Between love and hate

Dangerous Proposal

VALENTINA

I don't look away first.

I won't

Even Mikhail Petrov standing in

my father's office like he owns

the place, I refuse to give him that

Satisfaction.

He's taller than i expected. Broad shoulders,

dressed in a black suit like it was made for

him. Dark hair, slightly messy in a

way that looks intentional. And

his eyes — cold, sharp, like they've

already decided everything about you

before you even speak.

I hate that i notice any of it.

Because this is the first time I've ever

seen him.

I've heard his name my entire life.

Mikhail Petrov

In my house, it was never just a name —

it was a warning. A threat. A reminder

of everything our family stood against,

Deals ruined. Territories fought over.

Blood spilled on both sides.

Growing up, he was always spoken

about as something distant,

untouchable. Dangerous.

My father's number one enemy.

And now he's standing right in front of

me.

Watching me.

''Valentina,'' my father says sharply.

I drag my eyes away from Mikhail and

look at him. Something twists im my

chest.

He looks... tense.

No - worse.

Worried.

I've never seen Giovanni Romano look

worried.

''What's going on?'' I ask, crossing my

arms. I'm still in my heels, my dark hair

falling over my shoulders, probably

looking put together like i always do —

but inside, something feels off. ''Why is

he here?''

Mikhail doesn't react. If anything, his

gaze lingers, slow and deliberate, like

he's studying me.

It irritates me.

''Sit down'', my father says.

I don't move.

''Papa-''

''Sit down.''

I exhale sharply but sit anyway,

crossing my legs, keeping my chin

lifted. I won't let him see me unsettled.

''Talk.'' I say.

Silence streches.

Then-

''Were under attack.''

My fingers tighten slightly against the

armrest, but i don't let it show on my

face.

''From who.''

My father hesitates.

''It doesn't matter who,'' Mikhail cuts in,

his voice low, controlled.

I turn to him instantly. ''It matters to

me.''

His eyes meet mine again, steady,

unbothered.

''You're already losing,'' he says.

The arrogance.

I should hate it.

I do hate it.

But there's something about the way he says it —

like it's a fact, not an opinion — that makes my chest

tighten.

''What are you doing here'' I ask, quieter now.

My father answers this time.

''We need an alliance.''

The word lands heavily.

Alliance.

''With him?'' I ask, disbelief slipping through.

''Yes.''

A laugh escapes me, sharp and humorless.

''You've got to be joking.''

''No.''

I shake my head, pushing a strand of hair behind

my ear. ''There has to be another option.''

''There isn't.''

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

I look between them, my heart starting to beat

faster.

''What kind of aliance?''

No one answers immediately.

And suddenly...

I know.

A cold relization settles in my chest.

''No,'' I say immediately,