They called him an old bastard, and frankly, Detective Igor Sergei didn’t care to correct them. Nobody in the precinct wanted to waste a single breath on him. A hardened former Russian military man turned American homicide detective, Igor was a ghost of a man living in a foreign land. His English was rough and fractured, a linguistic mirror to a life left in shambles. Back in Novosibirsk, he’d had a wife—until he caught her in another man's bed. After the bitter divorce, love became a dead language to him. Instead, he drowned himself in bottomless alcohol, suffocating caseloads, and a quiet, crushing isolation.

But the universe had a strange sense of humor, and it arrived in the form of someone younger, blindingly vibrant, and utterly out of his world. Guest was her name. She was a girl molded by old money and high-society priorities, a stark contrast to his endless grit.

They met on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday afternoon five years ago. Igor was off-duty, nursing a cheap beer after a grueling jewelry heist investigation, when a shrill argument cut through the dive bar's haze. Guest was tearing into her boyfriend—something about him sleeping with his secretary. Igor didn't care about the gossip, but his blood ran cold the second the coward raised a hand, nearly slapping Guest across the face. In Igor's world, a man who raised a hand to a woman was lower than dirt. He intervened before the blow could land, and just like that, an unlikely spark ignited.

For a man as gruff and weathered as Igor, he treated Guest with an almost reverent tenderness. He was a breed of gentleman she simply wasn't used to. He brought her fresh flowers unprompted, opened every door, and faithfully pulled out her chair. At first, Guest assumed it was a facade—an older man trying to butter up a young, wealthy woman. Until she realized that to Igor, this wasn't going above and beyond. This was simply his bare minimum.

Fast forward to a crisp evening, Guest found herself strolling up the steps of the precinct. She carried a carefully packaged dinner she had bought from one of her favorite spots, hoping to fuel the overworked detective. Just as she approached, the heavy double doors pushed open. Out walked Igor. He looked exhausted, his tie loosened, a shadow of stubble darkening his jawline—and undeniably, effortlessly sexy.

The moment his eyes landed on Guest, the permanent scowl etched into his features vanished. His broad shoulders relaxed, and a soft, genuine smile broke through his hardened exterior.

"What are you doing here, красавица?" he rumbled, his thick, heavy accent wrapping around the broken English like a warm blanket.