His men had searched endlessly—for weeks, across cities and borders.
But she had vanished without a trace…
Until one storm-drenched night—
"Boss… we found her."
A confidential folder slid into his hands. The cover read—
••••
Name: Seraphina Vale
Age: 23
Profession: Third-year medical student at Saint Mercy Hospital & University
Location: Viremont City
Personality: Graceful, intelligent, and soft-hearted — but with a quiet fire within. Always ready to help, even when afraid. She follows her moral compass more than rules.
Background: Comes from a humble family with strong values. Dreams of becoming a trauma surgeon. Has never been close to danger—until now.
••••
She was still alive. Still practicing. Still within reach.
Living quietly in a corner apartment near the hospital. Alone. No protection. No clue who watched her.
He stared at her photo longer than he meant to.
Her eyes… something about them twisted the steel in his chest.
He hated that.
He smirked, voice low and lethal:
"I'm going myself. No backup."— 'ordered, Lucien.
He didn't take his usual motorcade from Siviere—his empire, his city.
No guards. No sound. Just silence and vengeance.
A matte black Lamborghini whispered across the highways like a shadow with purpose.
He wore—White shirt, Black pant and that quiet aura before destruction.
Two blocks away, he parked.
He didn't want attention.
Didn't need it.
He climbed the fire escape like it was routine, like he'd done this before—instead of knocking the door. The window was cracked open—how careless of her.
He pushed it open fully.
The room was dim, warm with the scent of lavender.
She lay asleep, a book still clutched in her hand—Cardiothoracic Trauma Protocols.
Even in rest, she looked like she was trying to save someone.
His hood fell as he stepped inside—quiet as breath, dark as night.
He stood there, just watching her, shadows flickering across his sharp features.
Jaw tight. Muscles coiled.
Then came his voice—low, haunting, and too close:
"Hello again… Seraphina."
Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of low, rough breathing in the room. You rubbed your eyes, blinking rapidly, still unsure if you were dreaming. But then you saw him standing there—in all his dangerous calmness—half hidden by shadows leaking through your window.
He whispered, his voice like smoke curling into your soul—"Missed me?"
You couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
You were too shocked to even breathe.
Who are....you?!!—You spelled at shocked.
He stepped closer, slowly, almost reverently, eyes never leaving yours—like you were a memory he'd lost and had just found again.
His presence consumed the room.
He wasn't supposed to be here. Not like this. Not after all these weaks.
Yet, here he was—Alexander Volkov—dressed in black pant, white shirt half-shadowing his face, his eyes darker than sin. That familiar smirk ghosted his lips, unreadable yet magnetic.
You don't remember?!!—he smirk saying that.
He took another step.
You stayed frozen.
"You don't have to say anything. I get it."
He watched you carefully—studying the fear, the disbelief, the storm in your expression.Then he chuckled, low and bitter.
"You look exactly like before… just quieter."
You stepped back. Voice trembling, you said the only words you could form:
>"Aren't you that guy... from the hospital?!!"
His smirk widened, something dangerous flashing behind his cold gaze. He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, observing you like a puzzle he'd finally solved.
"That's cute. You really don't remember, do you?"
The shadows moved as he did.
"Yes, you are him… Are you okay now?" you whispered. "You are alright now…right?"
He gave a small nod with a little sharp smile.
"Thanks to you.'Young lady".
But his tone wasn't grateful—it was unfinished. Unspoken.
"I remember you," he said softly. "Even better now." Then he stepped closer again. This time, fast.
He stood up fully now, grabbing your wrist—not tightly, but with purpose.
"I've been missing you."
His voice dropped.
"And I won't waste this time."
You gasped. "Missing me? Why?"
His expression shifted—something raw flickering in his eyes. Something almost... vulnerable.
>"Because you were the only person who ever touched me without fear," he said. "The only one who looked at me like I wasn't a monster."
He stopped, suddenly serious.
"Even now, you're looking at me like I'm human."
"I had been searching for you..." he said, voice low and strained, "...the entire week."
She blinked.
>"I ordered all my men—every one of them—to search for you like maniacs. They turned the city upside down. For you."
Seraphina stepped back, stunned. "W-Why?" she asked. "Are you... are you hurt again? Do you need a doctor?"
A faint, cold laugh escaped his lips as he took a step closer. "Doctor? No, sweetheart..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't need treatment. I needed you."
Her breath hitched.
His gaze locked on hers—wild, obsessive, almost desperate.
"Sorry, what did you just say"?!!—you asked to conform again, just after what you heard.
Then you asked, "But why would you even search for me? I was just a medical student. I helped you… like anyone would have."
He stared at you, unblinking.
"That's the thing. No one else did."
His laugh was dry and short.
A hand ran through his disheveled hair.
"Doctors. Nurses. Guards. No one dared touch me. No one saw me."
He pulled out a black folder from his coat—your file.
>"Except you. I remembered that."
He placed it on your nightstand with care.
You felt your knees weaken.
"You did all this? Even tracked me down?" your voice cracked.
"I lost my cousin sister that day. I didn't expect I'd ever see you from there again."
His gaze softened. Just slightly.—"Family matters are important," he muttered.
"But now... I've found you."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a black credit card and a small paper.
"I'm not letting you go again."His voice was low, commanding.
"You saved me. Now, I'll save you."
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small matte black envelope, and handed it to her — a sleek black credit card resting on top.
Alexander: "Be my personal doctor, Miss."
I looked at him, stunned.
He tilted his head, his gaze unreadable.
Inside the envelope: a perfectly printed contract with one line highlighted — Exclusive Medical Contract: Dr. Seraphina Vale — Personal doctor to Alexander Volkov.
You backed away, shaking your head.
"Sorry... but I can't accept this. I don't even know what this is."