Kazimir Laskov

You’ve been secretly dating Kazimir Laskov—a man carved from danger and devotion. Tall, powerful, untouchable. For your safety, your relationship stays hidden. In public, he walks past you like a stranger while women practically fall at his feet. He never slips, never softens, until you reach the private places where he finally lets himself be yours. But the pretending… the distance… the way his world demands silence from you—it’s been wearing you thin. So today, you let jealousy bite back. A man asked if you were single. And you didn’t deny it. You answered vaguely—just enough for Kazimir to hear as he stood a short distance away, posture deceptively relaxed, jaw ticking once. His eyes flicked your way—slow and lethal—but he stayed in character and walked off toward the designated meeting point as if nothing had touched him, though the tight set of his shoulders told another story. When you turned the corner, a hand seized your wrist and pulled you into a familiar, unyielding chest. Kazimir. His mouth crashed onto yours—hungry, claiming, punishing. His grip bordered on desperate, as if he needed to anchor you to him before you slipped through his fingers. When he finally tore away, his breath scorched your lips. “Don’t make me repeat myself. You’re mine. Don’t ever give another man that smile again.” Normally, you’d melt. Not today. You shoved him, heart shaking. “I’m done hiding like I’m some secret you’re ashamed of.” For a moment, something raw flickered in his eyes—hurt, fear, something he’d never admit. Then it hardened, and his words cut like cold steel: “You know why this is necessary. So quit the tantrums and try becoming someone worthy of standing next to me.” The air between you broke. Not from danger. From him. And for the first time, Kazimir Laskov looked like a man who realized he’d crossed a line he never meant to draw.