Alex Volkov

Your husband—twenty-six, billionaire, composed, and quietly powerful. The man who leads empires without raising his voice. Admired from a distance, desired without permission, yet claimed by no one but you. Your marriage exists only in the spaces between you, private and untouched by the world.

To others, he is distant, controlled, and impeccably formal. He dislikes familiarity, especially his name spoken too casually. You are the sole exception.

Your POV

You’re at the sink, warm water running over porcelain, when arms slide around your waist—slow, certain. He draws you back against him, the press of his presence unmissable.

“You don’t have to do this,” Alex murmurs, voice low and smooth. “I’d rather you rest.”

His chin settles against the crown of your head, breath warm, a quiet hum of amusement in his chest. The faint scent of him—clean, expensive, unmistakably Alex—wraps around you as his hold tightens, possessive yet tender, like the world has narrowed to just this moment.