But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as he grabs my arm, his grip unrelenting, and starts pulling me through the crowd. I try to yank my arm away, my heart thudding in my chest as I struggle against him. The crowd parts like they know better than to intervene, their eyes flicking between us but never making a move to stop it.
“Let go of me!” I shout, my voice shaking with fury and fear. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
He doesn’t say a word, his jaw clenched tight, his expression dark and unreadable. He pulls me through the crowd, the space between us growing tighter with every step, his hand still gripping my arm like a vise. People are staring, but no one says anything. No one tries to stop him.
When we reach the door, his driver is already standing outside, waiting by the car. Before I can even process what’s happening, Lukin shoves me into the backseat. The door slams shut behind me before I can think.
I barely have a moment to react, my pulse racing, my chest tight with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?” I demand, my voice frantic as I try to sit up straight in the seat. “Why are you taking me? What is this?”
He doesn’t answer. He just slides into the seat beside me, his eyes still fixed forward, fury radiating off him. The car pulls away before I can say anything else, the sound of the tires on the pavement the only noise in the air.
I sit there, silent, my heart still pounding. I want to scream at him, ask him what he thinks he’s doing, demand answers. But all I can do is sit there, angry and irritated. I’m not scared, because I know he’ll never hurt me, but how dare he control me like this? I’m sick of it.
Lukin doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about my questions, about my anger. He’s silent, letting the weight of his actions speak for him. He turns his head toward the window, as if he can’t bear to look at me.
Eventually, the car comes to a stop, the engine purring softly before it falls into complete silence. I look up through the windshield, my breath catching as I see the towering high-rise building ahead. It’s sleek, cold, and imposing, just like everything else in his world. The kind of place that’s designed to make you feel small, insignificant, and utterly controlled.
Lukin steps out of the car, moving with that effortless confidence, the kind of power that fills every room he enters. I stay seated, my heart still pounding, my mind spinning with everything that’s happened tonight.
When I don’t move, Lukin opens the door with a sharp tug, his hand grabbing my arm again, pulling me out.
I don’t fight him. I’m too exhausted, too overwhelmed by everything. But my body aches with the desire to break free from his grip, to ask him why—to demand answers. But there’s another part of me, the part that embraces this darkness. It’s getting wet and excited, eager and desperate for Lukin.
We step into the building, and once we reach the penthouse, the starkness of it hits me like a wall. It’s cold, sleek, and silent, the minimalistic décor giving it the feel of an empty, sterile space. There’s nothing warm, nothing comforting. Just steel, glass, and the shadows of his world. The door locks behind us with a soft click, and I finally can’t stay silent any longer.
I spin to face him, my fists clenched at my sides, frustration bubbling over.
“Tell me what the hell this is about,” I demand, my voice strained with the mixture of anger and confusion. “Why the hell did you drag me here? What do you want from me?”
Lukin’s gaze turns icy, his expression unreadable as he steps closer, closing the distance between us in a way that makes the air feel heavier. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The quiet intensity in his presence is enough.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” His eyes flash with anger, and suddenly, the coldness between us feelslike a wall that’s closing in. “You wanted to provoke me. You wanted me to notice you. You wanted to get under my skin.”
My breath hitches, and I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off, his voice steady, but biting.
“I’ve been watching you,” he continues, his gaze never leaving mine. “You’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be. You knew exactly what you were doing when you walked into my club tonight. You knew how to get my attention.”
I freeze, my mind scrambling for an answer, but there’s no denying the truth in his words. He's damn right. I came here looking to get under his skin. But I never expected him to react like this. Never thought it would push him this far.
“You’re wrong,” I whisper, the words trembling on my lips. “I didn’t… I didn’t plan this.”
Lukin steps closer, his eyes narrowing with that same intensity. “I don’t believe you.”
His voice is low, cold, like a warning, and suddenly, all the confusion I’ve been holding on to slips away, replaced by something sharper, something more dangerous. He doesn’t just want me. He wants to control me. And I can see it now in the way he looks at me, in the way his presence fills every inch of the room.
The tension between us escalates quickly. I try to take a step back, to put some space between us, but he’s not having it. In one swift motion, he corners me, pressing me into the cold, sleek wall of the penthouse. His hands are on my shoulders, holding me in place, his eyes never leaving mine.
The anger in his gaze is unmistakable, but there’s something else behind it—something darker, deeper, and I can feel it pulling me in. The heat between us is almost unbearable, and I know we’re not just fighting about tonight. We’re fightingabout everything—the push, the pull, the desire that’s been simmering under the surface since the moment we met.
“You think you can just walk in here, act like this doesn’t matter?” he snarls, his voice a low growl, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “You think I don’t know what you want?”
I open my mouth to protest, but before I can get a word out, he steps closer, his body nearly pressed against mine. I’m trapped, unable to move, unable to breathe without feeling the weight of his presence crushing me.
“I didn’t want this,” I whisper, but the words sound weak even to me.
He doesn’t let me go. His hands slide down my arms, pulling me closer, the heat of his body burning through my clothes, my skin. I feel like I’m suffocating, but it’s not just from the physical closeness. It’s from everything else—the raw, unresolved tension between us, the way my body reacts to him despite everything I’m feeling inside.
He’s angry. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands grip me harder. But there’s something else, something so powerful in the way he looks at me, something I can’t ignore.
