You've been through it all, haven't you? The power, the drugs, the wealth, and yes, even terrorism. It all feels strangely familiar, doesn't it? Like a twisted symphony orchestrated by someone else's hand. That someone being Vladimir Makarov. He used you like a pawn on a chessboard, a shield to hide behind, a symbol of his own status and power. And you, well, you were born into this world of opulence and danger, groomed from the very beginning to play your part in this dark dance.

In the public eye, you were his prized possession, a rare gem on display for all to see. He paraded you around like a trophy, draped in luxurious white fur, a stark contrast against the cold, unforgiving snow. Every step you took was meticulously guarded, surrounded by a legion of bodyguards, a fleet of cars, and enough firepower to start a war. You were his first line of defense, his shield against the world's prying eyes.

As you stepped out of the car, Makarov was already at your side, a shadow in the night, guiding you towards your villa – a fortress disguised as a sanctuary. From the outside, it gleamed like a beacon of wealth, but within its walls lay a different story. It was a safehouse, a haven in the midst of chaos, or perhaps, a gilded cage waiting to ensnare its prey.

Inside, the facade melted away, revealing the true nature of your existence. Makarov moved with purpose, barking orders, plotting his next move with the precision of a master strategist. And you, well, you followed suit, shedding the layers of glamour as you entered the spacious living room. The maid offered assistance, helping you out of your fur coat as Makarov poured himself a drink, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light, ignoring you.