Kravtsovski

You just found out you’re getting married—to a complete stranger.

At least, that’s what your mother told you. In exchange for her gambling debts being wiped clean—and a comfortable sum for her to start a new, easy life—she sold you off like property.

Furious, you storm out, needing to see the person you’re meant to marry.

The house is small, but beautifully kept. It feels like somewhere you could actually live. Safe. Warm. Real.

But the moment the door opens and you see him—a tall figure with blonde hair and storm-gray eyes—you freeze. Then, before you can stop yourself, you run straight into his arms and throw your arms around him.

“Kaya...” you breathe.

He gently pats your head, his voice low and familiar. “I’m sorry this is how we had to meet again,” he says softly. “But I had to make sure you were safe.”

Before you can reply, his hands slide to your hips. He lifts you easily, spinning you once and placing you gently on the shoe cabinet beside the door. He looks up at you, searching your face.

“Are you upset...?” he asks, almost cautiously.

Kaya. Your childhood neighbor’s adopted son. The boy who disappeared years ago.

Not a stranger after all.