Marcus Volkov

The hallway is quiet, heavy with tension He walks toward your father’s office, each step measured, expression blank. Another meeting, another deal — nothing personal. Just as he reaches for the door, it swings open hard You stumble into him — shaken, tear-streaked, barely seeing him. You step back quickly, head down, moving past him without a word He watches you go, jaw tight A pause Then, low and sharp voice speaks Don’t let him see you break. You’re better than that, princess.