

With a shaky breath, he dropped the phone back onto his desk.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe if he ignored it, it would stop.

Maybe—

A sharp knock on his door made him jolt.

Luca’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Too late.

It wasn’t nothing.

Someone was here.

---

Damien Volkov had always taken what he wanted.

Patience was a virtue he had never been forced to learn.

By the time midnight struck, he had a full report on Luca Ivanov sitting in his hands.

Twenty-two years old. Law student at Moscow State University. Son of two doctors—good family, respected, wealthy but not powerful. A sister in law enforcement.

A perfect life. Untouched by war. Untouched by men like Damien.

But not for much longer.

Damien leaned back in his chair, running a gloved finger over the edge of the file. His gaze flicked over every detail—Luca’s address, his class schedule, the list of people he spoke to daily.

The boy was protected, yes. But he wasn’t untouchable.

Not anymore.

A knock at his office door broke his thoughts.

Lev stepped in without a word, carrying a black box.

The next gift.

Damien didn’t smile, but something in his chest tightened in satisfaction.

The first two had been ignored. He had expected that.

This one?

This one, Luca wouldn’t be able to ignore.

"Deliver it tonight," Damien said smoothly, his voice low. "Make sure he sees it before he sleeps."

Lev nodded and disappeared.

Damien exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He was calm, his emotions controlled, contained.

And yet—for the first time in years, he felt anticipation.

The boy would learn soon enough.

---

Luca shouldn’t have opened the door.

He should have ignored it. But his curiosity—and his growing unease—made him stand, hesitating only for a second before unlocking the deadbolt.

The hallway was empty. His stomach twisted. Then he saw it.

A black box.

It was placed neatly at his doorstep, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

Luca’s fingers curled around the doorknob, his breath catching in his throat. He stepped forward, slowly, heart hammering as he bent down.

His name was written in gold lettering.

No address. No sender.

Luca swallowed hard.

He should close the door. He should call his sister. He should—

But his hands were already moving, trembling as he lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in silk, was a single black leather glove.

And beneath it, a note.

His breath hitched.

The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and deliberate.

"Try to run, sweetheart. It excites me."

Luca felt the blood drain from his face.

The hallway suddenly felt too quiet.

His ears strained for any sound, any footsteps lingering nearby, but there was nothing.

Just silence.

And the gift, sitting in his hands like a promise.

A warning.

Something was very, very wrong.

With shaking hands, he shoved the box inside and slammed the door shut, locking it.

His mind raced.

Who?

Who was doing this?

And more importantly—how did they know where he lived?

Luca took a slow, shaky breath, trying to force the panic down. Think.

Who had he wronged?

Who had a reason to be watching him?

He couldn’t think of anyone.

But someone was out there.

And they were just getting started.

---

Damien watched from the car.

The penthouse was too far to see the boy’s reaction clearly, and tonight, Damien wanted something closer.

So he had come himself.

From the tinted windows of his black Maybach, parked discreetly on the opposite side of the street, he watched as the door slowly creaked open.

Then—Luca appeared.

Damien leaned forward slightly, his breath steady, his expression unreadable.

The boy was tense, cautious, his fingers curling around the edge of the box before lifting it into his hands.

Damien could almost imagine it—the way those delicate fingers would tremble, the way his brows would furrow in confusion, in fear.

Perfect.

Luca hesitated, then opened the lid.

A pause.

Damien saw it—the exact moment realization dawned. The way his shoulders stiffened, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

He had read the note.

He had understood.

Damien exhaled slowly.

The boy was afraid.

Good.

He had ignored the first two gifts.

He wouldn’t ignore this one.

Damien’s gloved fingers tapped against the leather seat as he watched Luca shove the box inside and slam the door shut.

Still resisting.

Still trying to pretend he had control.

It was adorable.

Damien’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk.

It wouldn’t last.

Luca Ivanov belonged to him.

He just didn’t know it yet.

---

End of Chapter