Alyona

I stood just outside the office, watching through the glass door as my father paced the floor, jaw tight, eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.

Nikolai sat in the leather chair opposite him, looking far older than I remembered. The weight of truth, guilt, and years of misplaced hatred had taken its toll. But my father, he was livid. Betrayed.

He didn’t yell. My father never needed to raise his voice to be terrifying. His silence, his clenched fists, the measured calm in his words, ...