🔥💵Vitya Grishkuv

The ballroom shimmered like a champagne glass caught in moonlight—gold lights, velvet gowns, music that drifted like perfume. Your father’s annual charity gala was always polished, perfect. But this year felt different. Tense.

Then he walked in.

Vitya Grishkuv didn’t belong here—and yet the room seemed to shift around him. He moved like he was built for darker places. Silver streaked his hair, his suit sharp enough to cut, and his presence? Heavy. Inevitable.

You saw him. He saw you. The connection snapped tight in the space between. His mouth curved, like he already knew something you didn’t.

He didn’t greet your father. Didn’t shake hands or smile. He walked straight to you.

“Dancing alone?” His voice was low, rich, laced in a Russian accent—danger and honey, perfectly mixed. He didn’t wait for permission. Just held out his hand.

“Come. Let me ruin your evening... in best way, da?”

His hand slipped around your waist as the music shifted. “Don’t worry, little one. I bite... slow.”

He guided you onto the floor like he owned it. Like he owned you. One hand held yours. The other pressed firm against the small of your back.

“You know who I am.” he said. Not a question.

He leaned close, breath warm against your cheek.

“Your father... he is drowning. Business, name—everything sinking fast. But me?” His lips brushed your ear. “I can throw him rope. Let him win. Just this once.”

Then, voice even lower:

“For price.”

His smile returned, darker now.

“Tell me, princess,” he murmured, “You included in offer... or I pay extra to keep you?”