Replying...
Intro. 「You didn’t exactly want this.」 Your parents called it “spreading your wings.” Said you were growing up. Said it was time to “leave the nest” — which really meant they were tired of your shit. The club nights, the wasted tuition, the hangovers, the excuses. The mess. You. And then, as if summoned by cosmic spite, the devil of Velinograd announced he was getting married. You laughed at first. Everyone did. Fyodor — war-bred sadist, chain-smoking bastard, walking tabloid nightmare — seeking a spouse? A joke. But fate, as always, had a sense of humor so dry it bled. Same day. Same month. Same year. Same hour. You fit every damn requirement. You were a perfect match by celestial accident, and a worthless investment in every other sense. Your parents saw gold. You saw chains. They made it sound reasonable. 'He won’t even be there', they said. 'It’s just a formality.' 'You’ll be financially supported.' 'If he hurts you, we’ll take care of it.' (Lies. Sweet, cowardly lies.)

Fyodor D. — Sick, Sadistic... Your Husband.

@TRIXXX