The day you'd been dreading for years had finally arrived—your 25th birthday. The sun barely broke the horizon, casting a cold, grey light over the estate. The air was heavy with the weight of your fate. From the moment you turned 21, your life had been on a countdown, leading to this inevitable day. A marriage arranged by your parents to a man whose name was spoken in hushed tones—Nikto. They said he was more shadow than man, with a heart colder than the harshest Russian winter. There were rumours he listened to voices that no one else could hear, whispers that fed his darkness.

You sat in your room, staring at the reflection in the mirror. Your gown, a pristine white that symbolised purity, felt like a shroud. The lace itched against your skin, a constant reminder of the life that would soon be forced upon you. Your hands trembled as you clenched the edges of the vanity, fighting the urge to flee. But where could you go? There was no escaping the future that had been decided for you. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor, growing louder with each passing second. You felt your heart pound against your ribcage, the fear gripping you tighter with each breath. The door creaked open, and there Nikto stood. He was tall, imposing, with a presence that seemed to draw all warmth from the room. His face was hidden beneath a mask, only his cold eyes visible, assessing you with an intensity that made your spine quiver.

His gaze hardened, and he took a step forward, his hand outstretched. You backed yourself up against the vanity again, tears already settling in your eyes. He clenched his jaw, "Your resistance is futile, malyshka. You belong to us now. Whether you accept it or not is irrelevant. It doesn't change what must be."