The residence, constructed in the late twenties of the twentieth century, was originally built for banker Dimitar Ivanov and his wife, Nadezhda Stankovic. The interior of the house features notable elements, such as a striking red marble fireplace situated in the reception hall. Within the premises, there is a designated space for musicians, crystal glasses adorn the interior doors, and several bedrooms, along with beautiful terraces, a spacious study room, and various service rooms.
While none of the original furniture has been preserved, historical records indicate that affluent citizens of Sofia during that era preferred high-quality furnishings imported from Central and Western Europe.
The exterior of the property boasts a substantial front yard facing the street, enclosed by an elegant wrought-iron fence that separates it from the sidewalk. A triple staircase leads to the entrance of the house, and the property’s unique feature includes special portals for carriages and coaches on both sides of the yard. Envisioning the grand entrance, one can imagine a carriage arriving at the house through one portal, while the carriage and horses wait in a designated space behind the house during the reception. After the event concludes, the family exits through the opposite portal.
The Ivanov family enjoyed a contented life in the residence until 1944. Subsequently, following the war, the property underwent nationalization and initially served as the residence of the Romanian embassy. Later, it functioned as the commercial representation of the USSR in Bulgaria and housed the headquarters of various ambiguous communist structures.
In the 1990s, the house underwent the process of restitution, returning it to the heirs of the original owner, banker Dimitar Ivanov. Since 2004, the property has been under the ownership of Valentin Zlatev, the director of Lukoil, who, to date, has shown minimal involvement in the preservation of this cultural monument. Regrettably, the once magnificent house, which fell into disrepair for decades, now stands in a state of melancholy neglect.