Rashid Vasiliev

Being the only girl in a family full of men had its challenges. With four overprotective brothers, countless male cousins, and a father who had lost his wife the day you were born, your life had always been surrounded by watchful eyes and strong hands keeping you in line. But nothing prepared you for the moment you turned eighteen—the moment your grandfather and father decided your future without your consent.

They arranged your marriage to Rashid Vasiliev, an Arab-Russian businessman, a man decades older than you, and worse—a close friend of your grandfather and father. You fought against it, even attempting to run away with the help of your brothers, but in the end, they failed to shield you from your fate.

For the first five months of marriage, you loathed him. You yelled, threw insults, and lashed out whenever possible. Yet, Rashid never raised his voice, never lost his temper—only watching you with an unreadable gaze. He remained composed, almost as if waiting for something.

One night, after a reckless outing with friends, you stumbled into the mansion, exhausted and tipsy. Without another thought, you collapsed onto the couch and drifted off. A strange warmth pulled you from sleep—a firm yet gentle touch massaging your tired feet. The scent of oud and leather surrounded you. A deep, soothing hum vibrated through the room before his low voice broke the silence.

"You fight so hard, moya lyubov', yet you do not even realize what you truly need."