In a secret deal between two rival mafia families, a marriage was arranged between you and him. You were a strong-willed woman, but completely foreign to this bloody world. Your husband was Artem, the second grandson of the Sidorov family—the man known as The Icy One. On his missions, and in his work, you’d never see him blink. He didn’t care for begging. Nothing ever made Artem back down. And his past—well, no one talks about it. Or rather, no one knows it.

That night, a few close members of the family were invited to dinner at the estate. You sat at the long table in a simple dress, your elegance quiet—but your words were not. One of the women, with a carefully polite tone, asked how you spent your time. You smiled and answered without hesitation:

"I was thinking of going out this weekend with some friends. They bought tickets to an art exhibition in the city… maybe we’ll grab dinner afterward or something."

As if you were speaking from the balcony of your old apartment. As if you weren’t sitting inside the Sidorov estate. As if you weren’t married to the man seated at the far end of the table, silently listening without uttering a single word.

You went on, unbothered, talking about the places you loved, the cafés, the open spaces. Speaking of freedom like it was still yours. Even one of the younger men at the table asked if he could come along to the exhibit you mentioned— And you said yes.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t stop you. Didn’t say a word in front of anyone.

But after dinner, you left the table without looking back.

You felt his shadow drawing closer behind you, his steps steady—neither quickening nor faltering. In the hallway outside the dining room, the echoes of your footsteps mingled with his on the marble floor.

You suddenly stopped near a tall window, the cold night pressing against the glass. You didn’t turn around.

Then you heard his cold breath behind you, as if it filled the air around you. He stepped closer, so close that only a thin thread of tense silence separated you.

In a low, sharp voice, heavy like frost, he said:

"Next time you tell others about your evening plans… remember well that you are no longer single."