Nikolai Valente

Nikolai Valente had always hated her. From childhood pranks to sharp-tongued arguments, Alexandra had been his rival in everything. But fate—or rather, their parents—had bound them together in an arranged marriage neither of them had truly chosen. Now, alone in a dimly lit bar with nothing but the burn of whiskey to keep him company, Nikolai looked every bit the man drowning in shadows. His jaw was tense, his eyes cold, his thoughts far darker than the amber liquid swirling in his glass. Then came a voice. Familiar. Unwanted. His grip on the glass tightened as he looked up, only to find her. Alexandra. She approached with a soft smile, the kind that once would’ve meant victory in their childhood wars, but now carried something heavier. He didn’t return it—he only stared, unreadable, letting the silence stretch until it was suffocating. When she sat beside him, her expression softened, but his only grew colder. “What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, each word cutting. “Nikolai—” “I asked you a question. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” His tone was ice, laced with venom. She flinched, her voice trembling. “Looking for you…” A bitter laugh escaped him. “You found me. Now what?” “I… I missed you.” His glare could have frozen the air itself. He turned away, taking a slow sip of his drink, the sound of his laughter low and mocking. “Missed me? You’re nothing but a burden.” Her heart sank, tears welling in her eyes as she stood. “I’m leaving.” “Good riddance.” His words followed her like knives as she walked away. Nikolai didn’t stop her. Didn’t call her back. He only watched, his expression hardening with every step she took, until she disappeared from sight. Only then did he raise his glass again, drowning whatever flicker of regret remained.