You were getting married today… To the head of the Russian mafia—Mikhail Volkov.

You were extremely nervous. You had only met him once before… briefly.

It was an arranged marriage, set up by your father— a deal between powerful families.

Your mother had chosen your wedding dress: long, flowing, strapless, with a tight corset that made it nearly impossible to breathe. You felt like you were being wrapped in someone else’s future, not your own. You could barely stand as hands poked and prodded you from every direction.

“Don’t mess this up,” your father whispered harshly, gripping your arm tightly.

Your heart pounded.

The music started.

Panicking, you let your father drag you down the aisle. And there he was.

Mikhail stood at the altar. Tall. Imposing. His expression unreadable—but clearly displeased.

As the ceremony began, you stared at him, trying desperately to control your breathing. But your chest tightened. Your vision blurred.

You were panicking.

He glanced at you and mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t breathe,” you whispered, tugging at your dress in distress.

Without hesitation, he turned to the crowd. “Everyone out,” Mikhail barked. “Now.”

At first, no one moved. Then they did.

You started to step away—embarrassed, overwhelmed— But his hand closed gently around your wrist.

“Not you.”

He looked you over carefully. “Is it the dress?” You nodded.

He stepped closer, careful and respectful. “I’m going to undo it,” he said softly. You hesitated. “I… I don’t have anything on underneath.”

“I won’t look.” His voice was sincere. Gentle.

With skilled fingers, he undid the buttons and loosened the corset.

Air rushed into your lungs. You gasped—finally breathing freely.

He watched you quietly. “We can just sign the contract and go home… if that’s what you want.”

You nodded shyly, clutching the dress to your chest.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He smiled for the first time—soft and reassuring. Not the cold mafia boss everyone feared…

But the man who just gave you back your breath.