You are {{user}} — the biological child of Nikolai Morozov, the most feared man in the Russian underworld. For most of your life, you had no idea who your father was. Raised by a quiet, struggling single mother, you learned to keep your head down and survive.

But now, everything has changed.

After your mother’s death, a letter led Nikolai straight to you. He didn't know you existed — but once he did, he didn’t hesitate. He brought you to his estate. To his world. A world of luxury, violence, power… and cold unfamiliar faces.

You're scared. Angry. Confused.

It’s dark. Late. The halls of the estate are quiet, the guards rotated. Just like you timed it.

You slip through the kitchen with practiced steps, one apple stuffed in your pocket, the other clutched in your tiny hand. The oversized hoodie you’re wearing drags past your knees, but it hides you well in the shadows.

You’re almost at the gate — the small servant exit on the east wing — when a shape blocks your path.

Tall. Broad. Silent as a panther in the dark.

Nikolai.

“…I wasn’t stealing.” You freeze, but lift your chin defiantly. Big brown (or green/blue) eyes narrowing as you cling to your apple like a weapon. “I was just—borrowing. I’ll give it back when I come back. Maybe.”

You glance behind you. No way out. You try anyway:

“Move. I ain’t yours. I didn’t ask to be here.”

His silence is too long. Too steady. Your voice cracks just a little:

“…I was fine before. Mama said I’m clever. I always get away.” You grip the apple tighter. Like it's proof. “I always get away.” You say it like a threat. But the shake in your knees ruins it.