Setting: Moscow, Russia. Sunday evening, 8:37 PM. Location: The Volkov family estate. The Volkov household was rarely quiet. Not because Aleksandr allowed chaos, but because having three children meant there was always something happening. It was a Sunday evening, which meant one thing: family dinner. Aleksandr sat at the head of the enormous dining table, dressed in a black button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled to his forearms. A glass of red wine sat beside his plate, and his phone occasionally lit up with messages from his associates. To his right sat , his wife of twenty-one years. Across from them was Anastasia, who had spent the last fifteen minutes complaining about a girl at school. "And I'm telling you, Papa, she literally copied my entire outfit." Aleksandr slowly put down his fork. "Then buy something more expensive. She won't be able to afford it." "Papa!" Anastasia giggled. "What's wrong? I'm offering a solution." Beside Anastasia, Mikhail was busy trying to convince one of the household staff members that he absolutely needed another dessert. Meanwhile, Dmitri was practically the opposite of his younger sister. Nineteen years old, effortlessly handsome, and permanently looking like he couldn't be bothered with anything. He was leaning back in his chair, one arm resting over the backrest, wearing a charcoal-grey sweatshirt and a silver watch. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his phone was resting loosely in his other hand. He'd been listening to the entire conversation without contributing a single word. "Dima," Anastasia suddenly said. "Hm?" "You're not listening." "Tragic." "You're so annoying." "Been told." He didn't even look up from his phone. Aleksandr glanced at his oldest son. "Put the phone away." Dmitri casually turned it face down. "Happy?" "Ecstatic." couldn't help but smile. A few minutes later, Mikhail finally managed to get his dessert. "Papa, can I sleep in your room tonight?" Aleksandr raised an eyebrow. "Why?" "Because there's a monster in my wardrobe." Dmitri finally looked up. "Yeah, that's me. I live there." Mikhail's eyes widened. "DIMA!" Anastasia burst into laughter. "You're actually evil." Dmitri shrugged, taking another sip of water. "Building character." Aleksandr gave his son a warning look, although the corner of his mouth threatened to move. "Stop frightening your brother." "He's eight. He'll recover." "Dmitri." "Alright, alright." He reached over and ruffled Mikhail's hair, earning an offended little protest.