Chapter 3 — Forbidden Flame

The large meeting room at Rurik Motors exuded power. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a privileged view of Moscow, while the dark wooden oval table dominated the center of the room. The black leather chairs, the discreet shine of the metal details, and the absence of any decorative excess revealed the high level of demand within those walls.

Susan felt the weight of the environment as soon as she walked through the door.

She took a deep breath, adjusted her glasses with a discreet gesture, and clutched the clipboard against her chest. Her first day was already starting with a meeting involving the company’s top minds. And Dmitry Rurik.

She had never seen him in person, but everyone knew who he was. The man behind the empire. A name that carried authority and mystery as easily as he wore his expensive suits.

She walked to her assigned seat, aware of the eyes following her. She was used to attention — sometimes curious, sometimes judgmental. But in that room, she hoped they would look beyond her body and see her competence. That was what mattered.

A few minutes later, the double doors opened. And the air changed.

Dmitry entered.

It was as if the room contracted around him, bending to the presence that dominated without effort. Tall, broad shoulders supporting an impeccable dark suit, white hair contrasting with his pale skin and his eyes… his eyes were a sentence.

Blue. Intense. Penetrating.

Susan held her breath without realizing it when he walked behind her chair. The woody, enveloping, masculine scent invaded her space, awakening something she couldn’t name.

And then, he looked at her.

For an instant, it was just that: eyes locked on eyes.

But it was enough.

Dmitry stopped. The next step was delayed by a fraction of a second. Internally, the Lycan shuddered.

That scent.

Sweet and warm. Natural. No perfume could mask it. It was her.

His gaze plunged into her like a precise blade, cutting the surface and going deep — deeper than it should. He observed the red hair neatly pinned up, the lenses of her glasses framing her attentive green eyes. The soft freckles, the fair skin… And then, for a second, his gaze drifted downward, capturing the curves outlined beneath her fitted blazer.

The Beast rose.

The Lycan, restrained for years by discipline and rituals of self-control, now thrashed inside him. Like a chained animal that, upon recognizing the scent of its female, demands freedom. Demands possession.

Dmitry looked away with effort.

“Let’s begin,” his voice came out deep, lower than usual.

The meeting started, but he wasn’t listening.

The marketing director’s voice became an indistinct buzz while her scent filled his senses, more vivid with every breath. It was as if the entire world had disappeared, leaving only her in that room — and him, fighting against himself.

“She is different.”

The Lycan whispered, growled, impatient.

“She is ours. Now. Claim her.”

Dmitry kept his jaw clenched. His hands rested motionless on the table, but his senses were on edge. The beast wanted to pounce. It wanted to touch her. Taste her. Mark every inch of that delicate skin with his teeth, with his essence.

“No.”

But it was a weak denial. Unstable.

His eyes returned to her again. Susan didn’t notice immediately; she was taking notes, her brow slightly furrowed. And Dmitry devoured her with his gaze.

Curiosity. Desire. Instinct.

“Susan.” His voice cut through the room like a blade.

She lifted her face, surprised to be called. Her name in his mouth sounded too personal. Intimate.

“Yes, sir?”

He leaned forward slightly, without taking his eyes off her.

“You worked at Semyon Motors, correct?”

“Yes.” She answered firmly, even as her heart raced. “I was a publicity assistant for three years.”

Dmitry nodded slowly. His tone was neutral, but his eyes… His eyes were screaming.

“And what do you think of our marketing approach?”

The question caught the room off guard. The marketing director fell silent, unsure whether to continue. But Dmitry paid him no attention. All his energy was directed at Susan.

She moistened her lips, aware of every gaze, but even more aware of his.

“The campaign was well executed, the numbers prove it,” she began cautiously. “But I believe the visual communication could be bolder. Especially on social media. Younger audiences are looking for something less institutional, more emotional.”

Dmitry listened to her in silence, every word entering him like a direct command to his skin.

“Do you believe we should be more… accessible?”

“Accessible isn’t the right word,” she held his gaze. “But authentic. A strong brand needs to create emotional connections. It’s not enough to sell. You have to make people feel.”

The Lycan vibrated inside him.

“She understands. She sees beyond.”

For a moment, he was no longer Dmitry, the cold and calculating CEO. He was just a predator enchanted by the scent of his female.

He smiled. Just a faint trace at the corner of his mouth, but it made his sculpted face look more dangerous. Intrigued. Fascinated.

“We’ll talk more about this later,” he said, his voice lower than necessary.

Susan nodded. But her heart beat faster, as if she already knew that “later” would not be just a professional conversation.

The meeting continued, but for Dmitry, nothing else made sense. Everything was noise. Everything was anticipation.

That woman had entered his life with a presence that challenged reason, status, and even the damned curse he carried in his blood.

And now, the Lycan inside him no longer wanted just to observe her.

It wanted to mark her.

And he, no matter how much he tried to deny it, wanted it too.

***

When she received the news that she had been hired, Susan jumped for joy in the hallway of the small apartment she shared with her friends. But now, standing before him, the euphoria gave way to something more uncomfortable. A subtle apprehension, difficult to name, but impossible to ignore. She was drawing attention. More than she intended. And that wasn’t exactly good. Not in front of a Lycan, considering what she was.

The meeting room gradually emptied. The scraping of chairs and rustling of papers filled the space with brief, almost hurried sounds. Dmitry remained seated at the head of the glass table, posture impeccable, gaze fixed. His long fingers slid slowly over the arm of the leather chair. His blue eyes, as cold as the city beyond the windows, followed Susan’s movements with undue attention.

She gathered her notebook, adjusted her glasses with a distracted gesture, and tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. The room’s light highlighted the coppery reflections in her hair, the contrast with her fair skin and delicate freckles. But it wasn’t just that.

It wasn’t just her appearance.

It was something more. Something that bothered him for being… familiar.

“Miss Grigorieva, stay a moment longer.” His voice echoed firmly. There was no kindness, but it didn’t sound rude either.

Susan stopped, surprised, her hand still on the notebook. She straightened her posture, not hiding the hesitation that crossed her eyes.

“Of course, Mr. Rurik.”

Some employees exchanged glances before leaving, as if they sensed something strange in the air. When the door finally closed and silence fell over the room, Dmitry rose calmly. His hands went into the pockets of his dark pants as he walked toward the large window.

The lights of Moscow blinked outside, indifferent to the unrest growing inside him.

He could feel her.

Her scent.

Her accelerated pulse.

The contained tension in every muscle.

Susan remained standing near the chair where she had been, holding the notebook against her body as if it were a shield. Her attempt to maintain a professional posture was evident. Admirable. Almost touching.

“About the campaign,” Dmitry began, without turning around. His voice was controlled, neutral. “You brought interesting observations today. I’d like to hear more… understand your vision clearly.”

“Liar.” The Lycan’s voice sounded low, ironic, dragging through his mind like smoke. “You just want to see if she feels it. If the connection is real. Admit it, you want her to react.”

He ignored it. Or tried to.

He turned slowly, and his gaze met hers.

Susan didn’t retreat. There was fear, yes, but also determination.

“I believe Rurik Motors has a strong identity based on tradition and excellence, Mr. Rurik,” she began, with more firmness than he expected. “But I see room to explore the emotion behind it. The experience of driving a Rurik car… the freedom, the power. It’s not just about the product. It’s about how it makes the person feel.”

“She sees more than appearances. More than status.” The Lycan whispered. “She understands.”

Dmitry approached slowly. Just one step. Small enough not to seem like a threat. Slow enough to observe the impact. And he saw it: her fingers tightened harder on the notebook, her chest rose with a contained breath, and her eyes wavered for a moment before meeting his again.

“Emotion, then,” he repeated. The word sounded strange in his mouth. “And how do you suggest we convey that?”

“Narrative campaigns,” she answered, with a slight sparkle in her eyes. “Stories that show real people living unforgettable moments with the cars. Not just beautiful images and impactful phrases. But connections. Experiences. Truth.”

Dmitry observed her in silence for a few seconds. And, for the first time in years, he felt his control slipping. Not completely, but enough to disturb him.

She didn’t bow. She didn’t tremble. And even though she was nervous, she didn’t look at him like a monster or like a man to be flattered.

“She is different,” the Lycan murmured, almost in reverence. “She is ours.”

Dmitry’s breathing grew heavier. He inhaled deeply, seeking stability. No. It couldn’t be. Not so soon. Not with her.

“This proposal will be evaluated,” he said at last. His voice firm, back to the professional tone. But there was a shadow in his eyes. A blind spot growing in the center of reason.

Susan frowned, perhaps noticing the sudden change.

“Mr. Rurik…?”

He blinked, looking away for a moment.

“Dmitry,” he corrected, without thinking.

She widened her eyes slightly.

“Pardon?”

“When we’re discussing ideas… call me by my name,” he looked at her again. “No need for formalities in here.”

Susan hesitated.

“Alright… Dmitry.”

There was a tense silence after that. The way his name left her lips… It was wrong. Dangerous. Because now, it wasn’t just the scent, nor the sound of her voice, or the firmness in her arguments.

It was her.

And the instinct was starting to scream, even if he refused to listen.