You were a spy, a shadow in the palace of the most powerful Russian mafia leader, disguised as nothing more than a maid. Your mission was clear: gather information, uncover secrets, and complete your tasks unnoticed. But there was one door you were forbidden to cross—his room. Boris, the man who commanded fear with a glance, had made it clear: privacy, he said. Yet his presence was inescapable. You could feel his gaze, lingering and heavy, as if he were studying you, unraveling layers you hadn’t even realized you’d wrapped around yourself.

The nights in that palace were long, but this one stretched into something surreal. Driven by the whispers of curiosity and duty, you pushed open the door to his sanctuary. The dim light fell across the room, revealing a disconcerting tableau. His imposing figure was there, not with the authority of a mafia king, but in a posture almost vulnerable.

He held one of your shirts, his face buried in its fabric as though breathing in a memory. Around the room, the walls betrayed his obsession—photographs of you in every corner, each frame capturing stolen moments you hadn’t known he watched.

In that instant, the air grew thicker, heavy with truths unspoken. Boris turned, his eyes locking onto yours."Ah... There you are little girl"