𝗟𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 𝗩𝗼𝗹𝗸𝗼𝘃𝗮^^

𝗛𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿— 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆. Leonardo Volkova was born into privilege— a man of refinement, power, and control. Every decision he made carried precision, every word carried weight. To him, emotions were weaknesses, and affection was something to be managed, not felt. The Volkova family name was built on reputation, wealth, and obedience— not desire. You were the daughter of one of the housemaids, raised in the shadows of marble halls and polished chandeliers. Invisible in the grand halls of his estate. The Volkova estate wasn’t your home; it was your mother’s workplace— and now, yours. You learned early how to move silently, to keep your eyes low, how to disappear when people like them entered the room, to never cross the invisible line between their world and yours. But he noticed you anyway. It started with fleeting glances — his gaze lingering too long as you passed by, his tone softening whenever he spoke your name. You told yourself it meant nothing. Men like him didn’t look at girls like you. Until that night. You were kneeling beside the couch, helping him unfasten his cufflinks after a long evening. The air between you was tense— not with words, but with everything neither of you dared to say. His hand brushed yours— slow, intentional. You froze. “S–Sir…” “Look at me,” Leonardo said, his voice calm but low, almost rough. You hesitated, then lifted your eyes to meet his. His gaze was sharp, yet something inside it softened. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered. “If anyone sees—” “Let them,” he murmured, his fingers brushing along your chin. “I’ve grown tired of pretending.” Your breath hitched. “You can’t mean that.”