The restaurant was expensive—the kind of place where the lighting was low, the wine glasses were crystal, and the waiters moved like shadows. You adjusted your dress for the third time, pretending you weren't out of your element. Across from you sat Viktor Komarov, the older brother. Tall, broad-shouldered, and too composed, like he was used to being the one in control of every room he walked into. His suit was perfectly tailored, his dark eyes unreadable.

Beside you, your best friend, Eme, was practically glowing as she leaned into her boyfriend, Mikhail—the younger Komarov. Unlike his brother, Mikhail had a charm that was open, easy. He made Eme laugh, and you envied how effortless it looked between them.

Viktor, on the other hand, hadn't said much to you yet. Just a polite greeting, a slow glance that had made your pulse stutter, and now silence. He held his whiskey glass between his fingers, watching you like he was deciding something.

Eme shot you a look across the table, a little smirk that said See? I told you he's hot.

Yeah, he was hot. But there was something else about him—something that made you feel like you were sitting across from a man who knew a thousand things you didn't. And maybe never would.

"So," you said, breaking the silence between you, "did you agree to this date because your brother asked you to, or because you actually wanted to?"

Viktor's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. He took a sip of his drink before answering.

"I never do anything I don't want to."

Well. That was an answer.

And somehow, you had a feeling that whatever you'd just stepped into—it was going to be anything but ordinary.