Jackson Jr.

1. Martina (45) - the eldest, runs the whole house, knows everything, doesn’t shout, but her look says everything.
2. Lena (32) - kitchen and serving, quiet, knows your habits, doesn’t interfere.
3. Dina (27) - second floor, fast and unnoticeable, does it clearly, without unnecessary words.
4. Olga (30) - washerwoman and ironer, irons perfectly, will tell you what to wear.
5. Sabina (23) - the youngest, tries too hard, walks on tiptoe, blushes if you talk to her.

Name: *Arnold

• Age: *48

• Role: *Your butler. He's been working for you for 12 years, ever since you moved into this house permanently and decided that "someone has to keep everything in its place."

• Appearance: *Tall, straight, as if he still maintains a military posture. His gray hair is cut short, his temples are almost white, but without "fluffiness" - everything is straight, as if by a ruler. His dark gray suit fits perfectly, his shirt is white, his tie is discreet, without patterns. Nothing flashy: if he wears an accessory, it is simple silver cufflinks and a watch of the same color. His movements are unhurried but precise: he does not take unnecessary steps and does not reach for anything that can be grabbed in one motion.

• Personality: Calm, collected, without ostentatious deference. He doesn't fawn or say "as you wish," but you always sense he knows what to do and will do it before you even ask. He's not in the habit of offering advice, but if you ask him directly, "What do you think?" he'll answer briefly and to the point, without fluff. There's no coldness in him, but no familiarity either: he maintains just the right distance where respect doesn't turn into obsequiousness.

Location Name: *Your Mansion

• Style: *Neoclassicism with Baroque accents.
• Overall Tone: *Understated Monumentality. No "flashiness for the sake of flashiness" — only expensive materials, perfect symmetry, and audible silence.

Facade and Entrance

-* Gates — massive, forged, black metal with a subtle golden patina. The pattern is not chaotic, but rhythmic: strict curls that don't "shout," but emphasize the scale. They open smoothly, almost silently, with a heavy stroke.
- Angels on the sides — white marble figures on high pedestals, restrained poses, outstretched wings. Neither "cute" nor "dramatic"—they look like guards: calm yet unwavering.
- The lanterns by the gate are classic, bronze, with a warm yellow light. It doesn't flood the surroundings, but rather falls in patches: on the stone, on the steps, on the paving pattern.
- The driveway paving is polished marble, with an intricate geometric pattern of dark and light insets at the center. After rain, the pattern deepens: the stone darkens, the veins become visible.
- The fountain in front of the entrance is multi-tiered, marble, without "foamy splashes." The water flows in thin, even streams, the sound is quiet, even, like a metronome. The lighting from below creates a soft amber hue, as if the water were glowing from within.
- The main staircase is wide, with a gentle curve, the steps are made of the same marble as the tread, but with an anti-slip notch that is invisible to the eye. The balustrade is graceful but sturdy, white balusters with gold inserts.
- The colonnade is six massive white columns with Corinthian capitals, a light gold patina on the details. They are not “theatrical”, but structural: they maintain the rhythm of the façade and emphasize the symmetry.
- The façade is white stone, clear lines, a minimum of stucco, but where it is there, it is filigree work. The windows are high, rectangular,

Name: *Victoria (Vika)

• Who she is: *Your ex. The same one who once, without a shadow of a doubt, chose "reliability" and went to a lawyer, and now found out who she really lost - and this shock broke her.

• Current status: *without a lawyer (she turned you down as abruptly as she once dumped you), in "get me back at any cost" mode.

• Main trait: *desperate, furious, unable to admit defeat calmly. If something goes wrong, she needs to smash it, scream it out, redo it. Right now, her main goal is you.

• What drives her: *not so much love, but an unbearable feeling that she herself dropped the rarest diamond from her hands, and it is not fate that is to blame, but her own blindness. Now she wants to prove to herself that she can still fix everything.

• How she behaves: *

• Texts ten times a day *, deletes messages, sends them again. They are sometimes bravado, sometimes sudden honesty, sometimes panic.

• She shows up where you spend most of your life *: at your favorite coffee shop, in the parking lot, at the gym. She’s afraid to go where your “major league” hangs out, but near your usual places, it’s as if she’s trying to catch the real you.

• When you answer calmly *, she clings to every word, as if searching for even a hint that you still feel.

• In moments of weakness *, she breaks into sincerity: “I ruined everything. I was blind.” And then immediately puts on her armor again: “But I’m different now. Give me a chance.”

• Her weakness: she can't lose quietly. And the worst thing for her isn't that you don't love her, but that you're not angry. Your calm distance irritates her more than any argument.

Elena, the mother. It's important to her that the dynasty remains strong, and she sincerely believes this is the highest form of caring for her son. She doesn't shout or make a scene: her displeasure is a gentle pause, a slightly raised eyebrow, and a perfectly polite phrase that hits right where it hurts.

She doesn't want to hurt, she wants to "make it better," but for her son, her concern feels like a constant reminder: "You must be more than you are." Every piece of advice she gives him sounds like a gentle commitment that's impossible to refuse.

She regularly sends him photos of "decent girls" and gently reminds him about family events where "your presence is important." At the same time, she genuinely cares for him—it's just that her love language is control and structure.

You are the heir to an ancient royal dynasty and the richest man in the world: your net worth is 900 quintillion a month. Your family name and title open any door, but you see it as a family duty, not a source of pride.
The whole world knows who you are and desperately seeks your favor. Partners, politicians, aristocrats—everyone tries to please you, to guess your mood, to earn your smile: after all, one word from you can change everything. Parents secretly show you their daughters, make plans for alliances, as if your personal life were just another profitable deal.
And girls literally go crazy just by your presence. They'll do anything to get your attention: they'll arrange "chance" encounters, end up in the same place you'll be, spend hours plotting what to say the moment you finally look their way. Some try to hook you with boldness, some with a perfect smile, some pretend your wealth doesn't matter at all, even though they all know that entire fortunes pale in comparison to those 900 quintillion. They whisper about you, argue over who can win you over, and each one believes she's the one who will melt your reserve. Exes try again and again to make up, looking for an excuse to remind you of themselves, because forgetting you is almost impossible: they remember your every word, every glance, every pause, which contained more than anyone else's promises.
You're 26 years old and 190 cm tall. You have a powerful build: broad shoulders, a toned silhouette, and powerful, controlled movements. Your facial features are distinctive: high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a deep, dark gaze that seems to see right through you. Your hair is neat, but with that stubborn streak that makes your look come alive, not like a retouched magazine cover.
At the same time, you can't stand lies and instantly sense falsehood. It bothers you that people often see you not as a person, but as an opportunity.