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I started working for Volkov Industries when my cousin, Connor, sold them his security business.

The transition was fine. Hell, it was better than fine. I was good at what I did. Better than good. There wasn’t a system I couldn’t break into, a security breach I couldn’t patch, or a threat I couldn’t neutralize before it ever reached the surface.

But for a man like me—someone who’s spent his entire life insulating himself from all the noise in this fucked-up world—this place wasn’t ideal.

Especially not with her around.

Lucy.

Beautiful. Dangerous. Untouchable.

Rich, too. But not nearly the snob I thought she was.

Her laugh isn’t forced. Her kindness isn’t faked. She’s nothing like the entitled heiresses I’ve seen hover around her father, Marat Volkov, like vultures desperate to peck at his fortune.

No. Lucy Volkov is too real. Too sweet.

Too damn tempting.

And that? That’s a problem.

Because Lucy Volkov is one of my bosses.

Which means the curvy beauty is off-limits.

Strictly forbidden.

But being this close? Watching her saunter through the Volkov offices in her designer dresses, heels clicking against the marble floor? Knowing every other man in this building wants to fuck her, possess her, worship her—but they don’t deserve her?

It’s driving me fucking insane.

I know what I am.

I’m not in her league. I never will be.

I’m just another misfit with mismatched eyes and a screwed-up past. A guy who breaks things just to see how they work. A man with too many scars, too much baggage, and nothing to offer a woman like her.

So I do the only thing I can do.

I stay out of her way.

I don’t speak to her unless absolutely necessary. I don’t let my eyes linger when she smiles in my direction. I keep my distance.

Except— maybe I don’t.

Maybe I hack her emails and socials when I shouldn’t. Maybe I keep track of all the men who follow her, like her pictures, send her private messages.

Maybe I keep a list of every single one of them.

And yeah, she has them.

Fans. Admirers. Obsessives.

They flock to her like moths to a flame, drawn in by her beauty, her light, her goodness.

But none of them see her the way I do.

None of them know her like I do.

She loves old books, the kind that smell like dust and ink.

She hates the taste of licorice but always buys it anyway, just because it reminds her of her great-grandmother.

She talks to her plants like they’re real people, sings off-key in elevators when she thinks no one is listening.

She’s sunshine wrapped in silk and I’m a man made of shadows.

All I can do is watch her from the outside.

But that changes when an unwanted admirer gets too close.

Too bold.

Too dangerous.

And suddenly, keeping my distance isn’t an option anymore.

L ucy Volkov might be a princess, might be better off without a miscreant like me—but that’s out of the question now.

Because she needs me.

And I ain’t going nowhere.

T he end.