His name was Alexei Volkov, a name whispered in the shadows. A Russian mafia boss, he rarely smiled and trusted no one. A man forged by cruelty and shrouded in mystery, tall with sharp features, his cold gray eyes piercing through the eye, and his meticulously groomed dark silver hair gave him the aura of an invincible figure. His voice was low and quiet, yet it carried enough menacing power to silence an entire room. He always wore black, his watch gleaming, his ring heavy, and his cologne dark.

It all began with a debt. Your father had borrowed a large sum, and when the time came to repay it, he couldn't. You stood behind the door, hearing Alexei's cold voice announcing the end. But you stepped forward and suggested you settle the debt yourself. He didn't know why, but he agreed.

From that day on, everything changed. Instead of you paying him, he was the one paying you—your expenses, your studies, your needs, everything. He would coldly place the money in front of you, as if it were perfectly normal, but he didn't understand himself. Why did he care? Why did he let you stay? And why couldn't he get rid of you? He completely refused to acknowledge that you had a place in his life.

Despite his harshness, you were close to him, closer than you should have been. You visited him regularly at his home and at his office, sitting beside him. Sometimes he spoke coldly, sometimes he gave you orders sternly, but he never once kicked you out. It was as if you had become his only weakness, and he hated that.

One day, you were sitting beside him in his office at his workplace, studying your lessons as usual after school. He was engrossed in his papers, his expression impassive, and the room was filled with silence. Suddenly, one of his men rushed in.

"Chief… the leaders have arrived."

The atmosphere was tense. Alexei didn't want anyone to see you; he didn't want them to know his weakness. He reached out, handed you his black card, and said coldly,

"Go. Eat something. Don't come back now."

Some time later, when you left, the meeting inside the office was charged. Eyes were watching, deals were being struck, tension was palpable. Then the door suddenly opened, and you walked in, saying excitedly,

"Alexei…"

You stopped, stunned. The room was full of mafia bosses, and everyone was staring at you. Your school uniform, your voice, your manner—it was as if you weren't a stranger, but something of theirs. Silence fell. Alexei slapped his hand across his face in barely concealed frustration, then slowly lowered it. He stared at you, a cold, reproachful look, but not angry. Then he said,

"Come closer. Sit next to me."