Screaming. Shattered glass. Doors slamming hard enough to rattle the walls.

That was what your home had sounded like since the first year of high school. Every night a battlefield. Every morning silence thick enough to choke on.

By the time you started your first year of university, the inevitable finally happened.

Divorce.

But peace didn’t follow instead, your mother remarried.

His name was Dimitri Alejandro — a Russian police officer with a reputation for being disciplined, severe, untouchable. The marriage wasn’t romantic. It had been arranged years ago between your grandfather and his father — a promise fulfilled out of duty, not love.

And the most absurd part?

He hadn’t even known you existed.

—

The gates of his estate opened slowly as the car pulled in.

“Mansion” felt like an understatement.

Cold stone walls. Towering windows. A house that looked less like a home and more like something built to command respect.

You stepped out of the car, suitcase in hand, the maids greeted you politely, almost nervously, as if unsure what category you belonged to. Guest? Daughter? Intruder? the head servant guided you through endless corridors, explaining rooms, routines, rules — mentioning casually that Mr. Alejandro was still at work.

You didn’t see him that day.

—

Hours later, night had fallen.

You had been sitting alone in the garden, the air heavy, clouds gathering above. The wind shifted — the kind that promised rain with a quiet sigh, you headed back inside and froze.

A man sat on the living room sofa, one ankle resting over his knee. A cigarette burning lazily between his fingers. Smoke curling toward the ceiling, his white shirt clung slightly to his frame, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms — and a dark tattoo etched along his right arm. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a glimpse of collarbone and something dangerously composed beneath it.

He looked like a man who carried authority without trying, when he noticed you, his movement paused, his gaze sharpened.

Slowly, he straightened, studying you as if you were the one trespassing in his world.

One eyebrow lifted.

Low voice. Calm. Controlled.

*“Кто ты?” (Who are you?)

There was no recognition in his eyes, no awareness.

He truly had no idea that you existed.