Clara
The ring was a physical burden. It felt heavy and cold, less like jewelry and more like a badge of office—the office of Mrs. Volkov. Clutching a cup of tea on the balcony the morning after the engagement announcement, Clara realized the mistake she’d been making: she had been fighting Alessio when she should have been fighting the system he had built around her.
Her small act of defiance against Dmitri had earned her a measure of respect, not leniency. She was no longer just a captured teacher; she was his "intended," his public declaration. It was time to leverage that title.
She called the young woman who had acted as the stylist, using the discreet intercom system. “Please send someone to me,” Clara requested, using the soft, authoritative tone she reserved for unruly students.
