Morning in the estate was slowly unfolding,
like silk fabric in the wind —
without haste,
with dignity.
The light was not bright yet,
it was only testing the space,
carefully touching the walls,
the cornices,
the floor.
I rubbed my neck with my hand, slightly throwing my head back.
Sweet anticipation of immersion.
A breeze circled around,
peeked into the windows,
touched the curtains,
as if checking —
whether I was awake.
I winked at it.
— Hi, darling.
Everything here remained untouched.
Marble with light veins of time,
like wrinkles on a face.
An old brass faucet —
warm to the touch,
with a quiet, confident character.
Narrow tall windows
through which the light
lay on the walls
in a soft golden stroke,
not blinding,
but as if blessing.
The air was special.
It didn’t just smell —
it preserved.
Silence.
Footsteps.
Sighs.
Thoughts of those
who once stood here the same way —
in the morning,
one on one with themselves.
I inhaled deeper
and felt
how the space
slowly accepts me.
Water affects me especially sensually and gently.
It takes me to itself and revives me to life.
I smiled — like Nate, it acts like Nate.
Salt. Pink grains dissolved slowly, leaving behind a soft aroma of desert and sun.
Oils — jasmine, rose, and a drop of olive — and the water became silky, viscous, tender.
Foam rose in a light, voluminous cloud — white, fragrant, like whipped morning.
The bathroom filled with aromas.
A robe the color of yellow gold, sparkling champagne, fell to the floor — silk did not resist, it was glad to bare my soul and my body.
Thank you — I winked at it.
Beloved things always have a spirit.
First the fingers — a light intrusion — and the hot water shuddered, as if it recognized me.
A dense aroma of jasmine and Siberian earth rose upward, a soft, viscous haze.
I threw my head back in pleasure —
every point, from the neck to the tips of my fingers, became more sensitive.
Hot water embraced my foot.
First a light tingling, then a soft fire.
I closed my eyes again, enjoying this contrast.
Another step.
The hot wave rose to my ankles.
The skin immediately became smooth, pliable, as if melting.
A hand slid along the thigh — wet skin under the fingers was warm, sensitive, almost ringing.
And I sank deeper.
Warmth rose along the shins, slowly, as if stroking me.
I felt how the water touched every centimeter — unhurriedly, with love.
When the hot wave reached my knees, I inhaled quietly — so that my chest lifted slightly, and the air became sweet with jasmine.
My hips sank into the water, and a tremor burned through me — not from cold, from pleasure.
Hot water gently enveloped, melted the remnants of tension in the muscles.
I slowly lowered myself further.
Foam touched my stomach, then my chest — white, soft, enveloping.
When the hot water covered my chest, I inhaled deeper than necessary — I couldn’t hold back.
This heat was almost intimate, but in the most beautiful, innocent sense.
And finally — the shoulders.
Hot water rose to them, and the world seemed to dissolve.
The body completely submerged into silky heat, and I slightly arched, allowing the warmth to settle along the lines of the spine.
My head fell back.
My neck stretched.
Steam rose around, caressing the skin, and I felt so… real.
Alive and soft.
Steam rose upward, slowly trembling under the window light, as if drawing clouds above the water.
And only now, when the body finally went quiet, thoughts found their way to me.
They came softly, like a shadow.
My reaction.
His gaze.
My fears.
Our conversation.
After the events at the charity match, all my inner parts activated at full capacity.
I literally strangled myself with an invisible tie.
“Don’t even think about pulling something like that again.
Shut up.
And stand there with a face as if this is the happiest event of your life.
If something is important to him — you will quiet down and endure.
If it’s important for him to talk to someone or have fun, you will shine as his support.”
I exhaled.
— What, don’t like it? — the inner voice immediately flew into rage.
— Want me to remind you what you pulled?! We almost lost him! I’m still shocked he hasn’t lost his mind with you yet! How much, motherfucker, we had to restore the body! And the surgeries we had to do live!
I shuddered, and my leg twitched, as if reminding me of the insane pain of those procedures.
— I remember… I remember. I’ll be quieter than water and lower than grass.
I slowly submerged my head under the water.
Another minute.
Another second.
Time.
Transparent trails flowed down from the skin, burning with the coolness of the air.
Foam settled on the collarbones like white lace.
The skin was warm, damp, silky, as if the water had sculpted me anew.
A large, soft towel.
It covered my shoulders, absorbing the remnants of the bath — like in a cocoon — protected and calm.
I grumbled with pleasure.
In the mirror my curls reflected — damp, wavy, shining.
I gathered them with the towel, but then, remembering that I was going to him…
I left them loose.
Loose means I am calm.
Calm next to him.
One memory of Nate made my lower belly come alive, and I clenched from arousal.
In the bedroom, sunlight broke through the curtains,
lingered in the folds of fabric,
gilded the edges of the furniture,
made the room a little warmer,
a little closer.
It lay on the bed,
on the floor,
on the back of the chair,
as if choosing
where to stay.
Hi, baby.
I opened the wardrobe.
The doors slid silently,
almost respectfully.
I ran my finger along the hangers —
silk,
cashmere,
a thin cotton blouse…
Each thing was a possibility.
Each one — a role.
But today
I didn’t want to play.
I didn’t want to be dressed up.
I didn’t want to be spectacular.
I didn’t want to make an impression —
even on myself.
I wanted to be real.
Alive.
The kind
that steps out of the bedroom in the morning
without intention,
but with the breath of sleep
still lingering in the chest.
My gaze clouded,
and memories rose again like a sweet cloud.
It was the end of the day, warm like soft milk.
The kitchen still smelled of recently cooked food.
He lifted me onto the kitchen counter — easily, confidently, as if he’d been doing it all his life.
And slowly stood between my thighs, placing his hands on either side — as if shielding an entire world with himself.
I smiled.
My beloved.
My whole body remembered that sensation — the sensation of his hands.
They were so warm, confident, real.
My skin broke out in goosebumps, remembering and reliving it again.
And then he lowered his head to my chest — not roughly, not hungrily, but as if he wanted to hide, to breathe me in, to rest.
As if that was where his home was.
I pulled him closer.
My fingers softly began to sift through his hair — thick, warm, obedient under my hands.
And he exhaled into my skin — deeply, almost with relief.
— Little mouse… — his voice was low, tired, honest.
— You’re not a problem.
I froze.
He pressed against me tighter, wrapping his arms around my back, as if gathering me piece by piece.
He calmly said that he would send me a report as often as he could.
I blushed so much it felt like my skin stuck to my muscles.
How much trouble this report would cause him — he’d have to keep reporting constantly.
— Great. Now we’ll cause him even more trouble, you damn jealous idiot, — Ursula drawled, appearing with her signature “nothing’s ever enough for you.”
I sighed.
Yeah, fuck off — he has to invest too, not just her alone, — Mushu.
Guys, please, not now. I really am learning how to build relationships properly.
I resisted as much as I could, but Nate was right:
so that I wouldn’t drown again in my pain and we wouldn’t end up in the hospital again, I need transparency.
I need concrete facts.
No half-said things.
Everything as it is.
He nodded, and from that day on he sends me a report every time he’s not at home,
every time he changes location.
And at the end, неизменно:
I’m not leaving, I’m nearby, I’m not going anywhere, everything is fine, I’m here, I’m with you, we’re together, you’re not alone, I’m with you.
I sighed with relief — and the darkness didn’t make itself wait.
— Idiot. You’re a walking problem for him. If it weren’t for the shared children, he’d have gotten rid of you long ago, — Ursula hissed.
— That’s not true. I’m not bad. I just need time to adapt.
My brain is trying to rewire to a different reality, where it’s safe.
And this is about reciprocity. He’s trying to give to me, not just take.
Ursula snorted.
— Sounds like a lecture, idiot.
I showed her my middle finger.
— He loves me. Like it or not, — I said and wiggled my ass into the invisible space.
“Here. Got it?”
With a new mood, I chose a mini and a blouse — inevitably heels and his cologne.
I like smelling like Nate, as if he’s always here and I’m in his arms.
I laughed,
because I remembered how once he caught the scent of his own cologne.
— Darling, are you wearing my perfume?
I blushed.
And he immediately lit up — his favorite thing was sniffing me — and he started gently biting my neck.
— Confess, kitten, why do you need this?
I blushed even harder.
— I… I… I can’t tell you.
— Ooooh…
Darkness — his eyes darkened.
— Darling, how long do you think you’ll last?
— I… I… I… actually, I—
And there was fog in my head, one kiss from him and I forget who I am and how old I am.
— Kitten…
God, I… I… I put it on sometimes for meetings.
I swallowed.
He looked at me straight on, brazenly, the way he knows how to.
My knees buckled.
— I… I… I sometimes wear it to meetings so that I can be—
I lifted my eyes to him, dying of embarrassment.
He was barely holding back a grin.
— Because I want to be as confident in negotiations as you are, — I blurted out quickly and covered my face with my palms.
He lit up.
— Ahhh, that’s what it is.
— Darling, I have advice for you.
He purred into my ear, driving me crazy.
— When you’re in a meeting, it’s important to stay focused.
Keep your focus on one point.
Don’t get distracted.
— I choose a point.
For example — lips.
I swallowed.
Tender, full lips.
He licked them.
— I try not to get distracted from them, do you understand, kitten?
Oh my God, Nate.
— This should help, little mouse, — and he laughed.
When I finished, my heart was already beating faster.
Because I knew where I was going.
I knew whom I would see.
And what I would see in his eyes.
Downstairs, the driver was already waiting. Mike.
I kissed him on the cheek.
— Hi.
He got flustered.
The car door opened with a soft click.
I settled into the back seat, and the car pulled away — smoothly, confidently.
The city drifted past the window, but I only saw what was inside:
his face,
his gaze,
the crease between his brows when he understands something,
his voice.
And the thought, quiet and warm:
I’m going to him.
By the time the car stopped in front of the glass façade of his building, my hands were trembling slightly.
Mike opened the door.
I stepped out, inhaled, and lifted my head.
Nate’s office
The 24th floor this week — this is Nate’s office.
It’s strange to know that he works not at home, not at his huge wooden desk, where I’m used to seeing his strength and silence,
but here, in this big, cold building.
What a contrast.
Sometimes I forget that there is my Nate and Nate for the rest of the world.
Cold, composed, successful.
While the elevator was going up, I nervously chewed all my nails — right up to the edge of decency.
With every second it felt like the floor under me was trembling.
“You’re like a child,” — Mushu snorted, sitting on the handrail.
“Seriously,” — he added, — “we’re just going to the 24th floor, and you’re acting like you’re about to walk into the arena of The Hunger Games.”
— Leave me alone, — I whispered, but my hands betrayed me completely:
I nervously adjusted my skirt, then smoothed it, then adjusted it again.
— God… — I exhaled.
Hair.
Of course, hair.
I tucked a strand behind my ear.
Then pulled it back out — what if it looks prettier that way.
Then tucked it again — what if it’s still better like this.
“Stop touching your hair — you’ve tucked that strand so many times your ear is about to file for vacation.”
— Everyone leave me alone, — I sighed, checking in the reflection of the steel door whether the blouse sat well.
Checked the button.
Checked the collar.
Checked my breathing.
The breathing was suspiciously fast.
And too loud.
I squeezed out a smile — the kind actresses rehearse before stepping onto the red carpet.
— Everything will be fine, — I whispered to myself. — I’m an adult. I’m an adult. I…
Ding.
The elevator stopped.
My palms instantly became sweaty.
My heart dropped into my heels.
Hades stood up, brushed off his suit:
“Well, good luck, little mouse.”
The doors slid open.
And the air of the corridor crashed into me — fresh, businesslike, smelling of coffee, papers, power…
And him.
I fixed my hair one last time.
Gathered myself into a single breath.
And stepped forward.
I’m not afraid of him, I’m not afraid of him — he’s not just a big boss, he’s my Nate.
Wait a few more seconds.
Perfect. The secretary is distracted.
I literally slipped under her gaze like a shadow, quickly, quickly moving my legs.
There was a hum in my chest — dense, heavy, as if I’d been running for too long and never managed to exhale.
“You look like an idiot,” — Hades informed me.
“Just leave me alone,” — and without feeling my fingers, I opened the door to the office.
Then I stopped at the threshold.
The air got stuck somewhere in my throat.
I straightened up.
— …surprise, — very nervously and too loudly; my hands hung in the air in the style of this is supposed to be a celebration.
Nate raised his eyes.
He caught it immediately — not the word, but the state.
His gaze became attentive, collected.
He held his breath with me for a second, still listening to the phone, and quietly said:
— Uh-huh, yes… got it. I’ll call you back. Okay. See you.
Click. Silence.
He stood up and walked toward me — calmly, confidently, the way only those with complete control inside walk.
I bit my lip.
Like this — powerful, collected — he was only like this in a suit.
He threw a quick glance into the foyer — everyone was staring at us.
I had a stupid little smile on my face.
He hugged me briefly, precisely, confidently — not to calm me, but to fix it: I’m here, he’s here.
From that touch, it got even hotter in my chest, my breathing completely went off.
Then he stepped back to the desk, adjusting his tie, and that very crease appeared between his brows.
That means he understood something.
I swallowed.
“Come on, Nazokat, lie more naturally,” — I tried to tune myself, forcing my shoulders to drop.
I casually walked along the wall, pretending to look at the knickknacks on the shelves — books, a stone, a framed photograph.
I needed to do something, just not look at him — he’d figure everything out immediately.
In response, he folded his fingers into a fan — his favorite gesture — and tilted his head.
— So? — he smiled like a cat.
— Nice office, — I squeaked.
He slowly, shamelessly looked me up and down.
— Uh-huh.
I adjusted my skirt — damn, I shouldn’t have worn a mini.
His face was lighting up more and more — he already understood everything.
And he was enjoying the show.
— Little mouse?
— Huh? — I made an innocent face, though it had betrayed me a long time ago.
— Were you just strolling around here… or did you come in on purpose?
I started blushing, tucking my hair in, then letting it fall back out — pure chaos.
God, he knows everything, God, he understood everything.
— Me? Uh… yes… yes… I was just walking by…
He glanced toward the window.
The window where the car with the driver is perfectly visible.
— I see, little mouse. You drove yourself?
— Um… no… I mean yes… I mean—
God, I should have prepared a lie in advance.
He took a step toward me.
That very step that turns any adult into marshmallow.
— You don’t know how to lie, little mouse.
— I… I… I’m not lying! I meant…
— Mmm? Go on.
— I… well… I just…
— So why did you come, little mouse?
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
I blushed to the very limits of human possibility.
He licked his lips — slightly, barely noticeable.
Inside me everything shuddered.
He leaned toward my ear, and my brain simply disappeared.
— Maybe you came to ask me something?
His voice was lower than usual.
— Well… you could’ve called then.
His fingers traced over my blouse like over a wave.
— Or you just missed me.
I swallowed.
Mushu in my head started panicking, clutching his head: “That’s it! We lost!”
Hades laughed: “Well, he did say — missed me!”
Nate kissed my neck.
Lightly.
But in a way that made the world collapse under my feet.
— Or… — his lips slid along my skin, — …you came for something special?
I swallowed again.
God.
He pulled back slightly to see my face.
And now nothing was a game — his gaze became serious, heavy, warm.
— Little mouse, — he said softly, — if you come to me like this…
He ran his fingers along my wrist, slowly, sensually, as if listening to my pulse.
— …I can’t just say “see you.”
His palm settled on my back — confidently, insistently, without pressure, but so that my breath caught.
— Everything is visible here, — he nodded toward the glass walls.
— And you know it.
I swallowed.
He moved even closer, and I felt his breath on my cheek.
— But you still came.
His fingers traced the line of my neck, and he exhaled quietly, as if confessing to himself:
— You interfere with my work.
I touched his jacket — barely, with the pads of my fingers.
He sharply inhaled.
His chest trembled.
His neck tensed.
And I understood:
yes, he’s barely holding on too.
— Darling… — his voice became hoarse, warm, —
He pressed his forehead to mine.
Warm.
Tender.
— Tell me one thing… — he whispered almost against my lips.
— Did you really just need to see me?
I inhaled.
Gathered all the courage I had.
God, I can’t exactly tell him outright that I can barely breathe imagining him in his office.
He closed his eyes.
As if he had heard what he’d been waiting to hear for a long time.
Then slowly, very slowly, he covered my waist with his palms and pulled me closer.
Just us.
Just this air between us, hot like a red-hot line.
Then he slowly, unhurriedly, stepped back from me by one step.
Not breaking eye contact.
I flushed all over again.
And he reached toward the wall.
A mechanism I couldn’t see clicked.
A shadow fell along the huge glass walls.
The blinds began to lower — slowly, softly, almost soundlessly.
Strips of light melted away one by one.
I could barely breathe already — one more second and he’s mine, just a little more.
The room sank into half-darkness.
And with every descending slat, my heart beat faster.
I swallowed so loudly, as if this silence had been created especially for my confusion.
Nate turned back to me.
But now his gaze was different.
Completely different.
Deep, dark, calm and… confident.
As if he had stopped holding back something he’d been restraining all morning.
He walked toward me unhurriedly — there was strength in his stride, and authority, and quiet.
He didn’t reach out with his hands.
He didn’t need to.
I felt his approach with my whole body.
He stopped right in front of me, so close that my breathing nearly broke.
— Now no one will see us, little mouse, — he said quietly, almost touching my ear with his lips, like a promise.
I swallowed again.
He raised his hand — gently, confidently — and ran his fingers along my neck, to where the pulse beat under the skin.
His thumb lingered on my collarbone, and from that light, almost weightless touch my knees buckled.
I stepped closer.
His palms settled on my waist.
Unhurriedly.
As if he were closing the doors behind him into another world.
He leaned in.
And the blinds, lowered all the way to the floor, quietly sealed around us a small, closed world.
…
I hadn’t even caught my breath yet.
The hum in my chest had only just begun to settle, and he was already getting dressed — calmly, unhurriedly, buttoning up my favorite white shirt.
From that sight my mouth went dry. I instinctively licked my lips and caught myself thinking that I could have sex with him in a loop, without pause, until the world beyond the door simply ceased to exist.
He noticed.
Smirked with the corner of his lips — he knew that look too well — and moved to the desk as if nothing had happened.
— Kitten, — this came in this morning. Will you take a look?
I instantly came alive.
— Of course.
He handed me the booklet.
Glossy paper. Clean lines.
A photoshoot for watch brands.
Motherfucker.
Hold the mask. Hold the mask. Don’t let him understand.
— Darling, — he continued evenly, — I think this is very useful for our ecosystem.
— Mm… — I squeezed out.
— The more we’re known, the higher the attention.
Yeah.
I was already thinking every other beat.
Mother.
Fucker.
My brain snapped on sharply, like an emergency system:
magazine circulation
plus advertising
times countries
plus Nate
motherfucker
across the entire planet
the magazine will sell like hotcakes
millions of women
and each one will be drooling over him.
Breathe. Breathe.
Shit, he’s looking.
Come on. Pretend you’re happy for him.
Come on, damn it.
He laughed — quietly, warmly, hitting the moment too precisely.
— Everything okay, little mouse?
— Huh? Uh… yes-yes, wow. Just great.
Just great.
“Just great,” — Hades immediately mocked.
Guys, shut up. This is a real nightmare.
— Darling, I’m not pressuring you, — Nate added softly. — Just think about it.
“Oh sure, you’re not pressuring at all,” — Hades snorted.
“Just strangled us so hard we can barely stand,” — Mushu chimed in.
“And overall — not a drop of pressure,” — Ursula added venomously.
I fluffed my hair, trying to keep my smile from cracking like last time,
and to keep my teeth intact.
Hold.
The mask.
Hold it.
The office reminded me of itself — a sharp, saving ring.
Thank God, someone called him.
I clung to that sound like a rope and used the second — literally ran out into the corridor.
My body gave everything away at once.
My hands jerked, shoulders were raised to my ears, fingers spasmodically clenched and unclenched, as if I were dropping something and catching it again.
My knees treacherously trembled, my walk broke down — not steps but jolts.
I knew it: it was visible. Visible to everyone.
The damn elevator.
How long can it take to come down.
I shifted from foot to foot, bit my lip until it hurt so I wouldn’t moan, my breathing went ragged — short, shallow, like a cornered animal.
My heart was pounding in my throat.
Come on. Come on.
Finally — ding.
The doors had only just begun to part, and I was already lunging forward, hammering the button like a twitchy maniac, again and again, as if the force of pressing determined how fast it would close.
Yes.
The elevator closed.
I was alone.
I immediately pressed all the buttons at once — let it ride forever, let it drag on, let it never stop.
My back pressed against the cold wall, I was searching for support.
My fingers slid down and braced against the metal.
Catalog. Advertising. Watches?
No.
I’d rather strangle him today.
I’ll lock him at home.
And he will never leave.
Never.
Never will I allow a million women to fantasize about him.
God.
God.
— Let’s use our charms, — Hades hissed sweetly. — Start crying, hysterics — he’ll give in immediately.
— Or let’s fall back into your usual hysteria again, — Mushu sneered. — You know. Cuts, bruises, trauma.
— Damn it, fuck off, all of you.
I forcefully exhaled. Then again.
Slowly.
My stomach was heaving, my chest rising too sharply, my fingers turned white — I clenched them into fists so I wouldn’t smash this damn elevator.
Damn…
They won’t just shoot hands.
It’ll be Nate.
Without a shirt.
With that torso of his.
God damn it.
I’ll tie him up with ropes.
I’ll keep him in the basement.
He won’t leave the house.
I’ll die trying, but that catalog will not come out.
Damn it, all those women will start worshipping him.
No.
No.
No.
I’d rather shoot myself.
I’ll throw a hysterical fit.
I’ll make a scene.
I’ll do anything to make him refuse.
— Home, — I breathed out when the doors finally opened.
The door closed.
And I continued already in the car.
I collapsed onto the seat as if my frame had been removed: my back immediately curved, my head fell back, my neck started aching.
My palms landed on my thighs — heavy, hot, damp.
— Damn… take the bypass. I need to think.
The driver nodded.
— And, Mike, please… incognito mode.
— Understood, miss, — he replied calmly and put on his headphones, darkened glasses.
I exhaled.
Deeply.
Finally.
My shoulders slowly began to drop.
My breathing was still shaking, but it grew deeper.
My body was still on edge, but no longer tearing itself apart.
Good.
Just a little more.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Finally — forest.
— Turn here.
He pointed with his finger:
— Here?
I nodded.
The silent Audi softly rolled off the road.
The wheels rustled over gravel and stopped.
Mike got out, as always without a word, and stepped aside, turning sideways — so as not to interfere.
Not with a look.
Not with his presence.
I was alone.
Music — full volume.
So the bass hit my chest, so the vibration ran along my spine.
I opened the trunk.
My hand immediately found what it needed — a telescopic baton.
Cold metal, compact, folded.
It fit into my palm perfectly — like an extension of my arm.
A sharp flick of the wrist.
Click.
The baton snapped open instantly — dry, precise, no fuss.
That sound calmed me a little.
As if something inside had snapped into place too.
— Damn him to hell… — I breathed through clenched teeth.
I went deeper into the forest.
Not running — rigid, jerky.
Shoulders tense, jaw clenched, steps chopped.
Breathing short, angry.
The first strike — into a dry branch.
Crack.
The recoil shot into my wrist, higher — into the forearm, into the shoulder.
Second strike.
Third.
A turn of the torso, weight transfer, a precise arm movement.
Not chaos. Control.
The rage came out in measured doses, through muscles, through breath.
— “Darling, you don’t mind?” — I mocked out loud, with a crooked grin.
— Oh yeah. Don’t mind. Not at all.
Click.
I folded the baton again and immediately snapped it open once more — a sharp, predatory motion.
That sound was almost therapeutic.
Strike.
Another.
The metal answered in my hand, my palms were sweating, my forearms burned, my shoulders began to shake — not from weakness, from overload.
Sweat broke out under my hair, a hot wave ran down my back.
Aaaa — a scream tore out of my chest.
A furious howl.
Images were still flashing in my head — light, attention, чужие взгляды — and from that the anger rose again inside, but no longer explosive, rather dense, collected.
Everyone and every single one will imagine him next to them.
Aaaaaa — I’ll cut every one of them, I’ll burn an entire planet if necessary.
I… I… I’ll slit the throat of the bastard who offered him this deal.
And then it hit me — damn it, it was probably a woman.
Aaaaa…
From rage my bones ached,
as if someone were slowly twisting my joints from the inside.
My wrists throbbed, my shoulders pulled, my spine answered with dull pain.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
You remember how it ended last time.
The charity match.
The word surfaced on its own — like a code. Like a spell.
I exhaled tiredly, and my body loosened just a little, as if remembering: yes, we know how to spiral out of control.
Don’t.
He can have his own life.
He can talk to other women, he can—
And at that moment the beast in me lifted its head again.
No.
He can’t.
Damn them all.
He can’t — I’ll lock him in the basement and he’ll never get out, I’ll lock him up.
I sharply sucked in air.
Quieter.
Quieter.
Quieter.
It’s okay.
It’s just a wave.
He will never cheat on me — I know that. That’s a fact.
But just the thought that someone will look at him, linger with their gaze, examine him —
and inside something ancient, hot, uncivilized starts to stir again.
Aaaaaa — a scream of rage burst out again.
Someone will fantasize about him.
Aaaaaa.
The dragons are crawling out.
Shit.
Not this. Not now.
— Don’t forget your roots, — they hissed. — Violence is in your blood.
— No. — Fuck off. I can influence this.
I can.
I’m breathing.
Inhale — slowly, through the nose.
Exhale — long, through the mouth.
Shoulders drop.
The belly softens.
Everything’s fine.
Everything’s fine.
I’ll stand there and smile.
Everything’s fine.
Nate will stop any unnecessary gesture himself. He knows how. He feels the line.
— Yeah, like he stopped it back then in the bedroom? — Mushu sneered.
The image surfaced instantly — traitor memory dutifully spilling frames:
the field, Nate, football, testosterone in its purest form, all women half-unconscious, I’m running to the stairs and then him again, but now a hand on his chest — that damn—
Fuuuu. Hold it.
Everything’s fine.
Besides, because of you her father died — isn’t that too high a price for a touch?
I smashed a branch to pieces.
— Shut up. That’s not enough, we should poison her too.
This is forbidden. No one is allowed to touch him.
Well, at the charity match — let’s continue — he acted as if nothing happened.
Shut your mouth, bastard!!
In rage I kept breaking everything again and again.
The ground jolted, snow fell in heavy clumps.
I stripped down to my blouse and skirt.
— That was an exceptional case, — I ground out through clenched teeth.
— Whatever you say, — he drawled. — The main thing is that exceptional cases don’t start repeating.
Aaaaaa, shut your fucking mouths!
And what, baby, how exactly are you going to control this? A bunch of models, photographers — who knows what could happen?
Go to hell! — I screamed, tearing pain apart and dying from terror.
No no no.
Shit shit shit.
He’s not like that. I know. Shut up, all of you.
Whatever you say.
You fucking bastards, damn bastards, he’s not like that, he won’t do that.
Yeah right. We’ve seen “not like that.” You’ll be naive, you won’t prepare for the blow — he’ll crush you and destroy you. How will you put yourself back together then?
I don’t know, shit. I’m not— he’s not like that, okay? I know he’s not like that. He’s not like that.
Just—
Shut up. He’s not like that. I’m not listening to you.
Fine.
I relaxed.
He might not be like that, but don’t you know women? He might not even understand.
— No. He’s smart. He knows. He clearly sees where women play games. He won’t even let it get to that. No. Nate wouldn’t. No. He wouldn’t. I believe him.
My knees buckled.
What an idiot you are. Just an idiot. He’ll crush you without batting an eye. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not alone even now.
Fucking bastards. No. He’s not like that. He’s not like that.
Yeah right.
Everyone shut up — I took my power back.
Come on, Nazokat. Whatever happens, we believe Nate. Hold on. We’re learning to trust.
Yeah, he’s that hot.
That’s putting it mildly.
— Mike, buddy, please sit nearby.
Mike — a big guy, massive, shoulders like a bouncer — and at the same time with a gentle soul. He adored planting flowers. Chrysanthemums, for God’s sake. He could talk for hours about which soil holds moisture better and why morning sun is “more correct.”
And the most wonderful thing — he didn’t need a listener at all. He could chatter endlessly, to himself, calmly, cozily, as if the world was already listening.
We buckled up.
I asked something about chrysanthemums — and he took off.
About varieties.
About scent.
About how they “feel autumn.”
I nodded, hummed along, smiled — exactly as much as needed — and after a couple of minutes slipped my headphones in unnoticed. Carefully. Almost lovingly.
About thirty kilometers home.
The Audi seemed to come alive.
Growled low, satisfied, accepting the change of driver.
The car recognized me — or I recognized it. I floored the gas, and my body finally switched into movement, not thought.
The steering wheel dense under my palms.
Foot confidently pressing the pedal.
Back pressed into the seat.
— Come on, — I said to myself out loud. — Think, Nazokat.
Thoughts began to line up not as torn flashes, but as lines.
Speed pulled them out of chaos.
The road took the excess.
Music played in the background.
Mike was still talking about flowers — already somewhere far away.
And I was driving.
Collected.
Alive.
Almost back in myself.
And that was exactly what I needed.
We trust Nate. We have to learn.
And my phone lit up with a message from him, followed by a chain of 20 missed calls.
Great. See — he’s reporting. Where he is, with whom. Everything’s fine.
Everything’s fine.
Yeah, but what if he’s lying, saying he’s alone but actually—
No no no no.
He’s not like that. Breathe. Everything’s fine. He’s not like that. He’s not like that.
Everything’s fine.
The Audi was already over two hundred.
Sensors flashed, warning of the switch to sport mode — a short signal, like a snap on a nerve.
Everything’s fine.
I smoothly ease off the speed.
Slower.
We can’t keep him in a cage.
The thought doesn’t come at once — heavy, but honest.
He’s not guilty of my traumas.
He didn’t create them. He didn’t feed them.
Breathe.
Everything about the catalog — it’s a smile.
Stand there with a face like it’s the most wonderful news on earth.
Got it?
Come on.
This is important to him.
Strangle the ego.
Stand.
Smile.
Even if your gums start bleeding.
You have to support him.
It’s cool, after all.
He’ll be on the cover.
— On the cover… — I slowly ground out loud.
fuck.
You have to be proud of him.
Come on.
Breathe.
Everything’s fine.
He’s not leaving.
He won’t leave.
Everything’s fine.
“Baby, he’s seen you in every possible state,” — the inner voice said softly.
“If he hasn’t left you yet, then he won’t leave later either.
The guy is powerful. He’ll handle it.”
Mushu nodded.
Hades did too. Without sarcasm, for the first time in a long while.
— Thank you, guys, — I said quietly.
And I slapped myself on the shoulder — briefly, business-like.
The way people do before stepping on stage.
The road evened out.
My hands on the wheel grew calmer.
My breathing — deeper.
I laughed.
At first briefly — on an exhale,
then wider, from the shoulders,
and suddenly I remembered Mike: how he stood by the car, back turned to me, in the forest. Calm. Reliable. Even if he had been looking — I think it wouldn’t have surprised him for a second.
Damn.
What men I have around me.
Every single one ready to close their eyes to the fact that the lady, let’s say, is a little cuckoo.
No comments.
No diagnosis.
Just — yeah, happens.
And I burst out laughing again — already for real, until warmth spread in my chest.
