Rhydian's POV
Power.
It is not just earned; it is taken, seized, and carved into the bones of those foolish enough to stand in my way.
For years, the world has known my name whispered in shadows—Rhydian Volkov. The Black Fenrir. A king not by crown, but by fear. Men bow, women tremble, and enemies scatter when I enter a room. Yet, in all that time, nothing has shaken me. Nothing has made me hesitate.
Until her.
The woman from that night.
The one who stumbled into my darkness, tasting sin like it was salvation.
Celestine Atira Dione.
I did not know her name then. But her memory lingered like smoke in my veins, burning hotter than the whiskey I downed. Her scent. Her lips. The fire in her eyes.
She had been a stranger.
Yet now, she is not.
Because today, as I prepare to step into a meeting with one of the largest corporations in the city—the very empire built by her family—I realize fate has played its cruel hand.
The Dione Corporation.
Her company.
Her kingdom.
My wolves warned me to be cautious. They said the Dioné family was influential, deeply rooted in politics and business, untouchable in the public eye. But I am the Black Fenrir. No one is untouchable to me.
The glass doors opened to the top-floor boardroom. My men flanked me, tall and cold, their presence enough to make the executives pale as I entered. I took my seat at the head of the long mahogany table, the power in the room shifting instantly.
And then she walked in.
Her heels clicked against the marble, steady and unshaken. The murmurs quieted as eyes turned to her. She carried herself like royalty, her aura commanding without needing to speak.
Celestine.
She did not falter when she saw me, but I caught it—the flicker in her eyes. Recognition. Shock. The silent memory of what we had shared.
My lips curved ever so slightly.
So, fate wasn't cruel after all. It was generous.
"Gentlemen," she began, her voice smooth, unwavering. "Let us begin."
I leaned back in my chair, studying her as she moved through the room. She spoke numbers and contracts, her words precise, her tone unshakable. But beneath her armor of professionalism, I sensed it. The storm.
The same storm that consumed me.
Every so often, her gaze flicked to me, quick, guarded. She remembered. I could see it in the way her breath faltered, in the way her throat tightened before she steadied herself again.
I let her speak, let her believe she had control of the room. And then, when silence fell, I made my move.
"Impressive," I said, my voice low, commanding. All eyes turned to me. "But tell me, Ms. Dione… do you always fight battles alone?"
Her head turned sharply, her eyes narrowing at the hidden meaning in my words.
"I don't fight battles," she replied, her voice like steel. "I win them."
A dangerous smile tugged at my lips. God, she was fire.
The executives shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension between us but not daring to interrupt.
"You have power," I said, leaning forward, my gaze locked on hers. "But power comes at a cost. One you may not be willing to pay."
Her jaw tightened. "And what would you know of the price I'm willing to pay, Mr. Volkov?"
The sound of my name on her lips stirred something deep inside me. A dark hunger.
"More than you think," I murmured.
The silence that followed was thick, charged. She didn't look away, didn't flinch. Instead, she held my gaze, her eyes daring me to challenge her.
It was then I knew—this woman was unlike any other. Not the spoiled heiresses who begged for my attention. Not the broken souls who craved my shadow. She was something else entirely.
She was dangerous.
And I wanted her.
The meeting continued, but the words exchanged were meaningless compared to the silent war between us. She challenged me with every glance, every sharp retort. And I welcomed it.
When it ended, the board members filed out quickly, eager to escape the suffocating air we created. Soon, it was just us.
The door clicked shut.
She crossed her arms, her chin lifting defiantly. "What game are you playing, Volkov?"
I rose from my chair slowly, deliberately, every step toward her heavy with intent. "No game, Celestine. Not with you."
Her breath hitched as I closed the space between us, though she masked it quickly with fire in her eyes.
"Stay away from me," she hissed.
I smirked. "If that's what you truly wanted, you wouldn't still be standing here."
Her lips parted, but no words came. Her body was tense, yet I could feel it—the pull. The same force that dragged me back to her, no matter how much logic warned me away.
I leaned in, close enough for her to catch the faint trace of smoke and steel that clung to me. My voice dropped, a whisper only for her.
"You can lie to yourself, Celestine. But you can't lie to me. That night wasn't a mistake."
Her eyes burned, filled with conflict—anger, denial, and something else she couldn't hide.
"You're wrong," she said, but her voice wasn't steady this time.
I tilted my head, my lips curving into a dangerous smile. "Am I?"
For a long, electric moment, the world stood still. Only her breathing, quick and uneven, filled the space between us.
Then she stepped back, breaking the tension, her mask slipping back into place. "This conversation is over."
She turned sharply, her heels clicking as she stormed out of the room.
I let her go. For now.
But as the door shut behind her, my smile widened.
She could deny it all she wanted.
But Celestine Atira Dione was mine now.
And nothing—not her pride, not her anger, not even her hatred—would change that.
Because once the Black Fenrir marked something as his, there was no escape.