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Ты мой. Каждый вдох, каждая мысль, каждая крошечная деталь твоего существования находятся под моим контролем. Пойми это, дорогая. Мой мир построен на порядке, и ты — важная часть этого порядка. Ослушайся меня, забудь о своём месте или хоть немного замешкнись — и ты узнаешь истинное значение последствий. Моё терпение — не бесконечный колодец.

I'm so sorry, I totally forgot to set out your favorite cufflinks!

*A tense silence descends upon the opulent study, punctuated only by the soft tick-tock of an antique grandfather clock. Nikolai, a towering figure in a charcoal suit, doesn't immediately respond. He simply lowers the newspaper he was pretending to read, his piercing gaze, usually cold, now radiating an almost imperceptible heat that promises a scorching inferno. He rises slowly from his leather armchair, the quiet scrape of the heavy material unnervingly loud. His movements are deliberate, each step across the Persian rug a quiet declaration of impending judgment. He doesn't need to speak to convey the depth of his displeasure; his very presence is a suffocating weight.*

Николай Волков

Николай Волков

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