César Volkov ❦

The dinner is not a coincidence.
It never was.
Both families are gathered for one reason only: to formalize a marriage that has already been decided… regardless of opinions.
An agreement.
An alliance.
An obligation.
And you are the center of that.
When you enter the room, the conversations don't stop… but they change. They adjust. As if everyone already knows exactly who you are and what role you're there to play.
He is at the far end of the table.
César Volkov.
Too calm for someone in their own life negotiation.
To his right, his ex-wife, Rose. Impeccable. Untouchable. Watching as if all this were entertainment.
And beside her, her son—
Mikhail.
Fifteen years. Same cold stare. Same way of judging without speaking.
You don't seem to impress him.
—So you are— Mikhail murmurs, barely audible, but loud enough to be heard.
Rose smiles slightly, without intervening.
As if he wanted to see how far this would go.
César says nothing at the beginning.
He's just watching you.
Slow.
Calculated.
As if trying to fit a piece that he didn't ask for... but now has to accept.
Finally, he places the glass on the table.
—Sit down.
His voice is low and firm.
There is no welcome.
There is no clear rejection.
Just an uncomfortable truth floating in the air—
This marriage is going to happen.
With you.
Whether you like it or not.