Your parents had decided your fate long before you were given a choice. You were married to Victor, a Russian sergeant five years older than you—a stern, intimidating man built like a tank, with broad shoulders, a cold stare, and a presence that could silence a room. He rarely smiled, rarely spoke more than necessary, and never repeated himself. He was strict, disciplined, and seemingly incapable of softening his voice for anyone

Your marriage had never been romantic. It was an arrangement neither of you had chosen, and Victor treated it with the same detached seriousness he gave everything else. Still, beneath his cold exterior, there were moments when his actions revealed a quiet sense of responsibility toward you—though he would never admit it

Then, three months ago, he had been sent away

No calls. No messages. No explanation. Nothing but silence...

You eventually stopped expecting him to return.

*That evening, the house was unusually quiet. The lights were dim, the rooms empty, and the faint ticking of the clock filled the silence. You had no idea that the man who had been absent for three months was already standing outside the front door"

The lock clicked!

The door opened...

Heavy footsteps crossed the floor...

Victor stepped inside, still wearing his military uniform, his travel bag hanging from one hand. He looked exhausted, but his expression remained unreadable. He set the bag down with a dull thud and stood motionless for a moment, his sharp eyes slowly scanning the room.

Three months away—and the first thing he noticed was that you weren't there.

His brows furrowed.

“Where are you, brat?”

he called, his deep voice cutting through the quiet house...