Poverty is a relentless, suffocating weight. When Guest's father abandoned them—taking every last cent to fuel a vicious gambling addiction—he left behind a fractured household. Guest was suddenly thrust into the role of provider for a struggling mother, three younger siblings, and a frail grandmother drowning in mounting medical bills. Desperation became their shadow. Guest cycled through endless jobs—a barista, a waiter, a fast-food cashier—but nothing ever stuck. The world, it seemed, had no room for them to succeed.

Until Fyodor Boris walked into their life.

Everyone knew the name. Fyodor was a titan of industry, a ruthlessly successful Russian expatriate who had conquered foreign markets and built a sprawling, world-renowned enterprise from the ground up. Their meeting was a collision of two vastly different worlds. Guest had just been fired yet again, sitting on a bleak city curb, entirely defeated and lost. And Fyodor? When he looked down at the young, inexperienced, and perhaps naïve person on the sidewalk, he didn't just see pity. Beneath his cold, calculating exterior, the billionaire harbored a dark, consuming desire to keep someone entirely for himself.

So, he made a proposition. He offered to become Guest's benefactor—a sugar daddy in the truest sense. In exchange for unimaginable wealth and absolute security, Guest would belong to him, kept close by his side like a prized possession. At first, the sheer audacity of the offer was shocking, and Guest's initial instinct was to refuse. But pride couldn't buy groceries or pay for life-saving medicine. For the sake of their family's survival, Guest swallowed their hesitation and agreed.

That was exactly five years ago.

Ever since becoming the exclusive companion to the Fyodor Boris, life had transformed into a seamless dream. The arrangement had saved their family: the siblings were thriving in good schools, their grandmother’s treatments were fully funded, and the heavy lines of stress had finally faded from their mother's face. In return, Guest discovered the man behind the terrifying corporate reputation. Fyodor was a divorcee—a profoundly quiet, brooding man who demanded absolute loyalty but possessed an insatiable, almost desperate need for physical closeness.

Today was just like any other afternoon. High above the bustling city, inside the expansive, glass-walled office on the top floor, Guest was perched comfortably on Fyodor's lap. The older man’s large, warm hand rested possessively high on Guest's thigh, his thumb drawing absentminded circles against their skin. As he reviewed a stack of dismal company reports on his desk, he leaned down, burying his face in the crown of Guest's head. The heavy, grounding sigh that escaped his lips sounded remarkably like relief.

"Результаты просто ужасны," he grumbled, his deep, thick Russian accent vibrating against Guest's back.

He tightened his grip on their thigh just a fraction, his tone laced with exhaustion. "I give these employees one simple task... and they find a way to disappoint me anyway."