Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

"I'll die for your sins if you live for mine."

― Jim Carroll

Caia

"You're free to choose whoever or whatever for your models, just make sure to reveal a part of yourself through your pictures," Professor Rankov explained. "And, oh, they have to be in black and white," she added with a smile, erasing the board and closing her bag.

I sighed, hands on my face, feeling the weight of the whole world on my shoulders.

"You've got a week, so let those creative juices flow!"

Usually, I love these kinds of assignments—getting out, capturing moments, and spinning stories. But the heaviness of the past few days made it hard to focus.

My father had been relentless, constantly asking why I hadn't slept with Romaniev yet.

The mere thought of it makes me sick.

I told him it's too soon, that I'm all about building anticipation. But honestly, I'm just inventing excuses to put off the inevitable.

The conversation with Romaniev in the hallway, which happened four days ago, kept replaying in my mind. My plan seemed to be working—men do love a good chase.

The more I pulled back, the more he'd lean in.

It feels pathetic, but I couldn't deny he had a way with words. He always knew just what to say to make me want to roll my eyes or slap him.

I grabbed my coat and hurried out of the auditorium, heading toward the bus station.

A glance at my watch told me it was 4 p.m.

I still needed to pick up some eggs, sugar, and milk. I wanted to bake vatrushka —a small brioche filled with cream cheese—for my babushka. Maybe indulging in her favorite treat, something she used to bake for me all the time, would help ease her confusion.

A pang hit my heart as my thoughts shifted to her. In the past few days, her condition had worsened. She was more belligerent, claiming to see ghosts around her bed, sometimes calling me by my mother's name or screaming in fear whenever I got close.

There were moments when we had to resort to sedatives just to calm her down.

It's true what they say—when one thing falls apart, it's like the universe decides to unravel the whole damn tapestry. Especially in my twisted little corner of existence.

I blew hot air onto my cold hands just as the bus pulled up. It was unusually empty for a Thursday afternoon.

Just before I boarded, a weird sensation crawled up my spine, and the hairs on my arms stood on end. It felt like someone was watching me. I turned around, clutching my small vintage Chanel bag to my chest, and scanned the surroundings.

The streets were empty, except for three students strolling toward their car.

I hurried onto the bus and quickly took a seat, my eyes glued to the road.

All the madness around me must be getting to your head, Caia.

It reminded me of a few years ago when Lily and I watched "Gothika."

The plot followed a psychologist played by Halle Berry, in a women's prison, haunted by a ghost that carved words into her skin, bleeding to reveal the horrors of the prison. The ghost, a girl raped and killed by a prison guard, was trying to expose the atrocities and help the other female inmates.

The movie was so terrifying that Lily and I couldn't sleep alone for a week.

I ended up spending that week in her tiny bed, holding her close with her arms wrapped around mine.

The movie left us both so paranoid; we avoided walking alone after dark, kept our doors locked, and steered clear of strangers.

One day, I had this gut feeling that a man was following me down the street.

I panicked and started running, and to my horror, he chased after me.

In my terrified state, I sprinted even faster, only to end up face-first on the pavement. The young man caught up, apologized profusely, helped me up, and handed me my camera, pointing out that I'd left it behind in the café I had just been in.

I've never been more embarrassed in my life .

Just thinking about that memory makes me cringe so hard.

We reached my stop, and I got off the bus, heading to the small convenience store just a street away from work.

The street was covered with a fresh layer of snow, something I've always loved—the pristine whiteness blanketing the ground. Snow has this beautiful way of bringing people together, whether it's indoors with a cozy hot cocoa or outdoors, uniting them in playful snow activities.

It's simply magical to me.

A smile touched my lips as I thought about Mama and me building snowmen together—those were the good times.

I miss my mama.

As I wandered through the snowy street and into the store, I debated which sugar brand to choose. I tried to remember if the recipe called for powdered sugar, refined sugar, or brown sugar.

Why are there so many different kinds of sugar, anyway?

Just as I reached for a blue and pink package that promised to transport you to heaven, that unsettling feeling from earlier returned.

"My tongue can also take you to heaven, baby."

I froze, my hand hanging mid-air.

"And it'll be free sixty-nine."

I rolled my eyes, grabbed the sugar pack, and strutted over to the egg aisle, secretly hoping he wouldn't follow me this time.

Inhaling deeply, trying to keep my cool as I sped through the store.

I had no idea why Romaniev was here on a random Thursday, but part of me wasn't surprised. Just like his other victims , he'd shadow me until I gave in.

If only he knew.

"What? Not interested? "

I stayed silent, snagging a pack of twelve eggs and making a beeline for the cashier. Maybe if I pretended he didn't exist, he'd disappear like a bad dream.

His body heat closed in on me, and in a moment of weakness, I accidentally inhaled his scent—a mix of expensive oud, a touch of cinnamon and cherry, and something elusive I couldn't quite place.

His hand casually tapped the cashier's desk, trying to grab my attention, but I deliberately looked away.

"Come on, Caia, don't be shy. I promise my tongue's got a five-star rating," he added, his voice lingering behind me like an annoying soundtrack.

Unable to help myself, I let out an exaggerated sigh and muttered, "Just what I needed, a Yelp review for your disgusting tongue."

The cashier shot me a puzzled look, and I shrugged, pretending I was deep in conversation with my imaginary friend.

Placing the items on the counter, I kept my eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge him any further.

"You're breaking my heart, baby. I thought you'd appreciate a good deal."

I bit back a laugh, realizing just how absurd this whole situation was.

A discount on oral sex—how could I resist?

After paying, I made a grand exit from the store, practically marching down the snowy street. Of course, Romaniev was right on my tail, as if he were permanently attached to my shadow. The wet snow beneath my boots had other ideas about my hasty getaway, and, predictably, I stumbled over an uneven patch.

Before I could face-plant into the snow, his arms were around me, saving me from the fall. A shiver ran down my spine, not just from the cold but from his shockingly warm body. "Easy there. Can't have you slipping away so soon."

I pulled away, regaining my balance. "I don't need your help."

I brushed off his concern and continued down the street.

Here was the plan: For my crazy, selfish, and downright inhumane father to get the leverage he needed in his business dealings, I needed someone to catch Mr. Oral Sex over there and me in action. Rumors spread like wildfire, and the sooner this scandalous affair unfolded, the quicker I could get the heck out of this city.

But then, a sharp pang in my chest stopped me in my tracks, forcing me to take a deep breath. I couldn't leave—not with my babushka depending on me.

I massaged my temples, trying to fend off the headache that was creeping in.

"You know?—"

I snapped, "Don't you have better things to do than follow me around like a lost puppy?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, if I remember correctly, you were the one storming out of the store like it was about to explode. I just wanted to make sure you didn't spontaneously combust on the street."

I shook my head. "You're unbelievable."

His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "So, where are you headed?"

"Away from you."

"You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said, stepping in front of me and blocking my path. I tried to sidestep, but he moved with me, forcing me to look up. "Let's pretend we just met."

I couldn't help but scoff. "How about we pretend we never met and never will? How's that for a plan? "

As he stepped closer, the height difference became even more noticeable. He towered over me, radiating warmth in the chilly air. His full, rosy lips and flushed cheeks from the cold only added to his charm. The wind tousled his light brown hair, making him look effortlessly dashing. In his sleek black Prada puffer jacket, thick black pants, and boots, he looked like he'd just walked out of a fashion magazine.

Every move he made was smooth and effortless, and I couldn't help but check out his perfectly put-together outfit.

His deep blue eyes, dark and sparkling, locked onto mine as I took in his features.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Like what you see?"

I let out a derisive snort. "Oh please, I've seen more sex appeal in a statue."

"Little liar."

I shot him an icy glare. "Your charms won't work on me, Romaniev. I'm immune to cheap tricks."

He leaned in slightly, the playful glint still in his eyes. "Oh, Caia, there's more to me than just looks."

"Doubtful."

He leaned in a bit more. "Wanna find out?"

"Listen," I sighed, rubbing my eyes, suddenly exhausted. This game was proving more draining than I'd expected. "I don't know what sad fantasy you're living in, but I've got better things to do than babysit your fragile ego. So, how about you crawl back to whatever shallow puddle of charm you think you've got and leave me out of it. I'm done wasting my time."

Surprisingly, his playful demeanor shifted, turning serious.

Without saying a word, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Like I said, I think we got off on the wrong foot," he repeated, offering his hand. "I'm Alexsei Romaniev, and before I crawl back to that shallow puddle of charm you think I'm full of, I figured I should at least properly introduce myself. Couldn't help but notice how fucking stunning you are," he added with a smirk.

I hesitated, staring at his extended hand like it might bite me.

His patient gaze held mine, while I wrestled with the uncertainty of my own half-baked plan. My first instinct? Tell him to shove that hand somewhere unpleasant. But then it dawned on me—this was exactly what I'd been scheming for.

My plan was unfolding flawlessly.

First, I'd let him think we were becoming fast friends, gradually building a connection that felt so real it might actually make him believe in fairy tales. When the moment was right, I'd sleep with him, tick off my father's ridiculous task, and then vanish without a trace.

I'd be nothing more than a ghost in his life, leaving behind nothing but regrets and a cold bed.

"Caia Mankiev. Nice to meet you, Lucifer."

"So, this is where Mankiev's daughter hangs out."

After our hands met in a firm shake, I felt a jolt like I'd just touched a live wire. Goosebumps erupted all over, and for a moment, it felt like my arms were covered in static electricity. Thank goodness my coat did a decent job of hiding my little involuntary shiver.

His hand, rough and strong, completely swallowed mine. The size difference made the handshake feel like an electric shock, sending my pulse into overdrive like I'd just touched a live wire. I quickly pulled my hand back.

Then it hit me—I'd forgotten to buy milk. Without overthinking it, I blurted out an invitation for him to tag along. To my surprise, he agreed, and we headed back to the convenience store. During our chat, I mentioned I was planning to bake some vatrushka, and he casually revealed he was a skilled cook.

Seizing the opportunity, I invited him over to my tiny studio.

Sure, it might seem a bit rushed to invite him so soon, but there was a method to my madness. I needed him to think I actually trusted him, hoping it'd make him let his guard down just a notch. Plus, it didn't hurt that I could use a little extra help with the baking—and maybe a bit of distraction from the sadness in my heart.

"Yeah," I said with a grin, taking in my cozy little space. "Were you expecting a palace or something?"

It might be small, but it's mine, and I'm oddly proud of it. The white tiles on the floor sparkle under the soft candlelight, giving it a bit of a glamorous touch. Over in the kitchen, there's my babushka's vibrant red kettle sitting on the stove, looking like it's ready for a dramatic tea scene.

My bed's snugly tucked under the window, dressed in sheets with cheerful red roses. Across from it, there's a cozy beige couch facing a small round wooden table that proudly displays a bouquet of white roses from Elskar, my ex-colleague who fancied himself a bit of a European charmer.

The only piece of art above the couch is a minimalist painting of a tranquil valley with mountains. It's pretty, but not exactly going to make anyone's jaw drop.

He raised an eyebrow, taking in the cozy details of the space with a smirk. "Well, well, look at you, living like a peasant despite the vault of riches your Papa got stashed away. I guess the simple life suits you?"

Ugh, if he only knew …

I chuckled, giving him a pointed look. "It does. I don't need to flaunt my money to feel good about myself. But then again, that might be too complex for someone with your limited…intellect."

His eyes darkened with amusement as he watched me, but I quickly turned away and busied myself with the mixing bowl and ingredients, trying to ignore the heat of his gaze on my body.

"So, tell me about your family. Do you have any siblings?" I asked, tossing flour and cracking three eggs into the bowl.

" Nyet , no siblings."

The air felt heavier all of a sudden.

"What about your parents?"

"My mama died a couple of years ago."

I turned to him, offering a small, sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. Losing a mother is one of the hardest things to go through."

When my mama passed, it felt like the world had gone dark. Everything was cold and silent, like the color and heartbeat of life had just vanished. Each day was a struggle to keep going, with this huge emptiness where her warmth used to be.

Grief was like a heavy, suffocating blanket, making every step feel endless.

But over time, I found bits of strength in myself, echoes of her resilience that she'd left behind. The pain never fully goes away, but it softens into a bittersweet reminder that love goes beyond everything—touch, time, even death.

I still miss her every single day.

"Well," he said, getting up from the couch and heading to the window, "mine was... busy. A whore, if we're being honest, so we never really connected. It was tough, but maybe it was for the best."

Gosh, I'd never seen a man so big and jaw-droppingly attractive before. I was staring so hard, my mouth was practically watering, and I almost cut my finger while trying to butter up the dough.

Great, just what I needed—a self-inflicted injury over a guy's back.

I quickly snapped my attention away, hoping he didn't catch my little fan-girl moment. The guy's pouring his heart out about his dead mother, and here I am, lost in some sort of muscle-induced daze.

Something's seriously wrong with you, Caia.

"How did you end up working for Igor?" I asked, shaping the dough into small, even balls. I'd clearly made way too much dough—looks like I'd be freezing half of it for later.

"I got fired from one of my jobs," he said, rummaging through his coat. "Igor found me on the streets and took me in. Ashtray?"

"First drawer," I pointed with my flour-dusted hands.

I felt him getting closer, his scent wrapping around me like some sort of magical aura, and I had to close my eyes for a second, totally swept up in it.

Then, he plopped back on the couch.

Smells amazing, looks incredible—is he blessed by a higher power, or did he sign a deal with the devil? At this point, the devil thing is starting to make a lot more sense.

"I heard you have to do something for Igor to be accepted into the Silas," I said, covering the dough with a wet cloth and reaching for my berries in the fridge to start the red sauce. "What did you do?"

"Beheaded a priest."

I gulped, slowly turning to face him, hoping he was teasing me.

He sat on the couch, legs stretched out, arms resting on the edge, looking like a king waiting for his subjects to heed his orders. Bringing his cigarette to his lips, his eyes locked onto mine, as if silently challenging me— What are you going to do now, Caia?

"Oh, that's... fancy."

His gaze traveled from my chest down to my legs. "Why are you really living here, Caia? Don't get me wrong, the place is... cute," he said, casually pushing aside a small rose-shaped cushion on the couch beside him—a memento knitted by my mama when I was five. "But you're Mankiev's daughter," he continued, inhaling from his cigarette. "Your papa is one of the richest dealers in the country."

"Not richer than you, though," I breathed out.

" Nyet, " he shrugged nonchalantly. He took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him. "So, what's the story? Papa cut you off?"

I crossed my arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I don't need my Papa's money. I prefer to live on my terms, not his."

He raised an eyebrow. "Independent and feisty. I like that."

Ignoring him, I resumed working on my baking, feeling like I'd made a questionable choice letting him into my kitchen. Still, the tension crackled in the air, like I'd mixed a pinch of mischief and alluring danger with my flour.

I took a deep breath, deciding to share a glimpse of my reality with him.

"My babushka is sick. Parkinson's," I admitted, my tone softening. "I need to be close so I can take care of her. My boss lets me stay in this studio, so I can be there for her whenever she needs me."

"Family first," he whispered.

I nodded, not expecting him to truly grasp the depth of my commitment to my babushka and …father. "Family is everything. "

My family is my everything, and I'd go to any lengths to protect them—even if it means navigating the delightful mess of my father's evil antics.

So, if breaking your heart is the price to keep my babushka and me safe, Alexsei Romaniev, then unfortunately, it's a necessary evil.