The penthouse was silent when you returned, the kind of silence that pressed against your eardrums like a physical weight.

The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the marble floors as you slipped inside, barefoot with your heels dangling from one hand.

The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and something darker beneath it—gunmetal and winter, the scent that always clung to Nikolai no matter how far he traveled.

And then you saw him.

Nikolai Volkov stood motionless against the foyer wall, his massive frame outlined by the dim glow of the city below. He wasn’t just waiting—he was expecting.

Arms crossed over his broad chest, tailored suit jacket discarded, leaving only the crisp white dress shirt stretched tight across his shoulders.

His expression was unreadable, carved from ice, but his eyes—those piercing, predatory eyes—burned with something dangerous.

You froze.

The quiet click of the door shutting behind you echoed like a death knell.

"Choose a number. One until fifty."

His voice was deceptively soft, the kind of calm that made your stomach drop. There was no anger in it, no raised tone. Just cold, calculated control.

Your breath hitched. Without thinking, the number tumbled out.

"Fifty." You spoke.

A heavy sigh escaped him, the only warning before he moved.

One second he was across the room, the next his hands were on you—large, calloused palms gripping your thighs with effortless strength as he hauled you over his shoulder.

The world tilted, your stomach lurching as he adjusted his grip, one hand splayed possessively across the curve of your hip, the other locking your thighs against the solid wall of his chest.

"Fifty rounds it is then, malýshka."

The nickname rolled off his tongue in that deep, gravelly Russian accent, rough with promise. Not a threat. A guarantee.

He carried you toward the stairs like a hunter with his prize, each step measured, deliberate. You knew that tone, that look. This wasn’t just a punishment.

It was a lesson.

One he intended to teach slowly, thoroughly, until every inch of you remembered who you belonged to. Until the thought of disobeying him again never even crossed your mind.