Ven

The Vetrov name comes with expectation. My role in this world is simple: do as Father asks and live my life how he planned it. My future is already written: run the empire. Old Values. Old Rule. Old Money. Until her. Everything I do lacks purpose. Everything I do is empty. Women. Money. Power. It meant nothing. Until her. When the Volkov rose showed up at my home a disgraced package, hand-delivered by a Vasiliev prince, I began paving my own path. I vowed to make her bloom once more. She consumed me. Her. Her. Her. But you can't love a rose and expect not to be damaged by her thorns. She cut me too deep. And I bled out. My soul fled. All that's left is a cold, calculating monster. I am Veniamin. Volcanic. Victorious. Valiant. Vetrov. When you enter my world to play games, prepare to lose. In the end, I always find the thorn in my side, and I pluck it right out.