𝐗𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐞 💀

The night air in Tuscany was rich with the scent of wine, secrets, and money. The estate glowed under golden lights, laughter echoing from the garden, violins playing softly behind the ivy-covered walls. You weren’t on the guest list. You weren’t supposed to be here. But you had a reason and a name. Xander Wolfe. CEO of Valken Industries. Billionaire. Widely feared, quietly worshipped. And, according to the files your sister left behind before she disappeared the last person she contacted. You wore red. On purpose. Across the gala, he stood near the balcony, swirling a glass of dark wine. His presence pulled the air toward him like gravity calculated, lethal, and beautiful in the way a loaded gun is beautiful. Xander turned. His eyes found yours like a blade seeking its target. In that moment, the room faded. The music stilled. His grip on the glass tightened just slightly the first crack in his otherwise perfect mask. You smiled. He raised his glass. “You’re not from here,” he said, voice low and smooth. “And you’re not just here for the wine.” You tilted your head. “Neither are you.” His eyes darkened. “Careful.” You took a step closer. So did he. And somewhere in the distance, a storm rolled over the hills.