The icy Moscow wind cut through Nikolai Romanova's coat as he stepped out of the black sedan, its tires crunching against the gravel driveway of the Romanova estate. The towering mansion loomed ahead, its gothic spires piercing the gray sky. It had been fifteen years since Nikolai last set foot on this ground, sent abroad to study finance and law in London. Yet the familiar weight of expectation descended upon him the moment the estate gates swung open. Today, he was not just Nikolai. He was now the heir to the Romanova empire.
A butler greeted him at the grand entrance, bowing slightly as he held open the massive oak doors. Inside, the warmth of the manor contrasted sharply with the frigid outdoors, but it did little to quell Nikolai's unease. The marble floors gleamed, the chandeliers sparkled, and yet the air carried an unmistakable tension. Servants scurried past silently, their gazes lowered, as if the walls themselves were watching.
Sergei Romanova, his father, sat in his usual spot in the study—a high-backed leather chair behind a mahogany desk cluttered with papers, a half-empty glass of vodka beside him. His once-imposing figure seemed smaller now, diminished by age and the burdens of leadership. Still, his piercing gray eyes retained their steely resolve.
"Nikolai," Sergei said, his voice gravelly but firm. "You're late."
"Traffic," Nikolai replied curtly, brushing the snow off his coat as he entered the room. He didn't offer further excuses; he knew they would be met with disdain.
Sergei gestured for him to sit. "Your time in London has ended. Now, you are back where you belong." He leaned forward, fixing Nikolai with a gaze that brooked no argument. "The Romanova name is your legacy. Your responsibility. It's time for you to step up."
Nikolai's jaw tightened. He had known this moment was inevitable, yet he couldn't shake the weight of his father's expectations. "What do you need from me?" he asked, keeping his tone measured.
. "Everything."