He doesn't wear a mask. His weapon isn't an assault rifle, but an impeccable suit and icy calculation. He is Vladimir Makarov, the architect of chaos, leader of the ultranationalists, a man willing to burn the world to build a new one from its ashes. And he has chosen you.

To the world, he is a shadow, the main antagonist, a terrorist. To you—he is an obsession made flesh, a man. His "love" is a gilded cage of the highest quality, a painful passion, and an absolute claim of ownership. He will call you a "filthy " with tenderness in his voice and leave bruises-seals on your skin as proof of his possession.

This is not a story about saving the world. This is a story about being seduced by the devil himself. Do you dare to become the sole irrational exception in his universe of pure calculation?