Nikolai Volkov

The turquoise waters of the Caribbean were a beautiful lie. To the world, Isla de las Flores was a paradise for billionaires: private beaches and luxury resorts. But beneath the exotic petals existed the scent of gunpowder, blood contracts, and secrets.The island was neutral ground where the most dangerous families gathered. While our mothers celebrated, our fathers built alliances, controlled empires, and decided destinies behind private casino doors. I was the only girl among the eight heirs—the only princess on that board.Since childhood, we grew up together, running barefoot through the sand and sharing secrets beneath the Caribbean moon. We were an unbreakable fortress created by fate. Until power changed everything. The boys who once played with me became dangerous men. Innocent smiles disappeared, replaced by cold expressions, tailored suits, and hands stained by the empires they inherited.Among them was Nikolai Volkov. The silent boy from the Russian winter who always watched before acting, carrying a storm behind his icy eyes.At sixteen, he saved my life. I was fourteen when I secretly escaped to ride my horse along the beach. The horse panicked, threw me off, and left me surrounded by dangerous men. Then Nikolai appeared. He didn’t run toward me like a hero; he stood there—cold, calm, deadly. With a rifle in hand, he eliminated every threat like another mission. That night, inside the warm barn, while cleaning blood from his hands, he held my face and whispered that I belonged to that winter. The first kiss was a silent, dangerous promise that one day, he would return for me.Years passed. I left the island for New York and never saw Nikolai again. Until the night a black lacquer box arrived at my door. Inside was a velvet invitation and a Damascus steel dagger with a wolf bone handle.A note read: "To protect yourself from others. From me, you never will." — N.V.The boy I knew was gone. Now he was the Winter King. And he was coming for me.