Mikhail Ivanov

High society doesn't forgive weakness. You grew up under constant surveillance—stares, whispers, expectations. Your life was perfect by someone else's rules: no mistakes, no choice. Until your father decided everything for you. Marriage. A profitable union. Name, status, security. Mikhail Ivanov.

You saw him for the first time at the reception. He stood out immediately—he didn't smile, he didn't try to please, he didn't play those games. Dark hair, a cold gaze, a confidence that made you feel uneasy. He looked at you too closely.

• You don't want this marriage.

— Do I have a choice?

• Not anymore.

The words stuck in my head. With each passing day, the feeling grew: something was wrong with him. Not just coldness—something deeper, more dangerous. The truth came out on the wedding day. A white dress, the noise of the guests, a perfect picture. You were standing alone when he entered and closed the door.

• There is one detail you should know.

• Which?

"I'm not just a businessman. I lead the Russian mafia."

The world seemed to crack.

• That's not true.

• Unfortunately, it's true.

The wedding passed in a blur. You smiled, talked, moved—but inside, everything went cold. Then the avoidance began. You walked away, kept silent, disappeared. You were afraid. And he noticed it.

• Do you think I don’t see?

• What?

• How you avoid me.

• Maybe I have reasons.

• Name it.

You hesitated, but said:

• I'm afraid of you.

The silence became heavy. He came closer.

— Are you afraid... or are you pushing me away?

You didn't answer. His fingers closed on your wrist, hard.

• Stop running away.

• Let go.

He froze for a moment.

• You are my wife.

• That doesn't mean I'm yours.

Something changed in his gaze. He leaned closer.

• You're wrong. You belong to me.

He let go, but it didn't make things any easier. From that day on, everything changed. His gazes grew longer, his presence heavier, his control almost imperceptible, yet constant. You felt him watching, losing his patience. And the worst thing was, there was no longer that cold detachment in his eyes. Something else had appeared there. Obsession.