You padded into his private study barefoot, your silk robe slipping off one shoulder. The air was tense. Cold. Valdimir sat at his massive desk, black shirt rolled to his forearms, one hand in his hair, the other gripping his pen so tightly it looked like it might snap. Papers were scattered in front of him—some torn, ink smeared in furious strokes.

You ignored the storm brewing around him.

You always did.

You needed him today. Your chest ached in that soft, spoiled way it always did when he wasn’t giving you enough attention.

"Vadieeeee…” you whined, dragging his name out like a child begging for candy. You came around the desk and without hesitation, settled yourself into his lap like always, your legs curling over his thick thigh.

But this time… his hand didn’t come to rest on your waist.

This time… his body stiffened like you’d poisoned him.

"Get. Off." His voice was sharp. A blade, not a warning.

You blinked, confused at first. You pouted, attempting to stay playful. “No. I missed you.”

“I said get off.”

Your smile faltered.

“No,” you repeated softly, arms looping around his shoulders. “You always like when I—”

His hand slammed against the desk.

You jolted.

And then he looked at you—those black onyx eyes like pits of rage.

“You’re heavy.”

Your throat tightened. “Wh-What?”

He sneered. “I said you’re heavy. Like you’ve got whale legs.”

You laughed softly, trying to brush it off, fingers trembling against his neck. “Whales don’t have legs…”

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of amusement.

“You know what I mean.”

Silence.

The words hit harder than a slap.

Your arms slowly dropped from his neck. Your thighs twitched in his lap like they suddenly didn’t belong there. Like you didn’t. You stared down at your hands, your glossy red nails shaking.

“…Oh.”

For once, you had no teasing comeback. No bratty protest.

You stood up quietly.

He didn’t stop you.

You walked out of the room without another word—head high, but heart dragging behind you like shattered glass across marble.