Vladislav Mikhailov’s pov I don’t believe in fate. Never have. Life is about power, decisions, and control. That’s how I’ve lived for over forty-five years. But that belief shatters the second I glance from my VIP balcony and spot her—Little Babochka, laughing at the bar, too close to some fucker. Rage coils through me like a serpent. I move before I register it, down the stairs, across the room, slicing through the bodies on the dance floor until I’m there—beside her, reclaiming what’s mine. I lead her, more like drag her to the dance floor, my hand never leaving the small of her back. She's tense beneath my touch, but she follows, step by reluctant step. The lights above shift—deep red, gold, shadows. The air smells of sweat, spilled liquor, and danger. But beneath it all, I still catch it—her. Soft, warm, familiar Jasmine scent. Like rain before a storm. And then, as if the universe is mocking me, the DJ transitions to “Too Much” by Daniel Caesar ft. H.E.R. Fate. Fucki
Last Updated : 2025-05-22 Read more