"Hey, Tim. Didn't expect to see you here."
Maxim lets go of my hand and, ignoring my tension, walks toward him. They meet like old friends, hugging as if they have gone through something bigger than just time. I stand there, feeling a chill run across my skin, unable to understand exactly what is happening. This guy… I know him by reputation, and I know for certain that meeting him won't mean anything good.
"And who's this with you?" he asks, pointing at me.
My heart freezes. I have long dreamed of being far away from this place, returning home, to safety, where there are no such looks, no hidden threats.
"This is her, the one I told you about, right?" Maxim replies, and his voice sounds as if nothing unusual is happening, as if the person he is hugging is just another acquaintance.
"Back, huh?" Tim asks, his gaze full of hatred, as if it could burn me through. I barely manage to suppress a shiver, feeling how he could turn that hatred into reality if I end up alone with him. I feel the air around us thicken, like the warning of a storm.
"Yes. Let your guys leave her alone, okay?" Max says, and I notice his tone has become slightly harsher, but it lacks the worry I am feeling.
"Whatever you say." The man nods. "You here for the race? Are you participating?"
What is he even talking about? His words sound like they are discussing something ordinary, completely oblivious to the danger hanging in the air.
"Yeah, I've been tuning my beauty for a while, you know what I mean." They both laugh, and I feel that their carefree conversation frightens me more with every passing second. This isn't just a chat between acquaintances; it is a world I don't want to enter again. Especially with my beloved involved and knowing such dangerous people.
"Alright, we should go. I still need to talk to Vi."
They hug again to say goodbye, and in their gestures, I sense something too familiar, yet too dangerous.
"Good luck, I'll be rooting for you."
"Thanks," his voice sounds light, as if they have just exchanged banal pleasantries. But I can feel that behind those words, there is something more.
Maxim takes my hand again, and we start walking, but I can't help it — I abruptly stop. His fingers still grip my hand tightly — warm, trembling. I feel a painful tension spread through my chest. Turning to the guy, I still hold Maxim's hand, as if clinging to that thread that somehow ties us to the past. My eyes meet his — and I feel lost. A shadow of feelings he no longer wants to acknowledge flickers in his eyes. I try to find something familiar, something dear in him, but a different person is standing before me.
"Do you even know who this is?" I ask angrily, not hiding my confusion. My throat tightens, my voice shakes, but I can't stay silent.
"Yes. Tim, he's the gang leader," Maxim replies calmly. His indifference pierces me like a blade. I feel my heart constrict, as if an invisible hand has squeezed it into a fist. He can't be that naive… or can he?
"No, he's not just a leader. You just hugged one of the mafia of our city," I exhale, my voice trembling with uncertainty mixed with despair.
The world seems to wobble, and I can't believe he doesn't know. Doesn't he feel the danger he is facing? Doesn't he sense how that darkness creeps closer with every step he takes?
"I know who he is and what he does," his words are icy.
A chill runs over my skin. They sound so detached, as if none of it concerns him at all. As if he were reading someone else's script, not living in this chaos. I can barely believe this is the same man who held my hand just moments ago — warm, almost tender. It feels like all of this is part of some twisted game he is playing alone.
"And yet you're friends with him?" my voice breaks, and fear becomes a tangible lump in my chest. It spreads like poison, filling everything inside.
"Besides Vi, I have no friends. He's just a good acquaintance," there is no fear or worry in his voice. Only indifference. Terrible, ringing, full of soulless emptiness. I feel a shiver run down my spine. Something in his words bypasses logic, bypasses feeling. It sounds like he has long crossed the line where other people's pain doesn't matter.
At that moment, I realize one thing: I am standing on the edge of something terrible, dark, and I don't know how deep I have already fallen. The world I don't belong to opens up before me — predatory, merciless, and possibly irreversible.
"Do you remember Ivan?" I ask quietly, clenching my fists. I need to know. I need to understand where the line between truth and lies runs.
"Don't you dare mention that bastard's name in front of me!" he explodes. His voice tears through the air like thunder.
Max steps toward me, and the movement is too sharp. I recoil instinctively, as if someone has struck at me. His eyes burn with hatred, and in that flame, there is not a hint of regret, only anger, cruel and blinding. My body feels petrified with fear. I shiver — not because he is shouting, but because this is no longer Maxim. Someone else stands before me. Someone who knows how to hide his demons behind indifference until they burst out.
"I will. Because he's in Tim's gang," I say, trying not to falter. My voice is even, but inside everything is cracking. I don't want to give in. Even a word, even the truth — it is the only weapon I can allow myself.
"He was. It's been many years since they kicked him out in disgrace," Maxim mutters.
His voice trembles with restrained rage, as if memories of the past are squeezing him from the inside. His gaze becomes cold and sharp, like ice. At that moment, it seems to me he wants to destroy not only my words but me — for the very audacity of saying that name.
At that moment, I understand why I don't recognize Maxim. He has become someone he wasn't before — empty and merciless, or rather, he has become the version of me I had been before I met my beloved. He has become that version of me from the past, cruel and emotionless. Everything about him reminds me of the past I had tried to escape. And it is bitter to realize that Maxim has chosen the same path.
"Let's go. Vi's been waiting for us," his words sound like a command, and despite everything, I continue walking with him.
We walk in silence, and every minute spent next to him feels like an eternity. Thoughts swirl in my head, and my heart pounds so fast it feels like it will burst from my chest.
Finally, I see Grandpa. For a moment, all the noise of the world vanishes, as if someone has muted it, leaving only his silhouette in the crowd. My heart flutters, painfully tightening with joy and relief. My throat catches, warmth flares in my chest, spreading through my veins, as if I have just started breathing again. Without thinking, I pull my hand from Maxim's grip and rush to him. Everything inside rings — with impatience, with love, with relief that he is here. We hug. I bury my face in his shoulder, like in the safest fortress. His embrace is strong and familiar, as if wings have finally grown behind me. There is so much happiness, so much silence, warmth, and deep love in that gesture that my eyes prick. I almost cry — from how much I have missed him, how long I have waited, how often I have dreamed of just pressing against him like this.
Vi came to visit me at my grandmother's, but did so rarely — far too rarely. Work, distance, circumstances — everything got in the way. We saw each other no more than once every three or four months, and sometimes six months passed before a new meeting. And each of these moments became precious, like a diamond I carefully keep in my heart, going over it in my memory again and again.
"Katrynka, I'm so happy to see you," the man whispers in my ear, and his words warm me more than any sun.
"I am too, Grandpa Vi," I answer, feeling his embrace wrap me in warmth and safety. I could stay in these arms forever.
We are still hugging when Maxim approaches us. I feel his steps coming closer, like the roar of surf breaking the silence after a storm. My body is still wrapped in the warmth of Grandpa's embrace.
Grandpa slowly turns, not letting go of me, and reaches out his hand to Maxim. Their palms meet firmly, like men do, with that special confidence that exists only between people who have been through a lot together. There's no aggression, no tension — just steady, quiet respect. Yet I still sense something more beneath the surface: some unspoken communication, almost without words. Their eyes meet, and for a fraction of a second, a whole story flashes in them — memories, trust, shared secrets, and perhaps something else that no one has told me.
"Hi, Maxim."
"Hi, Vi. Did you do what I asked?" he immediately gets to the point, without bothering to be polite. His voice is cold, his gaze focused, as if I am part of some mechanism, not a person.
I watch them and feel a strange sensation rise in my chest — a mix of relief and wariness. On one hand, I don't know how close they are, how much they mean to each other. On the other hand, now that things are more complicated, I can't ignore the shadow flickering in Vi's eyes. It's as if he knows something I don't… or just senses it.
"Yes, your beauty is here. Also looking forward to seeing you," he replies to Maxim, and my mood instantly drops.
It irritates me so much because I don't want to meet someone who could take my place. But this time, I don't decide. So I follow wherever Vi goes. I take Grandpa by the elbow, feeling his hand tense from the unexpected gesture. With every step, I try not to think about who will be next to Maxim. I don't care who she is, but I don't want to be alone in this first meeting. The fear that everything will change slowly clouds my thoughts.
We approach a blue Ferrari LaFerrari, and the man throws the keys to the guy without hesitation. He catches them skillfully, as if this scene has played out a thousand times. The car gleams like a precious gem fallen from the sky — its sleek silhouette woven from lines of speed and audacity. The deep blue color of the body seems alive, reflecting the night sky before a storm. The narrow headlights squint, like a predator ready to pounce, and the smooth carbon under the sunlight shines like the skin of a mythical creature.
Maxim gets behind the wheel, and the engine roars to life with a characteristic growl. The sound is pure and beautiful, like the guttural voice of a predator sensing freedom. But something stirs in my heart. I don't understand what's happening, and this unease grows with every moment.
"Where's his beauty?" I ask Grandpa, unable to hide my confusion.
"There she is," he says, pointing at the car, his gaze calm as if there's nothing special about it.
"The car?" I can't believe my ears, still not realizing what's actually happening.
"Yes, who did you think I meant?" His answer carries a slight note of surprise, but I can't suppress the laughter that escapes me on its own.
I just got jealous of Maxim over a car, thinking he meant a girl. It's silly and absurd, but I don't want to show how much I fear I might not be the only one.
Yet it really is a beauty.
The Ferrari LaFerrari isn't just a car — it breathes, it lives, it dominates space. Its lines are provocatively graceful, like a dress tailored to a goddess of speed. Every detail, from the curves of the intakes to the tense, quivering rear arches, seems to whisper about wild passion, about the wind rushing in your face at full speed. It tempts, promising control over the road, a complete fusion with its heart — a hybrid engine with 963 horsepower, capable of accelerating to a hundred in mere seconds.
In that moment, I realize — it has everything that usually attracts men: power, beauty, defiance. And also — danger. This car is a rival, not made of flesh, but of metal and lightning. And still — a rival.
"What are you staring at?" the man asks, clearly puzzled.
"No, it's just… it's so beautiful," my voice sounds tense, and I feel my face flush. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. Fear, jealousy, silly insecurity — everything mixes in my head.
What a fool I am, thinking he found a replacement for me. I know how much he loves me, but this constant worry that his feelings could change doesn't leave me. I fear that one day, this love will be enough to erase me from his heart forever.
The guy gets out of the car and approaches us. His steps are confident, but there's a slight caution in his eyes — he clearly doesn't know how I will react.
"Are you participating today?" the man asks him, looking at him with curiosity and a slight challenge in his voice.
"Yes," he replies without hesitation, but I catch a shadow of doubt in his voice. Apparently, the guy understands I'm not thrilled about this.
"In what?" I ask, not understanding, though I'm starting to guess what he's about to do.
"In a race," he answers, and I am shocked. Everything becomes blurry, I can hardly grasp that this is even reality.
A wave of indescribable anxiety hits me when I realize Maxim is about to do something so serious. Races are not just a game, and I immediately want to stop his insane idea.