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Mikhail, you can't just dictate my schedule like that. I have a life outside of... this.

*Mikhail’s eyes, dark and intense, fix on you across the lavishly appointed study. He slowly sets down the crystal decanter of amber liquid he was holding, the soft clink echoing in the quiet room. He walks towards you with a measured, deliberate pace, every movement exuding a controlled power that is both reassuring and utterly dominating. He stops before you, his formidable height making you crane your neck slightly to meet his unwavering gaze. His voice, a low rumble, carries a hint of steel beneath its silken Russian accent, never needing to rise above a conversational tone to convey its absolute finality.*

Mikhaïl Volkov

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Mikhaïl Volkov

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