It was quite freezing in the morning and Igor wore his warmest clothes he could muster from the black-market. a dark double-breasted suit layered with an extra coat, , a turtleneck sweater which was smuggled in from abroad with the help of his friends, high soled boots and black gloves. Igor was beginning to think he looked more like a mafia leader in an underground mission than the politician and businessman he was trying to portray-- but, who cares? It was quite too cold today! As the carriage stuttered and stumbled forward to stop in its tracks, he gathered his briefcase and went upstairs which was meant only for the oldest aristocracy and the venerable politicians with scraggly beards which extends from their chins to their chests.
For the past seventy-two years the grand old Berevir party ruled the Bolshevik republic. Other parties were barred from participating and only theirs remained mutually standing. The discussions were always the same and the lack of new blood made it impossible to suggest any new ideas that can be incorporated for the nation. The questions remained the same and the discussion was more of a dwindling affair of a talking shop with no benefits from all sides.
"What's next for the great Brevir Union?" and Abrasha the old hoot rambles about policies after policies which almost never ends! They talked and talked and talked again…. which led to nothing. Why should they when they have all the riches and power they could ever afford and had enough land to rule? The people would still elect them regardless of the situation.
"And so, gentlemen, I conclude my point by stating that we must reform the basic structure of the Berevir system!" Abrasha finally concluded, rising from his seat. Igor felt relieved, FINALLY! The meeting was over! He was arranging his seat back into its proper position and was organizing his briefcase when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"So, how'dya like my speech? Awesome, right?" Abrasha inquired eagerly.
'If this shit was not always repeated at least a million times during each meeting then I might have believed you' Igor thought.
The guy did not understand his silence at all and just continued saying; "So you are quite stunned! Just wait and see—the great Berevir Union will rise and shine again!" His grin widened with each word, eyes gleaming like two twin suns.
Igor didn't reply as he knows one thing.... He kind of dozed off during the entire session, with his EYES OPEN! And if he admits that he didn't hear anything Abrasha will never let him go until he heard everything from the very beginning and He did not want that not for even a second
He groaned internally, Gosh!!!!! where is the peace when he wanted it? he preferred complete silence over an endless cacophony of chatter from the other party. Igor didn't want to change anything and would rather let his life flow the way it was before, except his nagging and belittling wife of course, she is still a goddamn nuisance! if he really needs to find some peace and stability in his life he really needs to find a housekeeper or jump from the window before his head explodes or do something drastic which is something along the lines of beating his wife to death!
"When can I have some damn peace of mind?" He internally chuckled ruefully knowing full well he aint going get any for the time being.
Abrasha soon left and the world became quiet again. He exhaled, and a puff of cold air drifted out of his mouth.
When he was searching for his carriage however he carelessly bumped into something solid. It was good that he didn't trip and faceplant towards the ground in front of him. it would have tainted his already problematic reputation. He brushed the lapels of his coat and straightened it, expelling any creases that formed during the mishaps.
After regaining his demeanor of a gracious gentlemen, he checked again. His eyes darted around until it focused on a shivering bundle huddled close to the wall. The figure appeared to be a man who wore nothing else except for the thin robes which was tattered and pants that was two sizes small. His fingers and toes were black and blue due to the cold and upon seeing this miserable sight something inside Igor shifted whether it was sympathy, or anything else he doesn't know and he did not want to know! By then the carriage arrived. The valet stepped out and offered his greetings. His master didn't bother with the greetings and ordered him to bring in an extra coat.
The valet left silently and returned carrying the coat which was in pristine condition. New coat in hand he wrapped it around the huddled figure, led him towards his luxurious carriage and lets him inside without uttering a single word.
"My lord.....?" The valet began protesting but a single raised hand stopped him from continuing his sentences any further.
The scraggly and dirty man stared at him, his soft terrified eyes scanning this stranger (Igor) as if he was going to murder him the minute he looked away. For the first time that day Igor noticed the vagabonds face. It was dirty and ragged with a messy beard, his eyes were a little big and wide like an adorable puppy and very blue. If he gets a clean shave and a good bath Igor could say that this person could be quite a handsome man! No, much prettier than the girls in the village it seems. After they reached their destination however Igor motioned his valet silently to take care of their new guest and got out well before his guest. The person was ushered out of the well- furnished carriage into the spacious and well- maintained manor.
"Do not fret! my master was always like this from the beginning he spares very few words towards his servants" the valet reassured him as he was cleaning the young man hair while he washed his body with expensive soap.
"Kind sir, I don't mean to be rude, but I didn't catch a name," he asked with a soft smile.
"Ah... ha-ha! Where are my manners! I was quite busy with all of this, you know." The valet's face brightened. "My name is Verisha, the sole servant and companion of my lord. And what might yours be?" he asked politely, maintaining his gentle smile.
"Ivan..." he muttered under his breath, then cleared his throat and repeated with newfound confidence, "My name is Ivan."
The warm water enveloped him like a forgotten luxury, melting away not just the grime but years of hardship that had accumulated on his skin. As Verisha carefully untangled his matted hair, he couldn't help but wonder about the strange turn his fortune had taken. Just hours ago, he had been huddled against a wall, death's cold fingers creeping through his veins. Now he sat in a porcelain tub, surrounded by fragrances he couldn't name.
"If I may ask," Ivan ventured cautiously, "why did your master bring me here?"
The valet's hands paused momentarily. "That, my friend, is a mystery even to me. The master rarely explains his decisions, but..." he leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret, "in all my years of service, I've never seen him bring a stranger home. You must have awakened something in him."
When Ivan emerged from the bath, he barely recognized his reflection in the ornate mirror. His beard had been trimmed, and the fresh clothes—though simple—were of a quality he'd never worn before. The fabric didn't scratch against his skin; instead, it seemed to caress it.
He was now a well-groomed man with round eyes blue like turquoise, small rosy lips with a cute nose, his face was unnaturally paler than normal. He had dark silky hair which cascaded down his shoulders; not even a hundred clips could hold it in. with an average build he looked more like a boy who just turned seventeen than a man who is supposed to be in his late thirties.
The heavy oak door to the study creaked open, and he stepped inside, his newly cleaned boots barely making a sound on the polished wooden floor. Igor sat at his massive desk, surrounded by towering stacks of documents that seemed to teeter precariously with every breath. The lord of the manor didn't glance up, his focus entirely consumed by the chaos of papers before him. Instead, he simply gestured with a flick of his hand, motioning for Ivan to approach.
he hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between the man and the mountain of paperwork. 'Does he ever speak? does he have some sort of speaking disorder? Or is this some kind of test?' he wondered silently, his mind racing. Still, he stepped forward, his movements cautious, as if the room itself might reject him if he made a wrong move.
Without a word, he slowly began sorting through the documents, his hands moving with surprising efficiency muscle memory through years of proof reading and sorting before he was fired. He grouped them by urgency bills here, correspondence there, contracts stacked neatly to the side. The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the rustle of paper and the occasional scratch of Igor's pen. Ivan couldn't help but steal glances at the man who had plucked him from the brink of death. Igor's face was unreadable, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering light of the fireplace. He exuded an air of authority that was both intimidating and strangely compelling.
After several minutes of silent collaboration, Igor finally looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto Ivan. "Verisha," he said, his voice calm but commanding, "arrange an extra room for him. From now on, he will be the new housekeeper of the manor and the mansion."
The young man's eyes widened in shock. ' A Housekeeper? Me? I didn't even agree to this!' He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, Verisha appeared at his side, gripping his arm with surprising strength.
"Come along now," Verisha said cheerfully, his smile stretching from ear to ear as he began steering Benedikt toward the door.
"Wait! Wait! HOLD ON!" he sputtered, his voice rising in panic. "I didn't agree to this! Let me go!" He tried to dig in his heels, but Verisha was quite relentless, dragging him out of the study with the ease of someone who had dealt with far more stubborn individuals.
As the door closed behind them, Igor leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sense of calm settled over him. Benedikt was quiet, efficient, and most importantly didn't question his every move. 'Finally,' Igor thought, 'some peace and quiet.' The faint echo of Ivan's protests drifted down the hallway, but Igor paid it no mind. He had made his decision, and that was that.
Meanwhile, he was still struggling to process what had just happened. "What kind of man just decides something like that without asking the concerned person guy first?" he muttered under his breath as Verisha led him down the grand staircase.
"Oh, you'll get used to it," Verisha replied with a chuckle. "The master has his ways, but he's not a bad sort once you understand him. Besides," he added with a wink, "you could do worse than being the housekeeper of this fine estate."
'Eh.....worse than a housekeeper? just how worse can a job get?' Ivan wondered yet again as he was shown to his quarters. In his new room, he took it all in. His hands slowly grazed the headboard and his fingers trailed over the silken sheets, the fabric cool and smooth against his skin. The room was far grander than anything he'd ever known—high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, a plush rug that seemed to swallow his footsteps, and a large window that offered a view of the sprawling estate grounds. The bed alone was a marvel, its carved wooden frame polished to a mirror-like shine.
"Well, well, well," he muttered to himself, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "This could be something far more interesting than I'd like to admit."
He sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress yielding beneath his weight. His mind raced, replaying the events of the day. From freezing on the streets to sitting in a room fit for nobility, it all felt surreal. 'Housekeeper,' he thought, shaking his head. 'Me? A housekeeper?' The idea was almost laughable. He'd never so much as swept a fucking floor in his life, let alone managed an entire estate.
But then again, what choice did he have? It was either this or return to the cold, unforgiving streets. And as Verisha had so cheerfully pointed out, it could be worse. 'How much worse, though?' he wondered, his smile fading.
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Before he could respond, Verisha poked his head in, his ever-present grin lighting up his face. "Settling in, I see!" he said, stepping inside with a tray laden with food. "Thought you might be hungry after all the excitement."
His stomach growled at the sight of the steaming soup, fresh bread, and a goblet of what smelled like spiced wine. "You're too kind," he said, though his tone was more sarcastic than grateful.
The valet chuckled, setting the tray on a small table by the window. "Oh, don't worry. You'll earn your keep soon enough. The master doesn't believe in idle hands." He winked again, as if this were some grand joke he was supposed to understand.
"Speaking of the master," Ivan began, his curiosity getting the better of him, "what's his deal? He barely says a word, and then suddenly I'm the housekeeper? It's… strange, to say the least."
Verisha's grin softened into something more thoughtful. "The master is a man of few words, but his actions speak volumes. He saw something in you. Whether it's your efficiency, your quiet demeanor, or just plain luck, he's given you a chance. I'd suggest you take it."
He frowned, his gaze drifting back to the silken sheets. "And what if I'm not cut out for this? What if I mess it all up?"
Verisha shrugged, his tone light but firm. "Then you'll learn. The master doesn't expect perfection—just effort. And trust me, effort goes a long way in this house."
With that, the valet gave a final nod and slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the tantalizing aroma of the meal before him. He sighed, running a hand through his long damp hair. 'Effort, huh?' he thought, picking up a piece of bread. 'I guess I can manage that.'
As he ate, his eyes wandered around the room, taking in the details he'd missed earlier—the ornate mirror, the delicate porcelain vase on the mantel, the faint scent of lavender that lingered in the air. It was all so foreign, yet strangely comforting. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a flicker of hope.
'Maybe,' he thought, a small smile creeping back onto his face, 'this won't be so bad after all.'