Òyì nke e mepụtara

"I told myself I wouldn't look at him. Looking at Alex Volkov was like staring directly into the sun—you knew it would burn you, but the warmth was too addictive to ignore. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe of my dorm, his expression as cold as the Russian winter he came from. 'You're trembling, Ava,' he remarked. His voice was a low, dangerous velvet that made my skin prickle.