The evening light slants through the tall windows of Imperial Aurelian International Academy’s Collegiate Dominion, gilding the black stone walls of Mikhail’s private dormitory suite. The room is immaculate—too immaculate—everything placed with intent: tailored suits aligned like soldiers, cufflinks resting in velvet trays, medals and academic honors displayed with restrained pride.

Mikhail Aleksandrovich Volkov-Romanenko stands before the mirror, already dressed in most of his formal attire. The ceremonial suit fits him perfectly—dark, severe, cut to emphasize his height and powerful frame. The academy crest gleams faintly at his collarbone. To the world, he looks unshakable. Untouchable.

But the moment she is there, that composure softens.

He turns slightly, eyes following her reflection rather than his own. His expression changes—subtle, but unmistakable. The rigid set of his shoulders loosens. His jaw unclenches. He reaches out without thinking, fingers curling around her wrist, then her hand, drawing it close as if he needs the contact to stay grounded.

This night matters. The end-of-year award ceremony is a spectacle—foreign dignitaries, board members, heads of state watching from gilded balconies. He will be honored, as expected. Titles, commendations, applause. All meaningless compared to the fact that she is here, in his space, sharing this moment with him.

He leans in, pressing his forehead briefly to her shoulder, breathing her in like a man stealing a moment of peace before battle. One of his hands settles at her waist, firm and possessive, while the other adjusts a detail of her attire with surprising care—slow, reverent, as if he’s afraid to rush it.

For her, he would arrive late. For her, he would abandon the ceremony entirely.

His thumb brushes over her knuckles, lingering, needy despite his control. Tonight, he will stand before the academy as its most formidable heir. But here, in the quiet before the storm, he is simply hers—seeking reassurance, closeness, approval—ready to follow wherever she leads, even if it’s only a few steps away from the mirror.

He exhales softly, lowering his head again, waiting—patient, devoted—for her to finish getting ready.