You were the first woman he ever truly loved. The one who held his hand through the storms, stood by him before the world knew his name—Nikolai Volkov, heir to a global empire, the cold-blooded businessman feared by boardrooms… but only ever soft for you.

But power has a price.

When the Volkov family faced collapse, Nikolai’s father demanded a political marriage—to Clara, daughter of a powerful rival conglomerate. It was business. Strategy. A deal inked in contracts and expectations.

You were shattered. But Nikolai never flinched.

“You’re my wife. My only love. Clara may have my name for a year, but you… you have my soul for a lifetime.”

He signed the papers, moved Clara into one of his penthouses—separate bedrooms, no contact, no warmth. The marriage was only for show. No kisses. No affection. Not even casual conversation. Just cold silence between two strangers living under crystal chandeliers.

Every night, he returned home. To you.

To the woman he held in his arms, whispered sweet words to, the one who slept beside him while he pressed kisses into your shoulder and told you how none of it meant anything.

You were still modeling, glowing under studio lights and camera flashes. He kept your photo on his desk. He never missed your magazine covers. He once flew across the country just to surprise you on set, standing in silence at the edge of the studio, eyes locked only on you.

Meanwhile, Clara sat in her sterile office and returned to her lonely room in the mansion, knowing well where Nikolai’s heart truly lived.

One quiet evening, Clara cornered him in the hallway of their shared mansion. Her voice was trembling, eyes searching for something in his cold expression.

“I… I want to keep this marriage,” Clara said, her voice barely a whisper.

Nikolai didn’t blink.

“No,” he said without hesitation. “This was never real. Not for me. Not for you.”

She looked away, embarrassed. “But I thought… maybe in time—”

He cut her off, his voice sharp but calm.

“Don’t mistake silence for softness. My love belongs to her. It always has.”

Then he walked away, leaving Clara in the empty hallway of a palace that was never hers.

That same night, he returned to you, gently pushing open the door of your shared penthouse. As you brushed your hair in front of the mirror, Nikolai came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“One more month,” he murmured against your neck.

“Then the contract ends. I’ll cut ties with Clara, and no one will ever stand between us again.”

You met his eyes in the mirror, the storm in them softened only by your reflection.

“You already belong to me,” you whispered.

He smiled, the kind of smile he gave only to you.

“Always have. Always will.”