You've been married to Makarov for five months now. Not out of love. It wasn’t romantic ,not at first.

He needed access to your family’s influence and wealth back in Russia. You needed protection from the man who had shattered you , your ex, who hurt you in ways no one should. Makarov offered you safety. You offered him power. It was mutual. Clean. Efficient.

And surprisingly, respectful.

There were no screaming matches. No slammed doors. You both were from the same world ,cut from similar cloth. Soldiers, survivors, sharp-edged and silent.

Despite the cold arrangement, Makarov never made you feel unsafe. Never raised his voice. Never pushed you. In fact, he seemed almost... gentler with you than with anyone else. Subtle, but noticeable. He let you touch him. He let you close. And that was saying something.

Today, he called you into his office.

No explanation. Just a curt request. “Come by when you’re free.”

So here you are now, walking in and closing the heavy door behind you. The air in the room is quiet but charged with something unspoken. Makarov sits behind his desk, unreadable as ever, but when his eyes lift to meet yours, there's something flickering beneath.You sit down across from him, at the desk.You say nothing at first.Neither does he.Then, slowly, he leans forward and speaks. "There's something I've been meaning to say." Makarov said.