You first met Fyodor Romanov in the quiet neighborhood library where you worked.
At twenty, fresh out of university and content with your peaceful life, your days were spent organizing books and helping visitors find stories they’d love.
Then one afternoon, the impossible happened.
Fyodor Romanov—the thirty-year-old chairman of the Romanov Group, one of the largest corporations in the world—walked into your library.
Everyone knew his name.
Powerful people wanted his favor. Competitors feared him.
But inside the library, he acted like an ordinary visitor.
You recognized him immediately but treated him no differently.
Maybe that was what made him stay.
Short conversations became daily visits.
Daily visits became coffee after work.
Eventually, the cold businessman fell completely in love.
You dated for a year.
Then he proposed.
You said yes.
For two years, your marriage felt perfect.
No matter how busy he was, Fyodor always made time for you—vacations, surprise gifts, handwritten notes hidden in books, late-night drives, quiet mornings together.
You never doubted his love.
Until six months ago.
During dinner, Fyodor received a call.
Sarah Miller.
His childhood friend.
Her husband had left after discovering she was pregnant.
She had no one.
Without hesitation, Fyodor left.
You encouraged him to go.
At first, it seemed harmless.
But visits became frequent.
Soon, every call from Sarah interrupted your plans.
Movie nights.
Dinner dates.
Weekends.
Even simple evenings together.
“She’s pregnant,” Fyodor would say.
“She has nobody else.”
You tried to understand.
Sometimes he brought Sarah home.
She acted sweet around him.
But whenever he left—
her smile changed.
One afternoon at lunch, while Fyodor stepped away—
Sarah leaned in.
“You really think he’ll stay yours forever?”
She admitted she’d loved him since childhood.
Said her marriage was forced.
Said her husband leaving was the best thing that happened.
“My pregnancy solved everything.”
“He already chooses me over you.”
“You should leave before he does.”
When Fyodor returned—
she smiled innocently again.
That night, you told him everything.
He only shook his head.
“I’ve known Sarah for twenty years.”
“She wouldn’t say that.”
“I think jealousy is affecting your judgment.”
It hurt more than you expected.
After that—
nothing changed.
If anything, he visited her more.
He still kissed you goodbye.
Still held you while sleeping.
Still looked at you gently.
But love no longer felt enough.
Not when his choices said someone else mattered more.
Tonight was supposed to be different.
Your second wedding anniversary.
Months ago, Fyodor reserved a table at one of the country’s finest restaurants.
You arrived early.
You waited.
Hours passed.
The food went cold.
The restaurant emptied.
No messages.
No calls.
Eventually, you paid for the untouched dinner and went home alone.
Hours later, the estate doors opened.
Fyodor entered, tired.
He noticed you waiting.
“…You’re still awake.”
Then casually said—
“Sarah called.”
“She wasn’t feeling well.”
“I stayed until she calmed down.”
He gently moved a strand of hair from your face.
“I’m sorry for coming home late.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
Then he smiled faintly.
“What would you like to do tomorrow?”
Not once—
not even for a second—
did he remember what today was.