Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

"The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved."

– Mother Teresa

Sofiya

Still gasping for air and shaken from the nightmare, I pulled the covers over my head and counted to ten, trying to calm my racing heart.

The echoes of the dream stuck with me, making me break out in a cold sweat despite the room's warmth. I wiped my forehead and rubbed my eyes, yawning, but the haunting images just wouldn't fade.

The nightmare hit me again: a faceless man with a deep voice and broad shoulders chased me through a dark, shadowy place. He was relentless, getting closer with every desperate step I took.

I tried to scream, but my voice was trapped in silence.

Everything around me twisted and melted like a weird painting, with buildings falling and skies collapsing. It felt like a whole other world where nothing made sense.

The faceless man's whispers warned me not to trust anyone, not even myself.

Unlike any dream I'd had before, this one left me shivering with fear.

With a deep sigh, I pushed the covers aside and forced myself to face the day.

But as I got out of bed, a strange feeling gnawed at the back of my mind, a lingering sensation that I couldn't quite shake off.

Then I heard a tapping against my bedroom shutters.

My blood ran cold.

What the hell was that?

"Sofiya, hurry up! I have a meeting with Professor Hamilton in thirty minutes!"

My mama's sudden shout made me jump, and I instinctively put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself it was just her.

Gosh, she scared the living daylights out of me.

What a terrible way to start the day.

It's been three days since Claire and I argued, and despite all the apology texts I've sent, she hasn't replied to any of them. I'm really sad that she won't respond and that our brief friendship seems to have ended this way.

So, to avoid feeling depressed about it, I've decided to focus all my attention on studying day and night. However, as I glanced around and saw the state of my bedroom, I was horrified by the chaos.

How did it get so messy?

I couldn't even remember falling asleep or leaving everything scattered on the floor. They say a tidy room equals a tidy mind, and it was clear that my disorganized room reflected how I was feeling—disheveled, exhausted, and out of sorts.

I quickly got ready, taking a shower, applying some light makeup, and slipping into my favorite hoodie and jeans for comfort.

"Jesus, Sofiya!"

I rushed down the stairs and stopped in front of the door, where my mom was waiting in her usual black suit. She raised an eyebrow, took in my appearance, and shook her head in disappointment. I forced a smile, trying to mask my embarrassment, while she grabbed her lunch bag and car keys before heading out.

"Bye, Dasha!" I called out to our housekeeper, who felt like a second mother to me.

I fumbled with my shoes for a moment before rushing outside. Finally, I plopped into the passenger seat, closed the door, and buckled up.

My mom revved up the car and zoomed away. "You've got your finals coming up, and I get that it's stressful, but you can't keep living like this," she scolded, making a sharp left turn. "I don't know, Sofiya, maybe try to get more organized with your time."

Disorganization has always been my way of life. I used to find a strange beauty in the chaos, even though I had to admit it often drained me more than anything else. I convinced myself that I thrived in stressful environments, though lately, I've been struggling to believe that .

As I stared out at the passing streets, I remained silent.

One thing everyone can agree on is how truly beautiful San Francisco is. We moved here four years ago after I finished homeschooling, mainly because my mother never trusted the traditional educational system to make me smart, as she always said. When she announced our move, I was absolutely thrilled. Texas had its scorching heat and adventure, but San Francisco felt like a fresh start.

Growing up, we were no strangers to change and diversity, constantly relocating to new places. Interestingly enough, I was actually born in Russia, though my memories of it are quite limited.

We left Russia when I was very young, so my connection to my birthplace is faint at best. Still, the prospect of attending a traditional school and stepping outside my comfort zone filled me with anticipation. It felt like the right time to start a new chapter and see what the future held.

My mom finally let me pursue a degree at a real university instead of studying online, seeing it as my first step into adulthood. Part of her decision was due to her new role as an English department teacher, which also allowed her to be nearby.

I was aware of this but didn't mind.

As I looked out at the vibrant houses and buildings, they reminded me of a picture I saw in a magazine that looked like a famous street in Cape Town, though the name escaped me.

I sighed and glanced at my mom, who had been insisting I study in her office for the past two weeks while she finished her courses. I suspected she was just trying to keep an eye on me to make sure I was studying for finals instead of binging The Office for the third time.

I couldn't quite figure out why, but for the past year, my mom had been breathing down my neck and micromanaging every aspect of my life.

No matter where I went, she was always right there with me, like my shadow.

If I wanted to take a walk, she'd drop everything and grab her sneakers.

If I mentioned heading to the bookstore for books on the Iliad, she'd insist she needed some as well, grabbing her keys and urging me to hurry.

One time, she even tagged along to my esthetician appointment, claiming she wanted to see if my esthetician, Emilie, was as good as people said.

Well, turns out the salon had strict rules about privacy and hygiene, so they didn't allow anyone to be present during the waxing process.

Thank Goodness.

To break the silence, I turned on the radio and cranked up the volume.

Without Me by Halsey filled the car, and I let myself relax into the music.

I hummed along softly, glancing at my phone to check the time.

09:55 am.

"We're having dinner at the Noels tonight. Charles told his parents he really wanted to see you again. I think he's quite smitten with you," my mom chuckled, though there was no humor in her voice.

She stopped the car and without a word, unbuckled her seat belt and got out.

I followed, feeling like a lost puppy in my own thoughts.

Charles Noels?!

I loathed that guy.

How could he even dare to say he missed me?

Was I dreaming?

The last time I saw him, he ambushed me in the parking lot, pushed me against a car, shoved his tongue in my mouth, and murmured obscene things in my ear. I managed to stomp on his foot and ran back to my mom's office, terrified he might do something worse. The last thing I heard him scream was how he loved my "dominant" side.

What an asshole.

With the sound of keys unlocking the door, I snapped back to reality and realized we had already arrived at my mother's office.

She struggled with the lock, letting out a string of frustrated curses before finally gaining entry.

"Mama, I really don't want to see Charles. I can't stand him. And don't forget, I have to study for my finals, just like you…" I began, but she cut me off abruptly.

"We're going, and that's final."

My jaw tightened.

"Do you remember Patrick Noels, my boss?" she asked, pointing to a photograph on her desk of the two of them shaking hands. There was a noticeable flush coloring her cheeks as she added, "I don't think he'll be too pleased if I refuse to bring my daughter to a dinner he arranged so his son could spend time with her."

She then placed her Valentino bag on the desk and retrieved a pink lipstick from it.

Using her phone as a mirror, she deftly applied it to her lips.

"You mean he wants to see me so he can take advantage of me this time!" I blurted out, my blood pounding in my ears. Clenching my fists, I took a step closer to her.

It was the first time I'd ever raised my voice at my mama, but I couldn't understand why she'd been so insensitive lately or why she was pushing me to bond with the Noels.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, turning around with a furrowed brow and staring at me.

My mama was undeniably stunning, with her sparkling brown eyes and naturally rosy cheeks. But when she looked at me like that, I dreaded the words that might come out of her mouth.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! Remember that day when I…" I trailed off, overwhelmed by the memories.

A knock on the door interrupted us. Professor Hamilton peeked in, flashing a friendly smile, and signaled for my mom to join him for their meeting. She returned the smile, gave me a quick, disapproving look, and told me to head to the library until lunchtime.

As she walked away, a heavy silence settled in. I took a moment to gather myself before heading to the library. Adulthood can be a lonely journey, and I was starting to really understand that. I had once seen adulthood as a time of freedom and excitement, but now I saw it differently. The weight of responsibilities felt overwhelming, and it was all too easy to feel depressed. University wasn't making it any easier.

I felt like I was constantly under pressure to figure out my future, when I should be out living my best life—partying, having fun, and just enjoying myself. But instead, it seemed like there was no room for any of that. I couldn't remember the last time I'd really enjoyed myself, and that realization was painful .

My mom put so much pressure on me about my education, always pushing me to succeed. But I kept wondering if it was worth it if I couldn't enjoy the present. Aren't we supposed to live in the moment? With how uncertain and fragile life is, it seemed like a waste to get caught up in things that didn't really matter.

With a sigh, I decided to take a walk around campus.

Winter was approaching, and a chilly breeze was blowing through my hair. The cool air was refreshing, so I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to soak in the tranquility.

Suddenly, loud, deep laughter interrupted the peace. I opened my eyes to see a group of frat boys playing rugby while others lounged on the grass, reading or hanging out with their dogs. I never understood how people were so full of energy in the mornings.

For me, waking up felt like dragging myself through a fog until lunchtime.

I was more of a night person, finding solace when everything was quiet. Under the stars and the moon, I felt truly at ease.

Like the Little Prince, I believed the moon held the key to inner tranquility.

Feeling suddenly exhausted from my existential crisis on a random Tuesday morning, I headed back to my mom's office.

My head was down, lost in thought, until I bumped into something solid, as though I'd crashed into a concrete wall.

Disoriented, I looked up and found myself staring into the deepest, darkest brown eyes I had ever seen. Startled, I took a step back and let my gaze slowly travel across his face.

Calling him attractive felt like an understatement. This man was absolutely stunning. He stood tall— easily six-four—with a face that could rival Apollo's. His intense gaze seemed to warm me from within, and his muscular build hinted at a hidden strength.

Could he carry me ?

What?

What on earth is wrong with me today?

Wait!

Do I know him?

His face was oddly familiar, but I couldn't quite place where I'd seen him before.

His silky black hair was pulled back, framing a striking face with stubble that hinted at a few days' growth. The contrast between his dark hair and eyes against his pale skin made me wonder: would his touch be as warm as his gaze or as cool as his exterior?

Wearing a black Prada three-piece suit and tie, he looked more suited to a NYC boardroom than a college campus.

Was he a professor?

His outfit screamed wealth, but the disdainful glare he shot my way suggested something else entirely. Heat rose to my cheeks and chest as I realized I had been checking him out.

"Damn it, watch where you're going!" he snapped with a thick accent, drawing the attention of people nearby.

"Sorry, I didn't see you," I stammered, offering a nervous smile.

"Are you blind or something?"

"I'm really sorry, I was just daydreaming," I said, taken aback by his abruptness.

What the hell? I'd heard about the devil wearing Prada, but I never expected to run into him on the University of San Francisco campus, especially not dressed like that. Then again, someone so striking might just fit the devil's profile for grabbing attention.

"I could see that," he said with a touch of mockery, shaking his head.

A light breeze rustled between us, lifting strands of my hair and carrying his earthy, masculine scent to my nose. His voice was deep and smooth, with a richness that was almost magnetic. It had a commanding presence, as if he was used to having people hang on his every word.

As if his captivating presence wasn't enough, he spoke with a subtle accent that added an extra layer of mystery—one I couldn't quite place.

He abruptly turned away and walked off, leaving me standing there with my heart still racing. I rubbed my temples, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that had settled over me.

The sense of unease grew stronger, and I felt as though someone was watching me. Goosebumps rose on my neck as I glanced around. There was no one there—just the usual crowd of college students going about their day. I cursed myself for letting my imagination get the best of me.

Maybe it was just the lingering effect of the nightmare I'd had earlier, playing tricks on my mind.

I hurried to my mom's office, ran up the stairs, and paused at the top to catch my breath and calm down. I needed to act like I'd just come from the library, not like I'd been running around town.

I pulled my hair into a ponytail with the band I had on my wrist and checked the time on my phone. It was 1:20 p.m.

Oh no.

Sofiya, you're in trouble now.

The hallways were deserted, with only the echo of my footsteps breaking the silence. I approached my mom's half-open door and stopped, sensing something off.

I couldn't quite explain it, but the atmosphere felt thick, and a knot of unease tightened in my chest. The silence was unusually heavy.

As I took those final steps, which felt like they dragged on forever, a sudden loud bang, like something slamming against a table, startled me. I paused, holding my breath, a sense of dread creeping over me.

When I finally reached the door, I pressed my ear against it and heard a deep, rough voice coming from inside.

"Yebanaya shlyukha! You whore!"

I hadn't heard Russian in ages. Mama and Dasha had wanted to forget the country and the painful memories tied to it. So, Russian was never spoken at home, not even during our nightly prayers.

That's why I couldn't make out a single word. I held my breath, trying to stay as quiet as possible. I'd seen enough movies where curiosity led to dangerous consequences, but I had to find out what was going on.

"Klyanus', yesli ty ne privedesh' yeye ko mne segodnya vecherom, ya pererezhu tebe gorlo! I swear if you don't bring her to us tonight, I'll cut your throat!" A man yelled, his fury palpable even through the wall.

"Nyet! Ona dazhe ne znayet, chto oni sushchestvuyut! No! She doesn't even know they exist!" My mother's voice came through, urgent and strained.

After a long, tense pause, where only the faint buzz of a fly behind me broke the silence, a barely audible, chilling murmur sliced through the stillness of the hallway .

"Otvedi yeye segodnya vecherom v bar Nikolayeva, Helena. Take her to Nikolaev's bar tonight, Helena."

I didn't need to understand the language to recognize the threat in the last statement. A chill ran down my spine, and my hands began to tremble.

Desperate to see what was happening, I pushed the door open.

My mom's right cheek was red, as if she had been slapped. Books and papers were strewn across the wooden floor, and two men were in the room with her.

One man, standing close to her, held a piece of paper and a pen. He was in his late thirties, dressed in a dark gray Valentino suit with a black tie. Slightly taller than my mom, he had piercing blue eyes, a round face, and a thick beard. He looked at me with an intense, predatory gaze.

A cough made me turn to the right, where the other man leaned against the bright window. He was tall and muscular, wearing a black Louis Vuitton suit and a black and burgundy tie. When our eyes met, he smirked, showing a large scar on his cheek.

"Sofiya, can you please come back later? I'm in a meeting," my mom said, her voice shaking. Her shoulders trembled, and her eyes flickered between me and the men.

She subtly nodded toward the door.

Despite the growing tension and the pounding in my ears, I had a sense that leaving might be a mistake.

"No, we're leaving," the man said, his expression darkening.

If his eyes were knives, I'd be decapitated by now. He placed the piece of paper on my mom's desk, shot her one last intense look, and then turned to leave with the other man.

Before following the man with the blue eyes out, the second man leaned in close and whispered in Russian, " Ya ne mogu dozhdat'sya, chtoby sdelat' tebya moyey shlyukhoy. I can't wait to make you my whore. "

Though I didn't understand the words, the tone was unmistakably threatening. I could tell it wasn't a compliment, and in that moment, I was relieved not to grasp the full meaning.

He gave me one last scrutinizing look and then followed his accomplice out the door.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by my mom's quiet sobs. I turned to see her with her head buried in her hands, crying as if her heart was breaking. I'd never seen her like this, not even after Papa died. When she was upset, she usually retreated to her room, leaving me with Dasha.

I moved to her side and wrapped my arms around her, feeling her tears soak into my shirt. I rubbed her back and stroked her hair, trying to comfort her as she once did for me.

After a while, her sobs subsided, and she looked up, meeting my eyes. The light hitting her face didn't hide the fear in her eyes.

It was clear: we were in danger.