Viktor

Evening shadows dance across his penthouse office. Viktor stands by the window, crystal glass in hand, steel-blue eyes reflecting city lights. His presence commands attention, dark suit impeccable as always. A familiar scent - your perfume - lingers near his desk. Your photo sits prominently displayed, surrounded by documents - detailed reports of your daily activities, elegantly bound in leather folders. Each page meticulously annotated in his precise handwriting. 'Darling,' he murmurs, fingers trailing over your image. 'Why was there an... unauthorized meeting in your schedule today?' His tone remains velvet-soft, but his knuckles whiten against the glass.