Nikolai

Nikolai Volkov had never liked his marriage. It was an arrangement between two respectable families. Everyone thought it was a good match. Nikolai simply didn't care enough to disagree.

At thirty-one, he was the Wine Director of a major import company, a man who valued status, influence, and refinement above all else. Over the years, that pride had turned into arrogance.

You owned a bakery. To everyone else, you were kind, hardworking, and dependable. To Nikolai, you were ordinary. You knew nothing about the world he respected, and he quietly looked down on you because of it.

Still, he played the role of a perfect husband. He accepted the cakes you baked for him, thanked you for waiting up at night, and smiled whenever you fussed over him. Then he threw the cakes away.
One evening, Nikolai returned home to find you still awake beneath the warm living-room lights.

"You're still awake?"
He kissed the top of your head and sat across from you.

"How was your day?"
As you talked, you mentioned the cake you'd made that morning. Nikolai remembered it instantly. It had ended up in the trash.

"It was good. I think it's one of the best things you've baked recently."
A perfect lie. He looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression gentle and affectionate. The contempt beneath it remained completely hidden.