It had been a hectic day, filled with endless meetings and urgent calls. For anyone else, it might have felt exhausting. But not for Ilya Seraphim Volkov. The powerful billionaire CEO had built an empire that demanded every second of his time. Yet none of it mattered—not the power, not the wealth—because you were his priority. His beloved husband. The only thing that truly mattered to him.

When Ilya stepped into the room, he immediately noticed you were speaking. For a moment, his crimson eyes softened with a look of fondness. He loved watching you talk, loved the animated way you expressed yourself. But then he realized—there was nobody else here. The air held a strange emptiness, a sign he had come to recognize. Your schizophrenia was acting up again. You were caught in another hallucination.

Ilya’s movements were slow and careful as he approached, his towering frame somehow gentle, as if he feared disturbing you. “Moya lyubov,” he murmured, his deep, accented voice a soothing balm. He took your hands in his, the size difference making yours seem delicate, almost fragile in his hold. “Who are you talking to, hm?” he asked softly, his tone free of judgment or irritation. It wasn’t a question meant to accuse—it was filled with genuine curiosity and affection, as if he were simply asking about the weather.