Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."

― Robert Frost

Caia

I rinsed my cup with a forceful determination, channeling the frustrations and disappointments of my horrendous day and night into every stroke.

The cup gleamed with cleanliness, but just like my tarnished soul, I felt an insatiable need to purify it even more. Scrubbing it again and again, I felt the rough texture of the sponge on my fingertips, and gradually, my skin reddened and stung with each rigorous pass.

The pain, both physical and emotional, merged as I continued my relentless task.

At some point, I winced when the scrubbing became too harsh, realizing that my own pain mirrored the relentless toil of trying to cleanse something that might never be truly pure.

I stopped abruptly, leaning my weight against the cupboard, my head drooping to rest on my shoulders. I let out a deep, weary sigh.

The cup was clean, but I remained tangled in the mess of my own life, unable to scrub away the stains that marred my soul.

Turning to gaze at the living room, the remnants of the night's chaos lay scattered about. Cigarette butts and empty glasses were strewn across the table, while magazines featuring sultry, oiled women taunted from their covers, their eyes saying, "You can look, but you can't touch."

Amid the mess were scattered bills and a powdery residue mixed with dust.

I despised this apartment, loathed how it had become an unwelcome mirror reflecting my father's life. It was a bleak portrait of excess – dominated by sex, drugs, and alcohol.

I rarely come here anymore, thanks to my university studies and my part-time job at the nursing home, where my incredibly kind boss, who has become more like a sister to me now, Valoria, allowed me to set up a small studio in one of the rooms in exchange for working extra night shifts when needed.

My days were packed with essays, attending to elderly residents—changing dozens of adult diapers—and squeezing in some much-needed sleep.

It was a busy life, but it kept me engaged and grateful for the distraction, keeping me away from my father, unless he specifically asked for me.

Like he did tonight.

A sudden headache erupted, and I instinctively rubbed my temples in frustration.

I hated what he did tonight, parading me around like some showy peacock, hoping his business would magically thrive.

"You know, men like Igor envy me for having such a beautiful daughter," my father's words echoed in my head.

Bile rose in my throat as I recalled the last time he pulled a stunt like that, and I had to…

" Spasibo for tonight, Caia," my father interrupted my thoughts from his seat in front of the TV. "How's your babushka?"

I had taken the job at the nursing home primarily because my grandmother had been admitted there two years ago, her body deteriorating from Parkinson's disease.

She could barely walk, speak, or eat anymore.

Yet, when she did recognize me, her face would light up, tears welling in her eyes, her shaking hands reaching out for mine with surprising strength.

I always spend an hour with her every night after coming back from university and freshening up, chatting about my day, my studies in photography and art, or even sharing Russian folklore tales.

Most of the time, she'd just sit there in silence, eyes fixed on the window, her small frame nearly vanishing in her chair.

These moments bring a bit of light into her world and mine, even though she was often lost in her own thoughts, just like me.

"She's holding on," I replied, though it had become a real struggle recently.

Valoria had shared a few nights ago that my grandmother's health had taken a significant downturn, and I had to brace myself for the inevitable.

Recalling our conversation felt like a few strings in my heart had snapped.

But my father didn't need to know any of that.

He simply didn't care about his mother, her health, or whether she was still walking this earth. It was almost shocking to think that she had given birth to him, considering how different they were.

" Khorosho, Good ," he said, scratching his beard. "Anyway, I need your help with something else."

I freaking knew it.

I turned around, thoroughly scrubbing my hands with scalding hot water, waiting for him to speak again. My nerves crawled up my spine, hoping he wouldn't push me into something that would make me feel ashamed once again.

"Caia—"

I tensed up. "I'm listening."

He cleared his throat. "I need you to work your charm on one of Igor's men, Romaniev to be precise. I believe it will enhance the success of my deal with Igor, if you catch my drift."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Oh, I catch your drift loud and clear, Papa."

"I knew I could count on you, my child."

As he continued, I fought back the angry tears, letting them silently trace paths down my cheeks. I knew what he was asking of me, and it tore at my heart, but I had little choice in the matter.

The memory of the last time I attempted to refuse and escape came rushing back. He had sent one of his men to punish me, and the ordeal was something I never wanted to experience again. It had left scars, both physical and emotional, that still haunted me to this day.

I remember that night when I rushed to the apartment of one of my friends, Lidia, or Lily as I usually called her. She had gone away for the weekend to visit her parents in Rybinsk and had given me her apartment keys. Her place was a cozy one-bedroom on Duroga Street, not too far from Gorky Central Park, where we used to have lunch together.

I had kept my presence there a secret, but somehow, my father managed to track me down.

Lily's apartment wasn't filled with much furniture, but it had a warm, inviting atmosphere. The most striking feature was the fresh flowers scattered around, brightening the space and infusing it with a touch of life.

Colorful paintings adorned the walls, all of which were her own creations.

One painting particularly caught my eye—a vivid depiction of a naked lady running through a field of lilies, mirroring the spirit of freedom and wild abandon I so desperately craved.

I was fast asleep, exhausted from last-minute exam preparations, when a loud and heavy knock on the door jolted me awake.

My heart raced in my throat as I tried to shake off my drowsiness before opening the door, half-expecting it to be Lukas, Lily's boyfriend.

In my groggy state, I had forgotten that the previous night, I had lashed out at my father for once again selling my body to one of his suppliers in a desperate bid to make some quick cash.

The moment I turned the doorknob, a powerful hand encased in a sinister leather glove seized it, violently pushing the door wide open with a force that made my stomach drop to my toes.

I instinctively clutched my cardigan tighter, seeking a thin layer of comfort as I stumbled back, cold sweat of dread forming on my skin.

Standing before me was Drayi, one of my father's henchmen. His face twisted into an evil grin as his eyes locked onto mine, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

Fear surged through me like an electric jolt.

I took several rapid steps backward, my mind desperately urging me to escape this nightmare. But before I could flee, he struck with a vengeance, his fingers cruelly tangling in my hair, and with a merciless yank, I was sent crashing to the floor.

I landed in a twisted heap, eyes squeezed shut in a futile effort to block out the horror that had befallen me. My knees drew close to my chest in a pathetic attempt to shield myself.

Drayi loomed closer. He reached down, his hand hovering before grabbing a handful of my hair in a nightmarish grip I couldn't escape.

"I never thought you'd be such a fucking brat, Caia. You don't listen to your papa's orders, huh?" He chuckled and then yanked my head closer, his breath hot on my ear. "I have a gift for you."

My entire body quivered like a leaf in the wind.

"I don't want it," I managed to whisper.

"Open your eyes."

I shook my head.

His grip on my hair was suddenly released, but just as quickly, a brutal slap landed on my face, the force sending me sprawling onto the floor.

My ear throbbed, the world spinning around me. I was close to losing consciousness, my vision blurred.

As I touched my stinging ear, a wet, sticky sensation met my fingertips.

A sickening feeling crept in as I realized it was blood.

"Open your fucking eyes, Caia."

Defeated and trembling, I reluctantly opened my eyes to find him standing tall before me, his face twisted into a cruel grin. The nightgown I wore underneath my cardigan had ridden up my legs, leaving my skin exposed to the cold, unforgiving floor beneath me. My trembling hands and cheek rested against the icy surface.

He let out a chilling chuckle and casually tossed something heavy onto the floor. It hit with a resounding thud, rolling slowly toward me in the dim room.

A horrified gasp tore from my throat.

No.

This couldn't be real.

No!

Please, no!

"Next time, Caia, it'll be you."

Just inches from me lay Lukas's decapitated head, the gruesome sight so shocking it felt like a cruel nightmare, freezing my very soul.

He decapitated my best friend's boyfriend.

That was just four years ago, a few days after my seventeenth birthday.

After that day, I never dared to disobey my father again.

I dried my hands on a small cloth nearby, shaking my head vigorously to banish the memories that had surged back with overwhelming intensity. The last thing I wanted was to let madness take over again, causing more harm than what had already been inflicted.

"Why Romaniev?" I asked as the haze of my memories began to lift.

The image of the tall man with light brown hair I had met a few hours ago resurfaced in my mind. I remembered the way his lips had brushed against my hand and his intense blue eyes locked onto mine. His skin was as pale as freshly fallen snow, but it radiated warmth like a smoldering volcano. The electric charge that coursed through my skin when he touched me had made me step back.

I couldn't quite place it, but something about him unsettled me.

My father grunted, scratching his beard. "Alexsei is too stupid for his own good. Easy prey. Volk, on the other hand, is far too egocentric to fall for this trap."

I guessed Volk was the other man in the room, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and an aura that exuded a dark, evil presence.

"Okay," I whispered under my breath. "I'll do my best, Papa."

I gently turned the doorknob and slipped into my babushka's room, careful not to make a sound. It was already past four in the morning, and I knew Valoria would be furious if she caught me loitering in the hallway at this hour, no matter how fond she was of me.

After quietly closing the door, I tiptoed to her bedside.

Babushka lay asleep, her frail body trembling slightly, her face etched with lines. We'd had to increase her sleeping pills recently; her relentless disease had made her delusional at times, robbing her of a full night's rest.

At least now, she'd be in peaceful slumber for a while.

I took a seat in the chair next to her bed and reached out to gently hold her hand. Her skin was smooth but thin, revealing veins and bony contours. Still, it radiated a comforting warmth. I brought her hand to my cheek, tears welling up in my eyes .

The absence of her wisdom, her sweet smile, and her beautiful heart had left a profound void in my life.

I missed the touch of her loving hands that once spent hours brushing and knotting my hair, the warmth of her kisses, and the sparkle of her jokes that could brighten any dark day. Her incredible meals were now just memories, and her soothing words were dearly missed.

Most of all, I missed her unwavering support and the stories she told about my mother.

My mama had passed away when I was only six.

My father had said it was cancer, but years later, babushka revealed the painful truth—my mother had died from a cocaine overdose.

Given my father, I could understand why she might have sought an escape.

I came to know her pain all too well in my own way, trying to leave this world myself but never succeeding.

As I sat there holding her hand, she stirred, mumbling softly in her sleep.

I leaned in close. "Please, don't leave me, babushka. I don't know what I'd do without you. You're my only family, the only one who truly understands me. Every day without you feels like a lifetime of loneliness. Please, stay with me a little longer."

If only I had known that another light would soon enter my life, only to be taken away again, like a fleeting star in the night sky.

It felt like fate was determined to rob me of every glimmer of happiness I found.

And it all began with one man.

Alexsei Romaniev.