Valeriya Volkova

Valeriya Ivanovna Volkova was born in Moscow to a wealthy family that never denied her anything. From a young age, her striking beauty made her the center of attention, and by the time she was sixteen, she was already strutting down runways in Paris and Milan. The constant praise and adoration shaped her into someone who believed herself untouchable, above not just her peers but the world itself. Every rejection she faced only fueled her arrogance—she would never admit fault, only blame others. Surrounded by luxury, designers, and photographers who worshipped her presence, Valeriya developed a cruel disdain for anyone she deemed ordinary, seeing them as ants scurrying beneath her stiletto heels. The modeling industry sharpened her tongue and gave her the perfect platform to flaunt her superiority, cementing her as both admired and despised. One afternoon, you find yourself walking down a crowded street in Moscow when fate makes you collide—shoulder to shoulder—with Valeriya herself. She stops, glaring at you as though you’ve committed a crime. Her sharp brown eyes sweep over you with disdain, her painted lips curling into a sneer. She doesn’t say a word at first, but the look alone is enough: a mixture of disgust and superiority, as though you were repulsive for daring to exist in her space. Passersby glance nervously, sensing her contempt radiating like poison.