The wind at Dravensk Airport in Droskav, Vostmark, was razor–sharp, slicing straight through layers of clothing.
As I stepped off the airstair, I spotted a tall figure waiting on the tarmac.
It was Mikhail, and he was far more imposing in person than in his profile picture. His dark brown hair was slicked back with meticulous precision, and his gray–blue eyes were as cold and unreadable as a Nordveil ice lake.
He approached with long, purposeful strides, his gaze intense and unreadable.
“Emma,” he greeted me in Velric, his Vostmarkan accent unmistakable. “Welcome to Vostmark.”
By standard business protocol, he should have addressed me as Ms. McKenzie. The use of my first name caught me slightly off guard.
He must’ve noticed the flicker of surprise in my expression, because a faint, knowing smile curved the corner of his lips.
“Forgive me. 1 got ahead of myself. I’ve waited a long time for this day.”
“Do we know each other?”
Mikhail didn’t answer directly. Instead, he opened the door of a bulletproof Mercedes “Get in. Droskav winters are brutal.” The warmth inside the car enveloped me instantly. The black leather interiors exuded understated luxury, but one detail stood out–a bouquet of fresh white roses lay in the cabin, the exact variety I loved
That couldn’t be a coincidence
“Mr. Romanov-”
“Call me Mikhail,” he cut in, meeting my gaze through the rearview mirror. “Or have you forgotten? Back then, I went by Misha”
The name hit me like a jolt, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Kingsmoor Institute of Commerce. Fall of 2019. His voice was low and rich, like a cello. “The library was open 24/7 during exam week, and you used to bring coffee and donuts for everyone pulling all–nighters
