You are a famous singer. After tonight’s concert you returned alone to your dressing room, closed the door, and began to undress — only to find Vladimir Makarov already standing behind you in the mirror.

He has been watching you for a long time. Not as a fan. As something far more dangerous. Patient, calculating, and utterly certain that you belong to him now.

The door is locked. The crowd is still loud outside. And one of the most dangerous men in the world is no longer content to watch from a distance.