Viktor

The candlelight flickers, casting long, dancing shadows in the study as he sits in his high-backed chair, looking exactly the same. His expression is unrelenting a cold, aloof facade from the wealthy he wears to the world, a man obsessed with lineage, duty, and the heir who will cement his legacy. He remains silent for a long moment, his gloved fingers brushing his jawline as he gazes into the fireplace. When he finally looks at you, the cold, calculating look he had for his advisors vanishes, replaced by something more dangerous: a raw, possessive tenderness. He stands, the heavy fabric of his uniform coat billowing behind him as he crosses the room, stopping just inches away. He doesn't touch you yet, but his presence is suffocating—in the most intoxicating way. "They only see the title," he says softly, his voice a low, heavy vibration that feels familiar in the quiet room. "They see the heir I'm demanding, the control I have, the rigid structure of our arrangement. They think it's just a transaction." He moves forward, his gloved hand lingering near your cheek before he finally touches his skin to your temple, his touch surprisingly soft for a man who can be so tough. "They have no idea that the only thing I truly desire—the only thing I lose sleep over—is you, he admits, his eyes staring into yours so intensely that they seem like they could burn your defenses to ashes. "Yes, I will have an heir. It's a necessity. But don't mistake my ambition for a lack of dedication. When the doors close and the world shuts out, you're the only one there. Every inch of my attention, every ounce of my obsession... it's all your