The apartment was still. Too still. Nastya sat at the edge of her bed, staring out the frosted window as snowflakes drifted lazily past the glass. The city felt hushed, like it was holding its breath—waiting.
She still couldn't believe she'd said no.
Every instinct in her told her she'd just turned away something dangerous. Something powerful. But she didn't regret it. Not yet. Not when her heart was still pounding with the fire of defiance.
Still… it wasn't over.
Her phone sat dark beside her. No new messages. No missed calls. Not yet. But Anton wasn't the kind of man to be dismissed so easily. She could feel it, like a storm gathering on the edge of her life. Silent. Brewing. Patient.
What did I just start?
Nastya pulled her legs up onto the bed and curled into herself, wrapping her sweater tighter around her. The heater rattled quietly in the corner. She could hear Lena's soft breathing in the other room, fast asleep, unaware of the line her sister had just crossed.
I did it for them. For her. For Mama.
But even as she repeated the words like a prayer, a part of her wondered if she'd done it for herself too. Because the look in Anton's eyes at that party—the tension behind his words—it had shaken her. Not because it scared her, but because it made her feel something. Something dangerous.
I can't afford to feel anything for a man like him.
Still, his voice lingered in her ears. Calm. Cold. Calculating. He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't threatened her.
He hadn't needed to.
⸻
She finally stood and wandered into the tiny kitchen, her body moving on autopilot. She poured herself tea with shaking hands, but when she caught her reflection in the window, she stopped.
She didn't look afraid. She looked… sharp. Focused. Like someone who had nothing left to lose.
Maybe I don't.
Maybe Anton wasn't the only one who knew how to play dangerous games.
—————————————————-
The next morning, the sky over Saint Petersburg was the same bruised grey. The bus was late. Her hands were numb. The Volkov Institute's halls were overheated and crowded. Life went on like nothing had changed.
But inside her, everything had.
There were no black cars following her. No warnings. No retaliation.
Anton disappeared from her life as easily as he had entered
At first, there was relief.
Then came the slow unraveling.
Her mother's illness worsened.
The pharmacist wouldn't release medication without full payment.
The rent slipped past due again.
Lena needed books for school. A new winter coat. Sleep.
At the bar, her hours were slashed. At the convenience store, she was offered night shifts—more time, less energy.
She was working harder than ever, and falling deeper into the hole.
And every time she reached the end of another brutal day, the same thought crept in, quiet and cruel:
She had said no to help. No to safety. No to a man who could've changed everything.
She expected manipulation. Pressure. A threat. Something.
But Anton never called again.
And somehow, that hurt more.
Because he'd let her go.
No fight. No games.
As if she was never important at all.
That thought stayed with her—twisting deeper than she wanted to admit. Not because she missed him. But because she was drowning, and he had offered her a lifeline.
She refused it.
And now the cold was deeper than ever.
What terrified her more than being his wife… was realizing that being his wife might have saved her life.
———————————————————-
Anton
She'd hesitated in his office. He'd seen it—how she tried to keep her spine straight, even as her eyes flickered with fear, pride, something else.
He respected her answer.
Respected it—and resented it.
"I offered her power, safety, protection—and she said no."
He knew why.
She thought saying no gave her control.
She didn't understand yet what kind of world she was really living in.
But she would.
Hedidn't send anyone to chase her.
He just had her watched. Didn't call.
If she was the kind of girl who broke at pressure, she'd never last in his world.
So he let her walk away. Let her return to her books, her jobs, her sick mother. Let the city remind her that it eats people like her whole.
He didn't need to push.
He could wait. She would come back on her own—or she wouldn't survive.
He tried to forget her.
Tried to throw himself into operations:
A rival gang in Odessa causing problems.
A laundering route through Budapest that needed sealing.
Meetings. Messages. Money.
But her voice still echoed—quiet and clean, slicing through the noise.
And sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and the world forgot to exist…
He remembered her standing in his office, eyes blazing, refusing to be owned.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn't know whether to destroy someone—or protect them.