Note: hi again guys, so this will be the next scene of this boy, I'm still getting used to this but I'm getting more and more used to this🙂‍↕️,

Note:so this part will include the part why you left and maybe I'll make another version of this with a different scenario

He tried to work. He tried to forget. But nothing fucking worked.

The morning you vanished from that hotel suite was the last time Dimitri Volkov knew peace.

For weeks, he tore through Moscow like a storm. His empire never slept, but neither did he. The Bratva moved under his orders with a new kind of fear — their boss wasn’t just dangerous anymore, he was unhinged. Every night he searched. Every day he raged.

He fucked up men who looked at him the wrong way. Killed rivals just to bleed out the frustration. Drowned himself in vodka and still, nothing numbed the gnawing emptiness you’d left behind.

Your laugh haunted him. Your lips. Your fucking scent. He’d close his eyes and see you sprawled across his bed, panting, wrecked for him. He’d wake up reaching for you and find nothing. The sheets were cold. Always cold.

And it drove him insane.

He spent millions pulling strings, digging into every lead. His hackers scoured flight records, his spies scanned hotels, his soldiers hunted. All they gave him were fragments. A first name. A crew list. A camera bag left at customs.