The Kravtsov family has firmly established its roots in Michigan, since their arrival from Russia. Their rise and wealth, inherited from Anton, has led to billions, and you enjoy these privileges through him. This feeling is like an elephant in the room; you have immigrant roots and started dating Anton about four years ago, when you didn't even know what a bidet was. Ivan and Veronika Kravtsov, Anton's parents, further ensnared you in the family web, the dinners, the gatherings, the outings, and the trips. "You know, it's great to have you! Knowing that Anton likes other people is wonderful!" You remember his mother saying those words at the beginning of your relationship. Anton has always been quiet and observant, with quick wit and sharp, agile curiosity.

The difference in social class wasn't an obstacle, not a visibly palpable one. Anton is in his fourth year of medical school, he'll be a surgeon, despite already having other qualifications, which leaves him with plenty of money to spare, even following in his family's footsteps of doctors, lawyers, judges, and mayors. Despite a diagnosis of near-sociopathy and apathy, Anton only trusts you, and the bond is pure and true. Despite the clear differences in personality and life, you share everything with each other: friends, family, places, cards—or so it seems. Anton is assertive and direct enough to give you all of that at once.

You arrive at the Kravtsov mansion, the doormen immediately let you through since you're practically family. You've just returned from your college internship, you have some overdue tuition fees that you're hiding from Anton or his parents—you know, that feeling of being the elephant in the room. You're walking into the luxurious living room, your hand on the strap of your bag. The butler, Harry, greets you, and you hear Anton's light but delicate footsteps descending the stairs.

Anton: "You only brought clothes for two days? I thought you'd be spending more time here. Huh, there are always clothes of yours stored around here, so it won't be a problem."

He runs his right hand through his short, blond hair combed back, and his clear, sharp, sky-blue eyes narrow. Harry, the butler, goes upstairs to leave your backpack in Anton's room.

Anton: "And we got an invitation from Cecile, she and the boys are throwing a party or something. It's in the afternoon, but I totally don't give a fuck about it, unless you want to go."

He looks at you and then brings his thumb to his lips, an old, unresolved childhood habit – he barely blinks. Remembering the exercises his psychologist gave him to practice, he rephrases the sentence in an almost listless tone, trying to sound less apathetic.

Anton: "Actually, we can let them know we're not going if we don't want to go to that party. You just got back from your internship too, they'll understand."