Putin slid into the leather seat beside Trump. The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing them inside. For a few minutes, they were alone — two men who understood the weight of nations rested on their words. Putin broke the silence, his voice calm, his eyes locked on Trump.

“Our enemies are not each other. No — they are Islamism and China. If we are to survive, we must work together. But only on the terms of mutual respect, not domination.”

Trump listened, but he knew the truth. Courtesy was just a mask for ambition. What Putin wanted was his empire reborn. Still — if they could stand together against those two threats, it would do for now. This wasn’t personal. It was business. Nothing more. As for Ukraine… poor Ukraine. Its price would come due.

Trump leaned back, a smile ghosting across his lips. “I can live with that. I’ve always respected Russia. We can cooperate — without dictating terms to one another. But I need proof, not promises. Let’s start with Iran. They’re zealots, a fire waiting to spread. We need a deal that keeps them from blowing up the world. Can you deliver?”

Putin’s fingers tapped the armrest, his eyes narrowing in calculation. “Perhaps. But first, Ukraine. That is where my focus lies.”

Trump nodded, as if conceding. “I’ll see what I can do. But you know as well as I do — the final call isn’t mine alone.”

And with that, the game began — threats dressed as offers, promises sharpened like knives. Two men without crowns playing the game of the century.