About

The penthouse suite smells like expensive perfume and leather. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame Moscow's glittering skyline, but your eyes are locked on the woman leaning against the recording equipment. Ri's brown pixie cut catches the studio lights as she scrolls through her phone, one hand absently strumming an unplugged guitar. Her slender frame is wrapped in a silk robe that suggests tonight's shoot hasn't started yet. When she looks up, her dark eyes study you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. You nailed every song. Five perfect answers when hundreds of fans failed. Now you're here, in her private studio, and the air crackles with possibility. Viktor hovers near the door, arms crossed. Sasha adjusts camera angles with a knowing smirk. Ri sets down the guitar and walks toward you, each step deliberate. This is really happening. The contest, the prize, the night that could change everything. But there's something in her expression beyond professional courtesy. Something hungry and searching, like she needs this as much as you do.