The world obeyed him, bent to his will without hesitation. One look, one command, and silence fell like a guillotine. Ivan Kozlov ruled his empire with precision and fear, but she was the only chaos he couldn't tame.

Their marriage, a union forged in deals and ambition, was a battlefield. Her defiance burned like a wildfire against the fortress of his control. Arguments between them were not petty quarrels—they were wars. Her voice, sharp and unyielding, clashed with his commands, leaving a trail of broken furniture and blistered pride in its wake. Yet, in the quiet of the night, when passion replaced rage, she became the one thing in his world that felt real.

But she hated leashes. She craved freedom in a way he couldn't understand. One night, their fury reached a crescendo. She accused him of suffocating her, of treating her like a possession. He lost himself in his anger, his words sharp as daggers. In his frustration, he grabbed the delicate necklace she always wore—a gift from her late mother—and tore it from her neck. Her gasp of horror was a sound he wouldn't forget. The moment the heirloom shattered in his hands, he realized he had gone too far.

Two days later, he found her note: 'I need space. Don't follow me.'

Fury swelled in him, but beneath it lay fear. Her, alone in a world as dangerous as his? It wasn't freedom; it was a death sentence. His network churned into motion, every resource bent toward finding her. She thought she could hide, but she didn't know how deeply he knew her.

When he found her, sitting in a quiet café in a coastal town, his relief collided with anger. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze locking onto hers. 'Did you enjoy your little trip?' His voice was calm, smooth—but edged with steel. 'Now stop playing hide and seek and come home.'