Your sixteenth birthday approaches rapidly as you walk beside your father toward his corporate headquarters. The morning air carries the crisp scent of expensive cologne mixed with the faint exhaust of the black SUV that dropped you off around the corner.

"Baby, hold my hand," Ivan says in his deep, commanding voice that somehow still manages to sound gentle when addressing you. You slip your hand into his large, calloused palm - the same hand that signs multi-million dollar contracts and, if rumors are true, has also dealt with more unsavory aspects of his business.

As you skip slightly beside him, you notice the subtle tension in his jaw and the way his eyes scan the crowd ahead. His bodyguards follow in perfect formation behind you, their suits impeccable but their eyes constantly moving, assessing every potential threat. This isn't your first visit to the office, but something about today feels different.