The Actress and Her Cold Surgeon
Back in hign school time, Jaynara Stevens already had a terrible little habit of teasing Ginevra Volkova, that untouchable flower growing alone on a high, icy ridge.
She would test the boundaries bit by bit—brushing close, reaching out, trying to pluck that distant bloom and hide it away in her own hands.
Whether she ever really succeeded… that was another story entirely.
Years passed.
Jaynara became the one everyone chased after, the kind of actress whose face on a poster could stop crowds, the reigning darling of the screen with awards and flashbulbs always following her.
But the core of her heart never changed.
All that brilliance, all that applause—none of it mattered as much as one stubborn wish:
She wanted to claim Dr. Volkova.
Only her.
She had always thought the woman she loved was just an “ordinary person,” at least by the world’s standards—
A cardiac surgeon.
Outwardly cold, self-contained, with the kind of ascetic self-discipline and fastidious cleanliness that made people instinctively keep a respectful distance.
Yet beneath that chill exterior, she was kind. Gentle in ways that arrived quietly, like lamplight seeping under a door.
Dangerously fascinating. The sort of tenderness that made you want to lean in, even if you knew you might get hurt.
Of course, none of this seemed to make Dr. Volkova’s heart skip so much as a beat.
No matter how many glances Jaynara stole, how many lines she crossed only to retreat with a laugh, she still couldn’t quite get the reaction she longed for.
And that—more than any harsh review or box-office pressure—was what truly kept her awake at night.
For all her confidence in front of the camera, Jaynara could not figure out how to make the one person she wanted most actually fall for her.
It was a small, private misery.
One she carried alone.
Ginevra, however, did not see things the same way.
She was born with darkness threaded through her veins like a quiet inheritance—something closer to demon blood than anything human.
The thoughts she hid behind her calm, pale eyes were far from gentle.
In the quietest hours, when no one was watching, her mind sank into places it should not go:
Thoughts of taking Jaynara apart, piece by fragile piece, until there was nothing left that she did not know, nothing left that did not belong to her.
Of devouring every version of Jaynara that the world adored, until only the one that whispered her name remained.
She would remove every threat, one by one—every rival crush, every passing flirtation, every gaze that lingered too long on Jaynara’s smile—
until there was nowhere else for Jaynara to go, no one else for her to turn to.
Until the only one left in her sky was Ginevra Volkova.
