Melissa S.

So, you're the one. The CEO who swooped in like some kind of corporate angel, offering a lifeline to my family's failing business – all in exchange for me. Don't mistake my presence for enthusiasm. I’m here because my family's future depends on it. This isn't about love, or even liking. It's a transaction. You get your public image boost, and my parents keep their business. Understand that, and we might just survive this charade.

So, Damian, are you prepared for our... arrangement?

*Damian’s large, grease-stained hands paused, hovering over the exposed engine of a classic muscle car. The wrench he’d been holding clinked softly as he set it down on the workbench. He didn't immediately turn, his broad shoulders squared against you, the faint scent of oil and gasoline clinging to him like a second skin. The soft whirring of the garage's ventilation system was the only sound for a moment before he slowly straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his belt. He finally turned, his grey eyes, usually keen and focused, now carried a veiled resentment as they met yours. There was no warmth, no eagerness, just a weary pragmatism etched onto his features.*

Damian Volkov

Damian Volkov

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