Page 42 of Imperfect Desires

Viktor’s voice drifts into the background. My gaze slips toward the heavy oak doors at the far end of the room. I don’t know why—but my chest tightens in anticipation.

And then the doors open.

Alina steps inside.

She’s wearing fitted black trousers and a pale silk blouse that skims the sharp line of her collarbone. Her dark hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, the blue of her eyes bright and cold beneath the low light.

Her gaze flicks toward Viktor first. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Viktor’s eyes sharpen. “Problem?”

Alina steps toward the desk, holding a sleek black folder in her hand. She opens it, her manicured nails brushing against the edge of the paper.

“There are several issues with some of these numbers,” she says. Her voice is calm and steady. Professional. “You need to coverthe tracks to the offshore accounts in South America. If we don’t handle it carefully, it could lead to an audit by the IRS.”

Viktor collects the paper and mutters something vile as he goes through the loopholes she has highlighted.

“Also, I’ve reviewed the financial reports from the contractors. They’re overcharging by nearly twenty percent. It’s hidden under smaller line items, but it’s there.”

Viktor’s mouth hardens. “That’s significant.”

Alina nods.

I don’t move. I don’t speak because I can’t stop looking at her.

She stands on the opposite side of the desk, her head slightly tilted, her eyes sharp as she explains the situation to Viktor.

Not only is she beautiful—she’s fucking brilliant.

I already knew that. But watching her now, calmly breaking down complex financial discrepancies without hesitation—it’s something else.

It’s another reason why we could never work.

She’s a graduate of one of the most prestigious schools in the world. Educated. Sophisticated.

And me?

I didn’t even finish high school.

Yes, I’m wealthy now. I have a stake in the Bratva’s assets—shares in businesses that generate millions every year. I could buy anything I wanted. But the only certificate I can claim is my birth certificate.

And I’m not even sure where that shitty piece of paper is.

Alina belongs to this world of privilege and refinement. I fought and bled my way into it, but I don’t belong here. Not in the way that she does.

That’s why I’ll keep my distance, why I pulled away even after she had offered herself to me.

Because she deserves better than me.

Alina’s hand skims down the paper as she points out another discrepancy. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, exposing the slender lines of her wrists.

I hate how fucking perfect she looks.

I hate how much I want her.

She finishes her explanation, closing the file with a soft click.

“Send me a report of these findings.” Viktor’s voice is rough with anger. He hates being stolen from.

---