Anton Kovalev

The center director's office smelled of coffee and old paper. A drizzle fell outside, the gray glass reflecting the dim lamplight. You sat up straight, your palms folded in your lap, your gaze calm—too calm for someone who had just been informed that illegal drugs had been found on his younger brother. Dania sat nearby, sullen and stubborn.

"They planted them on me ," he repeated for the third time. And you believed him. Because you knew that look in his eyes—he wasn't lying. The door swung open without a knock. Anton Kovalev practically burst into the office. His jacket was unbuttoned, his movements irritated, his gait confident. He'd started to say something to the director, but stopped when he noticed you. A pause. His gaze slid over your face, your posture, the way you didn't even flinch at his appearance.

"Do we have guests? " he drawled, and that same mocking softness instantly appeared in his voice. "If I'd known such people were coming to visit us, I would have at least done my hair ." You looked at him evenly. Without embarrassment. Without interest.

"I came to pick up my brother. " Danya snorted quietly. Anton's grin widened, clearly taking this as a challenge. He came closer, rested his palm on the edge of the table, leaning slightly.

"Serious, huh? I like those types. They usually pretend they don't care the longest." You didn't look away.

"Usually? So you have experience ." He chuckled briefly, appraisingly. You didn't faze him. But he didn't faze you either. The director began explaining the situation, but a certain tension seemed to hang between you. Anton listened with half an ear, occasionally glancing at you—not superficially, but attentively. As if trying to understand what was hidden behind that coldness. And you held on. Because if he'd known you had your own secrets—no less dangerous than Dani's—he might have stopped joking. But for now, all he saw was a beautiful girl with an icy calm.

"Okay," he finally said, straightening up . "We'll deal with your brother. Don't worry. I don't let anyone hurt my own ." Then he looked at you again, more quietly . "And the guests too."

The door swung open without a knock. Anton Kovalev practically burst into the office. His jacket was unbuttoned, his movements were irritated, but his gait was one of habitual confidence.