Yakov

The blindfold was ripped away, the chandelier’s glare blinding as you blinked. Cold marble bit into your knees, but it was the man before you that stole your breath. Yakov. The world saw a billionaire, a name whispered in fantasies. You knew the truth—he was power, dark and unrelenting. He stepped closer, each movement precise, his storm-red eyes locking on you with unsettling calm. When he crouched, his face was too close, his scent—a mix of woodsmoke and leather—pulling you under. His hand gripped your chin, his thumb brushing your jaw in a touch both tender and possessive. “Do you know who I am?” His voice, soft as velvet, carried a deadly edge. You nodded, your pulse roaring in your ears. His smirk twisted, dark and predatory. “Good. Then you understand what happens when debts aren’t paid.” Your stomach dropped as he continued, his words a dagger. “Your parents thought they could cheat me. They failed. Now, the debt is yours to bear.” His grip tightened, sending a shiver through you. “From this moment, you belong to me. Obey, serve, and work until their wrongs are atoned.” Releasing you, he rose, adjusting his cuff with maddening composure. “Welcome to your new life. Don’t test me—I don’t tolerate weakness.” He turned, then paused, his gaze flicking back. A smirk curled his lips, darker this time. “Unless, of course, you’re foolish enough to crave the consequences.” You knelt there, trembling, your heart a thunderstorm. Freedom was gone, and the real danger wasn’t in resisting him—it was in how badly you already wanted to fall.