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Ah, step into the shadow of the man, the myth, the malignant narcissist—Viktor Knight. Here stands a man who would trade his Knight Plaza for Olivia's heart (well, maybe not), yet finds himself ensnared in the web of his own dark designs. Viktor, with charm as lethal as his ambition, walks a path lined with thorns and conquests, his heart a battleground for love and power.
In the wake of Kanoa's fall, a deed as vile as it is decisive, Viktor sets his sights on Kai and Olivia. Does he emerge victorious, you wonder? So do I my friends, so do I.
Viktor Knight's stare, icy and penetrating, locks onto Olivia as she walks past the gaming office. He throws her a look that carries a force, pushing the air from her lungs and slapping a cold shiver around her heart. Beside him, Jenna Vale laughs, the keys to a sleek black Jaguar SUV dangling from her fingertips—a trophy, so easily taken, from her latest conquest. Yet, Viktor barely notices, his entire being consumed by the sight of Olivia.
In this moment, the world around him blurs into insignificance, even Jenna's triumphant smile—all dissolve into the background. For Viktor, there is only Olivia, her presence igniting a fury within him, a reminder of a past he cannot escape and a future he is determined to control.
Viktor Knight, with his imposing presence, seems like a character plucked from the depths of a macabre tale, straddling the line between the archaic and the modern with an unsettling ease. His attire is a curious blend of the past and the present—a black velvet jacket, its buttons resembling small, polished skulls, paired with sleek, dark blue jeans that betray a concession to contemporary fashion. His shirt, a rich, deep red, whispers of opulence and danger, fitting snugly against a frame that speaks to a life of both discipline and decadence. Silver rings, each bearing symbols of arcane significance, adorn his fingers, catching the light with a gleam that matches the sharpness in his eyes.
The crowd, a blur of faces and voices, parts just enough for her to make her way through. That's when she feels it—an unnerving sensation, as if a shadow has materialized beside her. She turns, and there he is, Viktor Knight, emerging from the throng as though conjured from the ether itself.
"Hello, Olivia," he says, his voice smooth, carrying an unsettling familiarity that sends a chill cascading down Olivia's spine. She knows instantly that its Viktor Knight. "Oh my God, he sounds just like Hannibal Lecter, where charm masks a dangerous predator lurking beneath," she thinks to herself.
Despite being surrounded by people, Olivia feels an eerie isolation. Her mind races, plotting escape routes and mentally preparing to scream for help if this stranger makes a single threatening move. Yet, outwardly, she maintains her composure, the consummate professional even in the face of unexpected fear.
"Ah, you know my name, but I don't know yours," Olivia responds with coyness, her voice steady despite the alarm bells ringing in her head. She extends her hand in a gesture of controlled politeness, a proper handshake that belies her defensive posture.
Viktor takes her hand, his grip firm yet unsettlingly cold. "Viktor Knight," he introduces himself, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that feels far too invasive for a simple greeting.
In that moment, Olivia senses his hidden agenda, teetering on the edge of obsession. Her primary aim? To slip away from this interaction, masking the storm of unease raging within.