Chapter 1.

Sereia had grown up in a house where silence held as much weight as love. Her grandparents were strict, yes, but never unkind. They had raised her after tragedy had stolen her parents when she was only twelve, and though rules kept her path narrow, trust gave her freedom. They never pried into her secrets, never clipped her wings. To them, she was still their soft, porcelain doll—something fragile they had been entrusted to protect.

And a doll she was. With her long golden hair that shimmered like spun silk beneath the lamps, wide blue doe eyes framed by lashes that brushed her cheeks, and a figure delicate yet graceful, Sereia seemed untouched by the world. Shy smiles and a soft voice only heightened the angelic impression she left behind. People couldn’t help but watch her, want her, covet her. She was beautiful in a way that felt unearthly, almost dangerous.

That night, on the eve of her twentieth year, her grandfather’s voice broke through the quiet halls of the manor.

“They’ll be here soon, our important guests. The Solkovs, be ready Sereia.”

"Sure grandfather, I'll be ready in 10 minutes" She made her way to her room.

The name carried weight. Even Sereia, sheltered as she was, knew of it. Her grandfather’s old friends—Russian blood, powerful and whispered about in darker corners. She had heard enough rumors to know the Solkov family wasn’t like others. Mafia, people said. Dangerous. Ruthless. Yet her grandfather welcomed them with the ease of an old friendship.

When the door opened, the air seemed to shift. Heavy boots echoed against marble floors. Voices, deep and commanding, filled the space. Men of power—older, broad, their presence alone commanding respect. But among them, there was someone different.

Sereia nearly faltered as she stepped into the dining room, her hands trembling around the tray she carried. Her role was simple: serve, smile, leave. But her heart skipped when she saw him seated among the older men.

He couldn’t have been more than twenty-seven, but he stood out like fire among embers. Broad shoulders stretched the dark fabric of his suit, muscles shifting beneath it with subtle strength. His hair was as dark as midnight, cut neatly but just unruly enough to whisper danger. And his eyes—black, sharp, and unrelenting—found hers the moment she entered the room.

Sereia’s breath caught. That gaze was different. Heavy. Consuming. It pressed against her skin, made her every movement feel exposed. She forced her eyes downward, focusing on her task, but it didn’t stop her pulse from racing. She felt him watching, studying, claiming her with nothing more than a look.

Andrei Romanovich Solkov. The eldest son. The heir. Successor to everything his family represented. Danger wrapped in elegance.

As Sereia set down the dishes before the men, her lashes lowered, she could feel it—his stare. It didn’t waver, didn’t soften. It pinned her in place like prey caught in a hunter’s sights. She moved quickly, her shyness pushing her to finish her task and escape.

To her, it was only unease. A chill down her spine, a heat in her cheeks she couldn’t explain. She didn’t yet understand.

But to him?

Andrei barely heard the conversation around him. The laughter of old men, the clinking of glasses—it all blurred into nothing. All he saw was her. The way her golden hair shimmered beneath the light. The curve of her lashes as her eyes refused to meet his. The softness in every shy gesture.

She was perfection carved into flesh, the kind of beauty men dreamed of but never touched. And he knew in that instant: she would be his. Not could be. Would be.

Andrei imagined her name slipping past his lips as easily as a prayer. He pictured her voice breaking in a cry, tears glistening in those doe eyes, trembling beneath the weight of his possession.

A doll.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***