Sofia's Pov
Death. My Death.
I've tasted it twice already. Not bad for someone who never asked for this so-called "gift."
They call it the gift of life. I call it a curse.
How pathetic. Life, with its maddening desperation, always claws people like me back into its suffocating grasp-people who never wanted anything to do with it in the first place. Merciful Universe? No. Just cruel irony.
D. E. A. T. H.
Spelled out, it's just five letters. A mockery of eternity. It stretches endlessly, like a black hole, devouring everything-everything but me.
It was one of the first words I ever learned to spell. Maybe because I've seen it unfold too many times. Bodies falling, like birds shot for sport. Blood. I know blood. It stains my skin, my lips. The taste still lingers-a sharp, metallic bitterness, jagged shards of life, shattering my throat. The screams-the endless screams-echo in the deepest corners of my mind.
But now...
Now, I stand face-to-face with Death again.
It greets me like an old, merciless friend. Unflinching. For the third time.
And this time? I welcome it.
The darkness doesn't scare me anymore. The cold doesn't bite like it used to.
It holds me. Wraps itself around me. Comforts me in a way life never could. They say people crave to be buried with their pain, to lie eternally with their suffering.
But me? I crave something else.
I crave the oblivion of never having existed. To dissolve into the void. To vanish completely. To mold into nothing.
I feel it now. That numbness. That peace.
The cold press of metal touches my temple. A gun. His hand doesn't falter. His grip is iron, his voice low, guttural in my ear.
"Any last words?"
I stare into his storm-gray eyes-void of warmth, void of light. They glint with something dark, untouchable. A predator's gaze. A monster's soul. A devil in flesh and bones. A luring Devil.
Damian Voron.
I let my eyes shut. No shiver. No fear. No sound.
This is it.
The final act.
The curtain falls.
My eyes snap open.
It's like I've been torn from the abyss, lungs gasping for air as though I'm drowning in a sea of shadows. The remnants of my nightmare cling to me like the sting of a cold, forgotten memory.
The phantom chill of the gun's barrel still presses against my temple-a ghost I can't shake. His storm-gray eyes burn behind my eyelids, cruel and unrelenting.
Damian. Fucking. Voron.
My chest tightens. Was it just a dream? Or something worse? A memory?
I press my hands to my temples, trembling, trying to crush the panic coursing through me. But it won't leave. It's like a shadow I can't outrun. Every night, it drags me back into that place. Every night, it consumes me.
D. E. P. R. E. S. S. I. O. N.
That's what they called it when they gave me my diagnosis. Two months ago.
Lena's death.
My twin.
They said it's temporary memory loss. An inability to concentrate. Even forgetfulness over the smallest details.
Work. A failed attempt to live a normal life.
I can't remember how I got here. Why my hair is tied in this tight bun, or why I'm wearing this mismatched, dull t-shirt. It's like I'm floating, disconnected from everything-trapped in a haze where nothing feels real.
And yet... here I am.
I push through the office door, the familiar hum of fluorescent lights slicing through the fog in my brain. The cold air slaps my face, yet I barely feel it anymore.
It's just another day. Another day to pretend I'm normal. Another day to bury the truth and live like I haven't spent every second of the past few weeks fighting for air-fighting to remember myself.
"Hey."
The voice behind me is gentle but firm. His eyes scan my face, searching for signs of what's really going on.
I freeze, caught in the moment. His presence feels like a tether to something real, something that could help me stay grounded. But the numbness is already creeping back, eating away at me like rust.
Jacob. My colleague.
"You okay?" he asks softly, his tone delicate.
"I'm fine," I lie. My words feel foreign, empty.
"Have you finished editing those images Rachel pointed out last week?"
"About to." Another lie.
I drag myself through the motions, sorting files, answering emails-anything to make the world feel like it's not falling apart. Like my life isn't a ticking time bomb.
But even here, his name follows me like a curse.
"Rachel's losing her shit today," Sam mutters, pouring coffee with shaky hands.
"What else is new?" someone snorts.
"No, I mean really losing it. She's got this meeting with Damian Voron. She's been screaming about it all morning."
The name freezes the air around me.
Sara's voice cuts through the tension. "Can we please stop? I haven't heard a name except his for the last fucking week."
She slams a crumpled newspaper onto the counter, her voice razor-sharp. "And you, Sam, still think it's a coincidence? Just like last time?" She jabs a finger at the headline:
"Vladimir Sokolov Dead in 'Accident.' Damian Voron Takes Throne."
Her sneer drips with contempt. "Sokolov's death? That wasn't an accident. That was murder. And guess who's behind it?"
Her voice drops to a deadly whisper, each word laced with venom.
"Damian. Voron."
"Here it is," Sara said in a low voice, tinged with disbelief. She stabbed her finger at the page in Sam's hand as if somehow trying to make the words disappear-or perhaps reveal the hidden truth between the lines.
"The last thing Voron said before Sokolov's death-'The management at Sokolov's company needs realignment.'"
Sara continued, her voice laced with sarcasm as she pointed at the newspaper headline from this morning. "The very next day-bam! Sokolov is dead, and guess who takes the throne as the new king?"
Sam stared at her, bored "Sara you know that doesn't prove anything."
Someone across the room shifts towards them, running a hand through his hair. "Sara, honey. You're starting to sound like one of those Reddit conspiracy theorists. This isn't some Netflix thriller."
"Last time, you nearly bankrupted the newspaper with one of your theories."
"I wonder why Rachel hasn't fired you yet."
Sara's eyes sharpen like daggers towards Sam who just giggled. "You'll see it, Sam," she says, her voice cold as ice. "One day, I'll be the one writing the headline: 'Murder Convicted-Damian Voron.'"
Sam scoffs, rolling his eyes while returning back to his desk. "Why does it even matter? Sokolov's dead. People move up all the time. What makes Damian Voron such a big deal?"
Sara leans in, her voice a frozen blade. "Because Rachel won't stop drooling over him. She'd sell her soul just to get his story. That's why."
I can't take it anymore. Their words, their paranoia-they're feeding my own dread.
My eyes are drawn to the crumpled newspaper headline, a silent warning:
"Vladimir Sokolov Dead in Mysterious Accident: Damian Voron Takes Over."
"What do you think, Sofia?" sara asks, their voice cutting through the fog of my thoughts. "You're the one who took pictures of him last week at the conference, right?"
Before I can say a word, we're interrupted by Rachel' shrill voice, cutting through the office like nails on a chalkboard.
"SOFIA D'AMELIO!"
I flinch, my name slicing through the air, snapping me back to reality. My pulse quickens as I struggle to regain composure.
Rachel. My nightmare of a boss.
I stood, forcing my legs to carry me toward her office even though every instinct screamed at me to run in the opposite direction.
The moment I stepped inside, Rachel spun around, her perfectly manicured finger jabbing the air like a weapon. "Call Emily. RIGHT NOW. If she's not here in five minutes, she's fired. I don't care what excuse she has this time."
Before I could respond, Emily burst through the door, her face flushed, her hair disheveled. She looked like she'd sprinted from the subway, a stack of papers slipping from her grip as she tried to juggle her bag and a steaming coffee cup.
"Emily, You are Late again" Sam muttered as she rushed past, his tone half-sympathetic, half-annoyed.
"Oh my god, Sofia," Emily gasped, barely catching her breath. "Was she yelling for me?"
I grabbed her arm, steadying her. "Hey, take a deep breath," I said softly. "You're fine. Just breathe, okay?"
Emily nodded shakily, following my lead as I guided her through a quick breathing exercise. "She's all bark, no bite," I lied, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Just go in there, stay calm, and you'll be fine."
She gave me a hesitant nod before Rachel's voice thundered again, making us both flinch.
"EMILY!"
The entire floor seemed to freeze as Emily stumbled into the office, her hands trembling, papers slipping from her grasp and scattering across the floor like broken glass.
Rachel's voice sliced through the silence, cold and unforgiving. "How many times do I have to tell you to get that interview with Damian Voron? HOW MANY TIMES?!"
Emily opened her mouth, but her words faltered. "I-I tried, Mrs. Flickerman, but-"
Rachel's eyes turned to ice, her lips curling into a sneer. "No. No more excuses. I don't want to hear about what you tried to do. I want results. Now."
"I-I understand, but the meeting with him got delayed again, and-" Emily stammered, her voice barely a whisper, guilt and frustration weighing her down.
Rachel's eyes narrowed, her patience slipping away with every second. She stepped closer, her tone venomous. "Delayed? You really think I care about his schedule? This isn't a goddamn hobby, Emily! You make it happen. You don't wait for someone like him to finally decide he has time for you. You find a way. Today. Not tomorrow. Today."
"But-"
"No more buts, Emily!" Rachel snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "Do you understand me? I don't give a damn if you have to crawl through glass to get those photos. I need them now. No excuses. No delays. You get those shots, today, or I swear I'll be the one packing your desk."
Emily's face paled, her breath shallow as she tried to formulate a response, but Rachel wasn't finished.
"If you think you can hide behind excuses any longer, you're sorely mistaken. This is your job. Your career on the line. You get those damn photos. Or you walk out of here with nothing."
I couldn't take it any longer. Before I even realized what I was about to do, Sara was suddenly in front of me, her voice high and overly eager. "Sofia..."
"So, what do you think?" she asked, her eyes narrowed, waiting for an answer.
I blinked, confused by her interruption. "What?"
"You're kidding, right? Don't you remember? You're coming out with us tonight," she insisted, her tone shifting to something urgent. "You, me, Sam, and Jacob. I told you last week."
I felt a sharp discomfort as she yanked me away from the conversation I was desperate to focus on. My mind was still tangled with Emily and Rachel's words, trying to piece things together.
"Yes," I muttered, barely getting the words out.
"Yeah, of course, I remember..." I added quickly, though the words felt like a lie. Maybe an outright lie.
Sara's persistence didn't let up. "Sofia, come on! You never go out with us! It'll be fun, I promise." She didn't stop there, her voice now sweet, with an edge of desperation. "Especially since Jacob asked me to make sure you come."
"Jacob?" I asked, my brow furrowing. "Why?"
She flashed a sly grin, her voice dropping into a low, teasing whisper. "I think he likes you. I'm pretty sure it's obvious to everyone now."
"Didn't you notice? Seriously, Sofia, are you living under a rock?"
"It doesn't matter right now! Just give him a chance," she pressed, her voice a little sharper now.
I hated this distraction. I needed to focus on Emily and Rachel, but Sara wasn't letting me. I could feel the tension building up.
"I don't know, Sara," I murmured, half to myself.
"I..."
Sara's face lit up like she'd just won a prize. "You deserve a night off. Last week with Voron's conference, and this week's mess... just have fun for once."
"Stop locking yourself up like some old grandma!" she teased, her voice dripping with mockery.
"When are you gonna live your life? When you're eighty or what?"
"Come on, just this once. I promise it'll be fun."
I barely had time to nod before Rachel's voice broke through the noise, snapping me back to the present.
"Emily!"
• • •
The music was blasting, thumping in my ears as I stood at the bar, almost forgetting the glass of water in my hand. The flashing lights of the club danced across the walls, but my eyes stayed glued to the ground, trying to avoid looking at anyone. Sara was laughing at something Sam had said, her voice rising above the noise, while Jacob stood way too close to me.
He spoke softly, closing the space between us. "Sofia." His body was warm next to mine, and I felt the heat of his cologne mix with the thick air of the club.
I shifted uncomfortably, started to pull away, but he matched my movement, stepping a little closer.
"You haven't said a word since we left the office, you know," he asked, a smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes held something more than that casual, tired smile he always wore. Something I wasn't sure I wanted to see.
Jacob.
He's cute and all.
But whatever the hell of a game he was trying to start-It can't be.
L .O .V .E
This word isn't made for me.
Can't be happen to me.
"Are you really having a good time?" I snapped out of my thoughts when he whispered something near my ear.
"What?"
"I said, are you having a good time?"
I glanced at Sara, who was wrapped up in a conversation with Sam. "Yeah, sure," I replied quietly, not wanting to share more than that. The crowd noise and the bass were deafening, but I could hear every word he said loud and clear, especially when he moved in even closer. This time, his shoulder brushed mine again-and I could tell it was intentional.
He moved in closer, his hand grazing mine as he tried to get my attention.
"You know, you're more fun when you just relax," he said softly now, a hint of something in his voice that made my skin crawl. I could feel it all over my body, a shiver running through me. A disgusted shiver.
"I'm fine. Really, I'm relaxed. Thanks," I muttered, taking a step back, my eyes darting toward the exit. I needed air. I needed to get away from the suffocating tension hanging between us. But Jacob was relentless, always charming-no denying it. His blonde hair and sharp blue eyes could pull anyone in, but not me.
Not me.
He reached for my wrist, his fingers brushing over it gently. "Don't be like that. We're all friends here. Just let yourself enjoy it."
He kept patting my shoulder, keeping it casual right? No. This wasn't casual. That touch desprete trying to make me look at him again. "Relax your shoulders. There's nothing to be tense about here."
I spun around to face him, my jaw clenched. "I told you, I'm fine, Jacob," I said, my voice firm now, even though anxiety was creeping up my throat. I drifted my eyes away I can't look at him. I can't see my reflection of my soul in his eyes. A dead soul.
"Really?"
"Jacob, I..."
"Jacob, I think I'm going home. Tell the others. I'm not feeling well."
Before I could move, he closed the gap again, reaching for my arm with a move that was far too familiar-and way too intimate.
"I can make you feel better."
And then, without warning, his lips were on mine-as if he had the right to claim a moment that wasn't his to take.
It hit me like a punch to the gut-sudden, bold, and completely disorienting. I was frozen, my mind struggling to catch up with my body. This wasn't happening. Not like this.
Bastard.
"No," I snapped, my instincts kicking in. I shoved him back with everything I had, my chest tightening, panic flooding my throat. "Stop!"
Jacob stumbled back, eyes wide in shock, but the moment he regained his balance, his expression twisted into frustration. "What the hell's your problem, Sofia?" His voice rose, drawing attention from people nearby, their eyes flicking in our direction.
Calm down.
Calm down.
Don't do this.
But I couldn't hold it back anymore. Every ounce of control slipped through my fingers, my heart pounding in my chest. Before I could stop myself, my hand shot out. The sound of my slap echoed through the air, sharp and loud, cutting through the music like a knife.
Time seemed to freeze. Jacob stood there, stunned, his eyes wide as he slowly lifted his hand to his cheek. For a moment, everything around us was silent, suspended.
The weight of what I'd done hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him breathless.
I didn't recognize myself in that moment. I didn't recognize the trembling hand still hanging in the air, or the furious heat coursing through my veins. My vision blurred with the rush of emotions, guilt creeping in-but I couldn't take it back. I couldn't undo it.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stand still. The music, the laughter, the club-it all faded into the background.
I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to get out before my emotions swallowed me whole, before I did something I'd truly regret.
"I'm leaving," I muttered not to anybody but to muself, a mutter barely louder than a whisper. Without waiting for a response, I turned and pushed my way through the crowded club, my chest tight, my mind a whirlwind.
I didn't care about the group. I didn't care about the eyes on me, or the whispers that would follow. I needed space. I needed air.
The cold night air hit me as I pushed through the club's garage door. The noise faded, swallowed by the stillness of the empty space. I leaned against one of the concrete walls, trying to catch my breath, my heart still pounding in my chest.
Only then did two Mercedes cars pass at high speed, as if they were chasing each other.
Suddenly, a man stepped out of one of the cars, the one that appeared to be damaged, with broken glass and scratches all over it. He muttered words while raising his hands in surrender.
"Do you think you can fool me?" came a harsh voice from the other car as another man stepped out with two of his bodyguards.
"In your dreams, Mozorov!" he calmly replied, not showing any sign of fear as he stepped out of his car, aiming his gun at the other man on the ground, planning to kill him without hesitation.
I stopped at one side in a hidden corner of the garage, crouching silently as fear began to crawl through my veins.
I was frozen.
I couldn't do anything.
I should lift my phone and take a picture, but I had never gotten this close to a murder.
My limbs were stiff, and my mind felt completely detached from my body.
This situation was enough to stop me from moving, except for my shallow breaths.
I should run.
Escape.
But somehow, I managed to point my phone at them.
Shaking hands.
Terrified heart.
Sweaty back.
"You have one choice, Mozorov!" the man with the gun said, his voice terrifying to my core. "One choice only: either you tell me who the fuck you work for, or I will kill your wife and children in front of your eyes before I put that bullet in your head." He didn't hesitate for a second when he said this.
His eyes were deep and icy, smoky as though they were designed to target that person with deadly precision before killing him.
"Silent, then. Silence it is." He said quietly, even staring at the poor man for a few seconds before signaling his men to cut the man's finger off as if it were a game he enjoyed, as though he liked playing with food before eating it.
He raised his eyes to the corner where I was standing, and I vanished instantly after a quick glance at those grey eyes, despite the mask he wore; I recognized them well.
His eyes.
Those damn eyes.
Grey.
No. No, impossible. This can't be happening.
It's him.
Damian Voron.
My hands shook so much that my phone fell to the ground. At that moment, I realized it. I realized well that I had made a mistake. I put my hand over my mouth to stay silent!
Waiting for my fate. My death.
He signaled to his bodyguards to grab me before shooting the man in front of me in the Leg, while I stood frozen in my spot, motionless.
Damn it.
Moans and screams echoed through the place, only to be replaced by a new silence.
Silence that never bodes well.
An evil silence.
His silence.
While his eyes were still watching me, as if he knew I had been there all along.
I was consumed by fear. My limbs gave out, and a survival instinct surged through my chest. I felt like I was back in that black box, locked up, left alone, and the only way to survive was to dig my way out.
I had always used those childhood memories as the darkest moments of my life, the ones I compared everything to-the stabs, the conversations behind my back, the harassment. All of that.
But I felt that this moment would overshadow that one. I survived the other times, but my chances of getting out of this situation alive were slim.
Death. Please, this time. Take me. Welcome me.
I was still standing on my shaky legs, powerless, and my feet started running without permission. I ran as if I had never run before. I ran behind the cars, hoping to reach the elevator to the upper floor of the club, and maybe...
I hadn't taken two steps into the elevator before a strong grip wrapped around my upper arm and I was pulled back, with another hand reaching to cover my mouth.
I raised my eyes to see him, the one I wanted to destroy; the one I wanted his end to be written by my fingers. What a fate, really? The tables had turned-only for me to become the prey... and where? In the lion's den itself!
Life rushed through my veins, and I twisted and struck, biting the hand that restrained me. Instinctive movements here and there, frantic and far from planned. I doubted I caused any harm, but I didn't stop thinking about it. I didn't stop allowing them to hurt me.
Damn it!
I won't die here.
In my attempt to break free, the large blond man dragged me to his boss. At that very moment, he killed the man in front of my eyes, a bullet exploding in his head while I tried to escape from the tight grip on my arm.
My insides churned at the feeling of the dead man's blood splattering across my face at that moment as he dragged me to his boss. My suffering intensified as I kicked, scratched, and whimpered, my cries for help sounding like those of a hideous horror movie.
The cold metal hit my forehead, and my body went limp. The gun was aimed at my head.
Impossible.
I was living my nightmare, moment by moment.
But this time, it wasn't a nightmare.
My breath wasn't steady.
My heart was about to explode.
I stood before him, my gaze unwavering, and his grey, frozen eyes pierced my body. My heart pounded, and my lips trembled beneath the hand that stifled my voice.
He. Will. Kill. Me.
He. Will. Kill. Me.
He. Will. Kill. Me.
Will he really kill me now, just like he did with that man? If I have any doubt, his complete disregard in his empty gaze erases it.
It's really unfortunate, isn't it? I wanted at least a funeral. This man will erase my existence as if I'm nothing.
Nothing. I am nothing.
This man is capable of killing countless people without a second thought. He can end people's lives and leave as if nothing ever happened.
"Lucas will raise his hand, and you'll keep Silent." he said nonchalantly, as if inviting me for tea. "If you don't, I'll have to use other methods."
"And I'm sure you're smart enough to know what I mean by that?"
My face must be as pale as the white neon lights shining above me. All I think about is the metal barrel now pressed against my forehead and that soon I'll meet the same fate as the Russian man.
"Do you understand?" he continued, his calm tone tracing my jawline with the gun, following every inch.
And when I looked at him, trembling, I literally lost what I should do.
Justice. Help me?
"Nod your head if you understand."
His words cut through the suffocating tension like a sharp blade. I swallowed hard, my throat as dry as sandpaper, and nodded. What choice do I have? Refusal isn't an option-not when the threat of 'other methods' still hangs in the air like poison.
But he didn't move immediately. His eyes stayed locked on mine, unblinking, deepening with cold, calculating intensity that took away my breath. The silence stretched on long enough to crush me. Then, slowly, he tilted his head and gestured to the man behind me-Lucas, I think he had just called him.
Lucas released me in seconds. My legs almost gave way when the iron grip on my shoulder vanished, leaving behind a throbbing pain. I instinctively rubbed the tender spot on my shoulder, wincing from the bruises under my fingers.
I kept my gaze fixed ahead, forcing myself not to look to the side. I didn't need to see the body to feel its weight pressing down on me. One glance, and I knew I'd lose whatever composure I had left. The bitterness rising in my throat was enough to warn me.
He watched me for a long second, then shifted his gaze from my face to my arm. I dropped my hand, forcing it to stay still by my side.
"Defy me, and you won't like the consequences. Do you understand that?" He pushed the barrel deeper into my forehead, reinforcing his gaze that was all directed at me.
"Fine" I looked like a scared kitten, all I wanted was to run.
And I did too.
These men killed people just like that, so why would my fate be any different?
He pulled the gun down the side of my cheek. I swallowed hard, my fear evident not only from the gun but from the way he watched me-his gaze was lethal in itself.
If I wanted to get out of this alive, I had to negotiate my way out of this situation as best as I could. This devil was watching me as if contemplating whether or not to waste a bullet on me.
"I swear I'll leave as if I never saw anything. You'll never hear from me again. Or see my face." My voice trembled, even though I tried to sound as confident and neutral as possible.
"Or see your face again?" he repeated my words as if there was a hidden mockery twinkling in his eyes. "Will you? Will you really close your mouth? Will you really keep your lips shut about a crime like that? About me?" His tone wasn't sarcastic, but there was an unmistakable disbelief.
"Are you sure you won't call 911 as soon as you turn your back on me?"
My lips parted. I should've realized he'd figure it out. I mean, yes, of course, I would call the police. Who in their right mind would witness a murder like this-and stay silent about it? Not to mention I'm a journalist.
Damn!!
My eyes caught a glimpse of the dead man, and my stomach churned, swaying with the tension, and I tasted the bile rising in my throat.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Well..." He sighed in a bored tone before adding, "What if I told you I don't believe you." His slow rhythm implied he not only thought I was lying but also found the idea that I thought I could fool him ridiculous.
You know what? Go to hell, Justice. All I need is to save myself. Justice can't do that for me.
"I swear I won't." I said, as if I meant it this time, because I really had no plans to plot against him, considering the possibility of being shot still hanging between us like a guillotine.
"Sofia? Is that your name?" He asked in a calm voice, sharp enough to break the tension, surprising me.
My breath caught. How the hell does he know my name?
"H-How did you know..." I tried to form a question, but the words stumbled out, tangled with my terror.
His expression shifted slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. It was a subtle feeling, but enough to warn me. He said in a dark tone: "I asked you a question. Is that your name?"
I closed my lips, unsure whether I should confirm it or deny it. My heart pounded in my chest, and every instinct screamed that any answer could determine my fate. But how the hell did he..?
He stared at me as if he was reading all what's in there inside of my head before giving a cold sigh before repeating his words yet so calmly."Again. I am the one asking. You are the one answering Sofia. Not the other way around."
"Is that your name?"
His jaw clenched with every passing second, and the air around him seemed to grow heavier, like a sudden storm waiting to burst. His voice broke the silence this time, rising slightly.
"Answer me."
His sharp commands shattered any fragile composure I had left.
"Yes, yes, It's Sofia," I said aloud, fear taking over me. "My name is Sofia."
"Sofia..." He pronounced my name slowly, each syllable dragging out, as if testing its weight. "Then you'll walk away as if you've seen nothing."
"I bet you know how much I hate lies, Sofia."
His tone irritated my nerves. I nodded quickly, too quickly, my chin repeatedly tapping the cold barrel of the gun. The nausea filling my stomach worsened, but I forced myself to stay still, to not break down.
"So?" He continued in an almost casual tone, but the precision was deadly. "How can I be sure of that?"
"Trust me," I stammered, the words weak and fragile as they escaped my lips. "You can trust me..."
"Trust you?" He repeated in a low, biting voice, mixed with a hint of dark amusement. "That's rich."
"No."
"It's an offer I can't dismiss."
"But do I look like someone who deals in blind faith?"
The question hung in the air, suffocating and final.
"There are surveillance cameras everywhere and.." I said, my words spilling out uncontrollably, desperate to shift the balance. If he knew about the cameras, he might reconsider adding me to his list of dead.
His gaze stayed sharp, cutting through my thoughts. "Don't."
An order.
My tongue stopped moving.
I didn't know what he would do if I disobeyed him again.
I trembled in place as if I had lost control of every inch of my body, just to be obedient. I kept breathing with difficulty as his words echoed in the small space between us. His tone wasn't raised, but it was a slap to my face.
Before I could process what he said, he took two deliberate steps toward me, closing the distance in a way that made me uneasy. It felt like his presence was sucking the air from the room.
"Never change the subject when you talking to me, Sofia."
"A Terrible mistake, don't do it again."
He whispered, his voice low in my ear but with a tone that caused a shiver to run down my spine. "The subject is you, Sofia. You. Do you understand who we're talking about here?"
"You."
"Not the cameras."
"Not me."
The threat in his words couldn't be ignored, like a knife gently pressing against my skin, a silent promise of pain if I made the wrong move. My nerves were a tangled mess, every word he spoke tightening the knot further.
I nodded vigorously, my throat so tight that I couldn't speak, the weight of his threat pressing on my chest. The way he pronounced my name-drawn out and deliberate-sounded like a demand, a warning, and a promise all at once.
My mind gave way before I finally said, "You can take everything, I mean..."
"I have some money..."
He cut me off, looking at me with eyes that had grown weary of my failed attempts to convince him. "Your eyes. Keep them on me, Sofia. Do I look like someone who needs your money?"
I stared at him, really staring at him, trying to take in every detail-his sleek leather jacket, his precisely tailored shirt, the stylish pants that fit him perfectly. His polished leather shoes shone in the dim light, expensive and refined to a mirror-like gloss. The watch on his wrist was a statement, subtle but undoubtedly costly.
He didn't look like someone who needed money-not at all. But then, he clarified it. He said he didn't need my money, as if it were something beneath him altogether.
A pathetic deal reserved for people like me who try to offer it and fail miserably. The cold, steady tone with which he answered me told me more than any actual words could.
He moved the barrel of the gun toward my mouth without warning. My body shuddered, remembering exactly where the barrel had been just moments ago.
"You'll keep your lips closed. Shut for me." He muttered, inches away from my lips, then insisted in a flat tone. "And you'll keep your eyes open, wide open, remembering every inch of my face."
"Because it will remind you that everything that happened here stays here, Sofia."
I nodded obediently. All I cared about was escaping his orbit, which felt colder than the winter outside.
He removed the mask from his face, revealing his full features as he completed his threat. "And if you let one word just one word out, if my name ever rolls on tongue , I'll know, and believe me, you won't like the other side of mine, Sofia. In fact, you won't like it at all."
And who am I to say otherwise? to defy him? me? the one who fell like a pray? the one who used to stare at his photograph every night, tracing the crimson threads that tied everything back to him.?
I'm in his grip now, like a terrified bird he's ready to crush. I have no choice but to die.
To be dead.
But worse.
Announced dead while still being alive.
"Is that clear?" He spoke slowly, without rushing, to confirm his words.
I nodded.
He pulled the gun away, and finally, I could breathe again.
"Use your lips, Sofia."
"Say it. Say it clearly."
"Yes." My voice barely a whisper.
"Say 'yes, it is clear.'"
"Yes, it is clear."
"Good girl."
He extended his other hand toward me, and my body froze as his fingers replaced the gun's barrel, gently sliding over my lips. Fire erupted over my lips, damn, I'll go crazy-why is my body reacting to him this way?! I've always been like a lifeless corpse without feelings.
A delicate touch over my lips mirrored the one just moments ago. A strange feeling I can't describe. One touch from him felt like a reward for returning from death alive-literally and figuratively.
"Did you hear me? These lips will be shut."
"For me."
He sealed my throat, and I couldn't make a sound or even shake my head.
I waited. Maybe he'd say something now, but he stood there, staring at me. Then he signaled to his guard. "Delete the photos."
His fingers stayed on my lips until that moment when he almost pried them apart with his thumb. "Spying isn't good, Sofia."
"And you're a good girl."
"Aren't you?"
I nodded simply, struggling to breathe again as Lucas took my phone and deleted all the photos I managed to take of him.
"Good girls don't spy on others."
"Understand?"
I nodded, as if I were used to nodding whenever I heard his words.
And so, he released me as quickly as he'd seized me, and a cold wave extinguished the earlier fire, putting it out with one hard strike.
He tilted his head toward the exit. "RUN"