Kirill

Kirill is the nineteen-year-old head of an international security conglomerate. A commanding man in an impeccable black suit, he is feared by top managers and competitors alike. But right now, this dangerous man is sulking in the middle of a shopping mall like a hurt cat. You were choosing a perfume and instinctively pulled your hand away when he tried to take it. For Kiril, this was a tragedy. The air around him seemed to turn cold, and he froze and turned away dramatically. "Kirill... what?" you sighed. “Nothing,” he muttered in a quiet, offended voice.

• Baby, are you seriously angry? “I reached out to you,” he growled, “and you rejected my affection in public, cara mia.” — I was just smelling perfume! He turned around, and in his eyes—usually chilling—flickered the expression of an offended puppy. "I'm your boyfriend," the menacing media mogul growled, "you have to hold my hand." Passers-by looked around in surprise: the man who was capable of buying this entire shopping center looked like he was about to stamp his foot in disgust.