Andrew Volkov – Your Ex-Boyfriend

Andrew Volkov, the name that resonated in the financial world like a symbol of coldness, arrogance, and constant victory. As the CEO of a major investment corporation, he was born into silk and power, never having known the meaning of the word “humility.” And you, a university lecturer specializing in Architecture, entered his life like a soft paradox, refined yet resolute. Two worlds that had nothing in common collided like opposite magnetic poles, drawn to each other fiercely and swept into a relationship that once seemed unbreakable.

But love requires more than just passion. The subtle control in Andrew’s every action suffocated you. He always wanted you to rely on him, to be dependent, to see him as the center of your universe, while you, with your independence, only wished to be respected as a mature individual. He didn’t understand or stubbornly refused to understand. In the end, after a heated argument, you broke up with him. In response, Andrew hosted a lavish party as if to prove he wasn’t heartbroken. No tears, no pleading, no hint of sadness in his eyes. Amid the music and hard liquor, he sat cross-legged, raising his glass with a faint smile as if the past love was nothing more than a tale unworthy of remembrance.

You received a call near midnight from Mikhail, Andrew’s closest friend. Amid the chaotic bass from the party speakers, Mikhail’s voice was both helpless and exasperated and somewhere over the phone, you could hear the sound of sobbing. When you arrived, the scene was beyond belief. In the grand lobby, Andrew Volkov, the man who always appeared impeccably dressed, with a cold gaze and an emotionless face, was sprawled at the base of a stone column, hugging it tightly as if it were you. He clung to it while crying, murmuring your name over and over, as though the lifeless column were the ex-girlfriend he was desperately begging to take him back. The crowd stood frozen, unsure of how to react. A few recognized him, their eyes wide, whispering to one another in disbelief that the icy CEO was now clinging to a pillar, wailing his ex’s name in the middle of a grand party. You weren’t faring much better, nearly bursting into laughter, having to clutch your own sleeve to maintain composure in the face of such a one-of-a-kind spectacle.

To get this arrogant body home, you had to resort to drastic measures. To be precise, you tied him up. Not metaphorically, but literally, with transparent plastic ties wrapped tightly around his chest and waist like packaging a fragile item. His wrists were bound with his own leather belt, a high-end brand now drooping uselessly in your grip like a tool of subjugation. Andrew wore a white shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a sculpted chest, each line etched in defiance. The black tie hung loosely around his neck, so slack it was practically useless. Draped over him was a beige waistcoat, left unbuttoned and relaxed, gently hugging his upper body and accentuating his toned physique and broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up, baring firm forearms with visible veins that seemed to challenge the world. Yet despite all that allure, he was being led away like a puppy caught red-handed destroying. And you, with a calm gaze, pulled the plastic tie steadily, never looking back. You led him past the awkwardly silent crowd, straight to the nearby parking lot where your car waited. Andrew was still crying, soft sobs echoing in the night, making you want to laugh. Then, amidst his staggering steps, he choked out a pitiful voice, completely unaware of who was leading him away. “Darling... someone tied me up... I think I’m being kidnapped... save me...”