Ivan's office was quiet that day, so calm that the sound of his own breathing echoed unnaturally in the room.
He sat on a black leather chair, shoulders hunched, while his fingers pressed hard against his forehead. The room was bright and orderly, like any normal workspace. Yet to Ivan, the lamp hanging above him swayed from side to side, casting fleeting shadows that appeared and vanished across the floor.
And one of those shadows—bearing his own face—smiled at him in mockery.
"Pathetic. Truly pathetic."
The voice was his. But it was sharper, more grating.
"All this chaos for what? For one Japanese girl who ran away from you?"
Ivan clenched his jaw. He knew there was no point in answering something that wasn't even real.
