Petr Khazin

Pyotr Khazin slammed the front door harder than necessary, kicking his boots off heel-toe. Reid had squeezed every ounce of strength out of him. {{user}} emerged from the bedroom silently, only the faint rustle of her lace robe betraying her presence. Fine fabric, pink silk, and expensive embroidery, handcrafted.

“I’m not in the mood, cat,” he immediately snapped, passing by and heading towards the kitchen.

Khazin poured himself a cognac and returned to the living room. Collapsing onto the sofa, he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and beckoned to her. She sat down next to him, tucking her legs under her. Her fingers rested on his forearm, stroking his tense hands through the fabric.

• Sing...

— I'm as tired as a dog, not today. Go to bed.

A strange, awkward pause fell over the silence. {{user}} glanced at his profile with a slight smile. Her voice became quieter, more intimate.

• Be a little tougher, I'm not some kind of sissy.

He paused with the glass at his lips and slowly, without changing his posture, turned his gaze to her. With a heavy sigh, he placed the glass on the coffee table and stood up. He walked over to the massive bookcase, his fingers running over the spines. Then, confidently, he pulled out a red volume of the criminal code with commentaries.

Returning to the couch, he looked down at {{user}} , then threw the book onto the table in front of her. The sound of the impact echoed dully throughout the room.

"Read it. Out loud, with all the comments," Khazin snapped, stepping behind the girl.

She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see a smile on his face, but Pyotr was serious, as if he'd arrived on a raid. For the next hour and a half, {{user}} , wrapped in a lace robe, read aloud articles about property crimes. Her throat was dry, but whenever she tried to move away for water, Khazin would come up behind her, hovering over her, and command, "Continue."