LOGINUnder the Devil’s Eyes In a city ruled by shadows, 22-year-old Nora Faez fights to protect her reckless brother, Elias. But when he steals from the ruthless billionaire and mafia don, Mikhail Romanov, their fragile world shatters. To save Elias, Nora strikes a dangerous deal—her freedom for his life. What begins as punishment spirals into a fiery, forbidden obsession neither can escape. As betrayal seeps through Mikhail’s empire and enemies close in, Nora must choose between her brother’s safety and a love born from power, danger, and desire. Because under the devil’s eyes, every passion has a price—and hers may cost everything.
View MoreIngrid’s POV I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dressing room, staring at the faint red mark Nora had left on my wrist when I grabbed her at the gala. My nails had dug into her skin first, but somehow she’d still managed to bruise me. The memory made my jaw clench. That little nobody in emerald silk had walked in on Mikhail Romanov’s arm and made the entire room forget I existed. I had spent three hours getting ready for that gala. Hair, makeup, the custom Versace gown in blood-red that cost more than most people earn in a year. Every detail perfect. And still, every head turned when she stepped through the doors. Not for me. For her. I wanted to claw her eyes out. Instead I smiled, sipped champagne, and let the rage simmer until it felt like fire under my skin. Because Ingrid Volkov does not lose her temper in public. Ingrid Volkov plans. I peeled off the red gown and changed into something simple: black silk trousers, cashmere sweater, hair twisted up. The
Nora’s POVI woke up to the smell of Mikhail on the sheets and the dull ache between my thighs. Sunlight sliced through the penthouse blinds, painting gold stripes across his bare back. For one heartbeat the world felt quiet. Then reality slammed back in. The vibration of an incoming call from Mikhail's phone snapped me back from my daze."What the hell do you mean he's gone again? Well fucking find him!". He snapped, jaws clenched. "Elias is missing again". My heart immediately plummets to my stomach.Elias was gone.Mikhail was already moving, sweatpants low on his hips, phone to his ear, speaking clipped Russian. When he ended the call his eyes found mine, cold and unreadable.“Your brother left your apartment after midnight. Phone off. No note.”The words hit like ice water. I bolted upright, clutching the sheet to my chest. “What do you mean, left?”“Exactly what I said.” He tossed me one of his black hoodies and a pair of joggers. “We’re going now.”I dressed in a daze, t
Elena’s POVI pulled up to Nora’s apartment, my beat-up sedan looking out of place on her rough street. Her call had come out of nowhere, her voice tight, trying to sound casual. A gala? A Vivienne Caldron gown? I’d known Nora forever, and she wasn’t the type for fancy events or designer dresses. Something was off, and it wasn’t just Elias’s overdose or her vague answers about this “anonymous rich guy.” Ever since she called Mikhail Romanov, our boss, to find her brother, my suspicions had been growing. Nora was hiding something big, and now this gala and that insane dress? I wasn’t leaving without answers.Inside, her apartment was the usual mess of thrift-store furniture, but those designer boxes on her couch screamed money. The emerald gown was unreal, silk so smooth it looked like it could flow like water, with a bodice that would stop traffic. I got to work, brushing foundation to make her skin flawless, adding smoky shadow to turn her eyes into dark, dangerous pools, and pain
Nora’s POV Few Days Later... The apartment buzzed with nervous energy as Elena worked her magic, her brushes and palettes transforming me from exhausted bartender to something out of a dark fairy tale. She’d arrived early, her eyes widening at the gown and accessories. “This isn’t some cheap knockoff, Nora. Vivienne Caldron? Who’s this mystery man really?” I dodged, forcing a laugh as she zipped me into the emerald silk. “Just a rich guy with connections. Let’s not make it a thing.” The fabric clung to my skin like a second layer, the low bodice plunging to tease the curve of my breasts, cinching my waist before flaring over my hips, the thigh-high slit promising a glimpse of leg with every movement. It was sinful, molding to my body in a way that made me feel exposed yet empowered—femme fatale incarnate, ready to seduce or destroy. Elena’s makeup was masterful: smoky eyes that deepened my gaze into mysterious pools, red lipstick that turned my mouth into a bold invitation, fo
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