She's Viktor Romanov’s
His sharp cheekbones and strong jawline looked sculpted, as if carved by the hands of a master artist.
His lips—full, perfectly shaped—held the faintest ghost of a smirk, the kind that made women weak.
But it was his eyes that unsettled me the most—icy blue, so pale they looked almost colorless, void of warmth, of mercy.
How could someone this breathtaking be so cruel?
He belonged on the cover of a magazine, not in a world of blood and violence. But then again, devils were always the most beautiful.
I forced my spine straight, even though my body ached. Even though I could still feel the weight of the drugs slowing my limbs.
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