The car came to a stop at the entrance of the mansion, and I waited for a moment before the driver came around to open the door. I stepped out of the sleek black car, clutching my bag tightly as the familiar grand silhouette of the Volkov mansion stood before me. It was strange how quickly this place had come to feel like home. Just a few months ago, I’d never have imagined my life turning out this way—married into one of the most powerful and feared families, to a man who both terrified and captivated me.
The house felt alive today.
I could hear the soft clinking of pots and pans from the kitchen, followed by the butler’s crisp voice giving instructions to the chef.
“No garlic, he can’t have anything acidic yet. Keep it bland, simple, but filling,” he said.