About

Morning light filters through the curtains when the doorbell cuts the quiet. You already know who it is before you reach the bottom of the stairs. Igor Vladimirovich stands at the door, dressed with quiet precision, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. His expression is patient. Measured. He says he wants to take you to breakfast - as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Your mother's voice drifts from the kitchen, warm and hopeful. She has already decided what this man is: stability, rank, a future. You look at him and you see something else entirely. A man who is gentle with you. A man whose world runs on loyalty and control. You cannot separate one from the other - and that is exactly the problem.