New York City,10:42 AM.
The tower of Volkov Global Entertainment Group slices through the clouds like a monument to power itself. Inside, the lobby glows with polished marble, obsidian columns, and crimson light strips that pulse like a heartbeat—her heartbeat, her empire's pulse.
Zumi steps inside with Gia beside him.
He walks with the kind of calm power that doesn't announce itself… it radiates. Employees glance at him—then look again. Something about him feels too solid, too centered, too dangerous to be ordinary. Gia is composed but alert, reading every security detail, every camera, every shadow.
Zumi just breathes in, absorbing the room.
And then—
The air shifts.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
A soft pressure settles over the lobby as the elevator doors open.
Viktoria Volkov steps out.
Her heels strike marble like the ticking of a countdown. Black suit, crimson accents, hair perfectly draped over one shoulder—an empress walking through her kingdom. Two Scarlet Guard agents flank her, but she walks as though she needs no protection.
She's already reviewing something on a tablet when she feels it.
A presence.
Like a spark brushing across her skin.
She slows… then stops.
Her eyes lift.
And they meet his.
For a heartbeat, the lobby falls away.
The noise fades.
The world narrows to two people who should never have crossed paths—yet inevitably did.
Viktoria's expression, normally unreadable, hesitates.
Her crimson eyes sharpen, focusing on Zumi as if trying to decode him.
Zumi's gaze is steady, relaxed… but deep.
Too deep.
Like he sees through her armor.
She hates that feeling.
She never feels that feeling.
Her steps pause completely.
The Scarlet Guards glance at her, confused—they've never seen her stop for a stranger.
But Viktoria barely notices them.
Her mind, a machine of pure logic and precision, hiccups for the first time in years.
"Who is he?"
Not what does he want?
Not is he a threat?
Not why is he here?
No—something more instinctive.
More primal.
Her pulse quickens—not in fear, but in curiosity.
Zumi tilts his head slightly, acknowledging her presence with a calm, respectful nod.
Not intimidated.
Not overly impressed.
Just… aware.
Like he's greeting an equal.
No man ever greets her like that.
Viktoria feels her fingers twitch—an involuntary reaction, a sign she's caught off guard. She hides it by adjusting her earrings. She notices Gia beside him, guarding him like an elite shadow, and Viktoria's interest only sharpens.
Gia whispers softly to Zumi, "She's here."
But Viktoria hears it anyway.
Zumi speaks quietly, but his voice carries:
"So that's the Red Empress."
Her lips curve.
Not a polite corporate smile.
Not a seductive one.
A real one.
Small. Dangerous. Intrigued.
She steps forward—slowly. Deliberately.
Not to intimidate, but because she wants to get closer.
Closer to him.
She stops just a few feet away, eyes locked on his with razor precision.
Viktoria:
"Good morning. I don't believe we've met."
Zumi gives that calm, unshaken smile that always unsettles powerful people.
Zumi:
"Not yet."
Something in her chest tightens—annoyingly pleasant.
She narrows her eyes just a hint.
Viktoria:
"Not yet," she repeats, testing the words… and the man behind them.
"Then I hope you intend to introduce yourself."
Zumi:
"I intend to do more than that."
A subtle inhale leaves her lips.
This man…
This stranger standing in her lobby…
Has just shifted the atmosphere of her entire morning—and she doesn't know how.
She likes not knowing.
For the first time in years, Viktoria Volkov feels genuinely intrigued.
The lobby watches in silence.
Every employee, every security guard, every assistant who has ever worked under Viktoria Volkov knows one universal truth:
She does not stop for anyone.
She does not smile for anyone.
She does not show interest in anyone.
Yet here she is, standing still in the middle of the lobby, her attention fully trained on a man she has never met.
Her guards exchange quick, stunned glances.
Even the elevator attendant is frozen mid-button.
Something is happening—
something unprecedented.
Viktoria steps closer, her heels clicking softly.
The guards subtly tense, instinctively preparing to intervene, but she lifts a single finger—barely noticeable—and they instantly halt.
Her eyes never leave Zumi.
Viktoria:
"You walk into my building as if you own it."
Zumi's smile is calm, but there's a weight to it—
a confidence that presses into the air like a warm, unseen force.
Zumi:
"Maybe I will."
A ripple spreads through the employees nearby.
A stranger just said he might own the Red Empress's empire?
And she isn't offended?
She isn't correcting him?
She actually looks…
amused.
Viktoria:
"Oh? Interesting ambition… Mr…?"
Zumi:
"Zumi."
She tastes the name in her mind—short, sharp, memorable.
It fits him.
Viktoria:
"Only Zumi?"
Zumi:
"For now."
A spark flickers behind her eyes.
She tilts her head slightly, studying him as though he is a piece of rare art that appeared in her gallery without warning.
Viktoria:
"And what brings you into my headquarters, Zumi?"
Zumi:
"Business."
Her brows lift slightly.
Viktoria:
"That is a very large building for a very small word. What kind of business?"
Zumi steps closer—not threatening, but undeniably present.
Zumi:
"The kind that concerns your entire company."
The lobby goes silent.
Dead silent.
The guards glance at one another, eyes widening.
An assistant standing by the reception desk quietly gasps.
Viktoria's heartbeat jumps—but only once.
She masks it immediately.
Viktoria:
"You came here… to discuss my empire?"
Zumi:
"No."
(he pauses, his gaze steady)
"I came here to buy it."
Shock ripples through the room again.
A stranger saying he wants to buy VGEG is insane.
Saying it to her face is suicidal.
And yet Viktoria…
does not react with anger.
Her lips curl into a genuine smile.
Not cold.
Not political.
Intrigued. Deeply.
Viktoria:
"You must be either incredibly bold… or incredibly powerful."
Zumi:
"Why not both?"
Another shockwave through the room.
One guard actually whispers under his breath:
"Bozhe moi…" (My God…)
Viktoria gestures toward the elevators.
Viktoria:
"Very well. Let's schedule a meeting—"
Zumi shakes his head once.
Zumi:
"No."
Her eyes narrow—not in offense, but in sudden alertness.
No one interrupts her.
No one tells her "no."
Viktoria:
"No?"
Zumi:
"We're not scheduling anything.
We're talking now."
Her guards stiffen immediately.
Gia steps forward with the quiet confidence of a shadow ready to strike, her loyalty to Zumi absolute.
The two security teams meet eyes—
the tension sharp enough to cut steel.
Before anyone can react further, Zumi continues:
Zumi:
"Cancel your appointments."
Her eyes widen—just barely.
Viktoria:
"Excuse me?"
Zumi steps beside her, not behind her, not beneath her—
as her equal.
Zumi:
"Clear your schedule."
She stares at him, searching his eyes for arrogance or delusion.
She finds neither.
Only certainty.
Only presence.
Only a man who speaks reality into existence.
For the first time in her career—
Viktoria Volkov hesitates.
Then, with an exhale she didn't realize she held:
She turns to her assistant.
Viktoria:
"Clear everything."
The assistant nearly drops their tablet.
"E–everything? Even the Tokyo call? Even—"
Viktoria:
"All of it."
The assistant stares at Zumi as though he's a mythic being.
Her guards are frozen.
Gia simply watches calmly, as if this outcome was inevitable.
Viktoria turns back to Zumi.
A new tone enters her voice—
not dominance, not seduction, not command.
Invitation.
Viktoria:
"Then let's talk in my office."
She turns, walking toward the private executive elevator.
And for the first time in years, she feels something unfamiliar—
her heartbeat racing.
She doesn't look back, but she knows—
she feels—
Zumi is following.
Like the sun itself walking behind her.
The private elevator doors slide open with a soft chime.
Viktoria leads the way down a short hallway lined with black glass walls and embedded crimson lighting that pulses slowly, almost like a heartbeat. The environment feels intentional—intimidating yet elegant, designed to remind anyone walking behind her exactly whose empire they are entering.
But Zumi's footsteps remain unhurried.
Unafraid.
Measured.
Gia walks beside him in flawless silence, assessing every detail.
Viktoria pushes open the double doors.
Her private office looks less like a workspace and more like a cathedral of power.
Her office gleams with polished porcelain underfoot, reflecting the room like dark water. Black and deep crimson dominate, accented with blonde gold that catches light at sharp angles. Blood-red LEDs trace the ceiling's perimeter, casting the space in a perpetual sunset glow. The panoramic window behind her desk frames Manhattan like a conquest, harsh sunlight cutting through in golden blades that divide the room into light and shadow.
A massive black mahogany desk, its surface lacquered to a flawless shine.
Around the edges is a plush velvet-red cushion trim, ornamental but intimidating—almost like a judge's bench with the softness of royalty.
A throne in the form of an office chair—
high-backed, velvet red, trimmed with polished steel resembling a crown's silhouette.
Zumi takes in everything with a single sweep of his gaze.
Not in awe—
but in acknowledgment.
Viktoria walks behind her desk and sits gracefully upon her throne.
Her guards step out, closing the doors behind them.
Silence settles.
Zumi remains standing.
She lifts one eyebrow—not insulted, but curious.
Most men rush to sit.
Most men crumble under her gaze.
But he stands tall, composed, respectful.
A gesture of deference, not weakness.
A gesture she has never seen from someone this powerful.
Viktoria:
"You may sit."
Only then does Zumi take the chair opposite her.
Gia sits beside him, posture perfect, guarded but elegant.
Viktoria studies both of them—especially Zumi.
He sits like a king visiting another's palace, not a subordinate in her empire.
Viktoria folds her hands atop the desk.
Viktoria:
"Let's begin. You say you wish to buy my company. That is… ambitious."
Zumi:
"Ambition builds empires."
She finds herself exhaling softly—not irritation.
Interest.
Viktoria:
"VGEG is worth hundreds of billions globally. Why begin with mine?"
Zumi doesn't hesitate.
Zumi:
"Because you built something worth owning."
The compliment is sharp, direct—business clean, not flirtatious.
It lands deeper than expected.
She clears her throat softly.
Viktoria:
"And what, precisely, do you intend to do with my company?"
Zumi leans forward, elbows resting lightly on the chair armrests. His voice remains calm, even, analytical.
Zumi:
"I don't intend to change your structure. I intend to expand it."
Gia slides a folder forward—detailed graphs, projections, market analyses.
Viktoria recognizes the level of detail immediately.
This isn't amateurism.
This is mastery.
Gia speaks:
Gia:
"Within three years, your company grows by seventy percent—minimum—with our proposed expansions."
Viktoria flips through the pages.
Her eyes widen slightly.
The projections are not guesses.
They are razor-accurate.
And impossible without resources she doesn't currently possess.
Viktoria:
"How did you gather this data? It's far more accurate than what my internal analytics division provides."
Zumi smiles—calm, unreadable.
Zumi:
"I have my methods."
She feels it again—
that strange feeling of being the one evaluated, not the evaluator.
She doesn't like it.
She doesn't hate it either.
Viktoria tries to regain her usual dominance, leaning back in her throne, voice turning colder.
Viktoria:
"You understand, Mr. Zumi, that my company is not something you can simply walk in and buy."
He meets her gaze without blinking.
Zumi:
"I don't intend to walk in and buy it."
She raises an eyebrow.
Viktoria:
"No?"
Zumi:
"I intend to take the entire city."
Her fingers freeze on the desk.
Viktoria:
"…excuse me?"
Zumi:
"One corporation at a time. The largest first. Yours."
For the first time in a decade, she feels her pulse spike.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Ambition meets ambition.
Her voice drops:
Viktoria:
"You plan to own every major corporation in New York City?"
Zumi nods.
Zumi:
"Yes."
Viktoria:
"Why?"
He doesn't elaborate.
He only says—quietly, powerfully:
Zumi:
"Because this city will need someone capable soon."
Her breath catches.
The phrasing.
The certainty.
The authority beneath the calm.
She has encountered men with money.
Men with power.
Men with armies.
But none with this presence.
She feels, unmistakably, that she is no longer the dominant force in the room.
Zumi has not demanded power.
He simply… has it.
And Viktoria Volkov—
The Red Empress of the entertainment world—
finds herself leaning forward, intrigued, drawn in.
For the first time in years, she is not sure if she is negotiating…
or being chosen.
Viktoria leans back in her throne, studying Zumi with a sharper, colder focus.
She has negotiated with oligarchs.
She has stared down presidents.
She has outmaneuvered billionaires and dismantled entertainment dynasties with a single signature.
But this man…
This man is different.
And she needs to know how different.
She crosses one leg over the other, her voice turning cool and cutting—her signature test for anyone who dares challenge her.
Viktoria:
"You speak confidently, Mr. Zumi.
But confidence without foundation is just vanity."
She tilts her chin upward.
A subtle invitation.
A subtle provocation.
Viktoria:
"Tell me…
what gives you the right to believe you can dominate my world?"
The question is meant to destabilize.
To force him to defend himself.
To put him on the back foot.
It has worked on everyone… until now.
Zumi doesn't flinch.
He doesn't even blink.
Instead, he smiles—
slow, calm, devastating.
Zumi:
"You misunderstand."
The air shifts.
Her breath pauses.
Zumi:
"I'm not trying to dominate your world."
He leans just slightly forward, voice quiet but carrying the weight of mountains.
Zumi:
"I'm simply walking through it."
Her stomach tightens.
That wasn't confidence.
That was truth spoken like a law of nature.
She feels her chest warm—anger or attraction, she can't tell.
So she pushes harder.
Viktoria:
"You think you can handle my world?
The media wars, the political pressure, the global influence fights—"
Zumi interrupts softly.
Zumi:
"Viktoria."
The way he says her name—
deep, smooth, controlled—
stops her mid-sentence.
Zumi:
"I don't need to handle your world."
He pauses… then finishes:
Zumi:
"I'm here to lift it."
Her heart slams against her ribs.
No one has ever spoken to her like that.
No one has ever implied her world wasn't big enough for him—
and yet also implied he saw value in it.
She exhales shakily and tries a final test, her voice dropping dangerously low.
Viktoria:
"And what makes you think I would ever allow a man to take control of anything I built?"
Zumi's expression shifts.
Not anger.
Not amusement.
Understanding.
He sees her walls.
He sees the fortress she lives inside.
He sees the years of being untouchable, unreachable, unimpressed.
And then—
His voice changes.
Deepens.
Darkens.
Becomes something ancient, resonant…
as if wisdom from a thousand lives sits behind every syllable.
He speaks in Russian, flawlessly—
not modern Russian.
Old Russian.
Something she hasn't heard except in ancient texts.
His voice is low, gravel-edged, steady like a temple drum:
Zumi (in Russian):
"Кто идёт со мной — того мир не сокрушит."
(Kto idyot so mnoy — togo mir ne sokrushit.)
She translates instinctively:
"Who walks with me — the world itself cannot break."
Her breath catches.
Completely.
Because he didn't just show dominance.
He offered partnership.
Strength.
A place beside him instead of beneath him.
Something she has never been offered.
The porcelain tiles seem to echo her heartbeat.
Her composure—flawless for over two decades—
cracks.
Just a fraction.
But it's enough.
Her emotional walls, forged from betrayal, ambition, and power,
shatter in one silent collapse.
She feels heat rise in her chest, in her throat.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Zumi isn't challenging her throne.
He is offering a higher one.
Her voice comes out low, unsteady—something she hates, something she cannot stop:
Viktoria:
"Where… where did you learn that?"
Zumi leans back calmly, eyes steady and impossibly ancient.
Zumi:
"I've had many lifetimes to learn many tongues."
Her blood runs cold and warm at the same time.
She believes him.
She doesn't know why.
But she does.
He continues—quiet, commanding:
Zumi:
"You built something extraordinary, Viktoria.
I respect that."
He holds her gaze.
Zumi:
"But do not test whether I can dominate your world."
(a pause—his voice softens, becomes lethal velvet)
"Test only whether I choose to."
Her breath trembles.
Her dominance—her shield—her entire empress persona…
melts beneath his presence.
For the first time in her life…
Viktoria Volkov feels small.
And safe.
At the same time.
The most dangerous combination.