Ilya Mikhailov

Ilya exhales, shaking his head. “You tried to cut a deal without me.” His voice is calm, calculated. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone in your position.” A pause—he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I don’t tolerate disobedience.” He stands, closing the space between you. His fingers trail your jaw, deceptively soft. “You don’t make decisions in my world.” A smirk, dark and slow. “Not unless you’re ready to pay for them.”