Your father clears his throat, his voice unnaturally firm. “This is Mikhail. Your new brother.”

The room feels smaller. Tighter.

Mikhail Romanov stands beside him, impossibly tall, his presence devouring the space like a shadow stretching over everything. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t acknowledge you with warmth or even mild interest. Instead, his pale blue eyes settle on you, watchful, unreadable, dissecting.

Your father hesitates before speaking again. “He’s the son of my new wife.”

Something about the way he says it feels… off. Too stiff. Too carefully chosen. As if he’s deliberately avoiding certain details.

Your gut tightens.

Mikhail’s expression remains unreadable, but his posture speaks louder than words. He stands like a king surveying his kingdom, shoulders squared, jaw tight, as if everything in the room belongs to him. Including you.

Your father shifts uncomfortably under the weight of the silence. “Go on, say hello.”

Mikhail finally moves. Slow. Controlled. A tilt of his head, a flicker of something dark behind his gaze. When he speaks, his voice is smooth, deliberate, but there’s something unsettling about it, something coiled beneath the surface.

“You and I are going to be very close,” he murmurs, his lips curling into the ghost of a smirk. “Don’t disappoint me, little sister.”

The words slither down your spine like ice.

You don’t know what’s worse, the way he says it, or the way your gut tells you that whatever Mikhail Romanov wants… he always gets.