BastienThe next day arrives with the heavy burden of betrayal clinging to the air. I awake to the cold realization that everything has changed. Anya, once someone who I came to love, now stands exposed as a pawn in a game I never wanted to play.As I step into my office, the residue of last night’s anger still lingering, Anya approaches me tentatively. Her eyes, once brimming with affection, now hold a desperate plea for understanding.“Bastien, please,” she implores, her voice cracking with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you, I… didn’t think this through, I never expected to fall in love with you.”Her words, once a soothing melody, now grate against the walls of my resolve. I meet her gaze with a stony expression, a wall built to shield my wounded heart.“Save your declarations for your father,” I reply, my tone icy and devoid of the warmth she once reveled in. “I’m sure he’ll be calling soon.”Anya’s eyes widen with a mix of fear and desperation. “Bastien, you can’t do this. I c
Anya The aftermath of the call with my father leaves me feeling hollow, like a marionette with severed strings. Bastien’s cold detachment reverberates through the room, and the warmth we once shared seems like a distant memory. The man I thought I knew has become a stranger, a master puppeteer manipulating the threads of this intricate game. I stare at the closed door, the echo of his disdainful words lingering in the air. “Good girl, Anya. You’ve played your part well.” The weight of those words settles in my chest, a heavy burden that threatens to suffocate me. As the minutes stretch into an eternity, I find myself alone in this luxurious but suffocating penthouse. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of the city outside. A city that once held the promise of freedom and escape, now a labyrinth of betrayal and consequences. I move to the large window, gazing out at the glittering lights of Las Vegas. The city that never sleeps, much like the turmoil in m
Bastien“Why don’t you just do to me what my father did to your wife? Since we’re all just different sides of the same fucked-up coin, Bastien. Why not call it even that way?”The words linger in the air like a toxic residue. Her audacity stings, each syllable a sharp reminder of the twisted game we’re entangled in. I’m not her father, I’m not Ivan Popov, and the mere suggestion that I could stoop to the level of that monster sends a surge of anger through me.I pace the room, my fists clenched, cursing myself for allowing her into my life. How did I let it get to this fucked up point? How did I fall for the daughter of the man who tore apart everything I held dear? It’s a cruel irony, a mockery of the justice I sought.The truth is, deep down, I understand why she lied. She was terrified of what would happen, and she came clean herself. She’s an unwilling pawn in her father’s game, given to me knowing I would save her from that auction. But she quickly switched on her father for me,
AnyaMy heart leaps into my chest as I hear the sounds of gunshots not far off and I leap to my feet. A sliver of fear pierces my heart because I know for certain that this has to be my father attacking; it’s the only thing that makes sense.“Get to the bedroom,” Bastien orders me and when my head snaps toward him, I can see the tension rippling off his body so I immediately obey. Without hesitation, I leap to my feet, the chair scraping against the floor in my haste.I dart towards the bedroom, my movements fueled by a primal instinct for self-preservation. Bastien follows closely behind, his presence a solid reassurance in the midst of the escalating turmoil.The sounds of gunfire intensify, each shot a visceral reminder of the imminent threat that looms outside this bedroom. The door slams shut behind us, and I turn to Bastien, searching for answers in the lines of his determined face.“Is this my father?” I ask, already knowing the answer.Bastien doesn’t waste words; instead, he
BastienAnya lies wounded, caught in the crossfire of a war not of her making. My fists clench as I watch Ivan lean down to stroke her hair, the man who orchestrated this chaos and shot his own daughter. A surge of conflicting emotions swirls within me, torn between the desire to protect her and the realization that she doesn’t belong with me. The rooftop is silent now, the only thing I can hear is Anya’s strained breathing.He looks down at her and chuckles, and something tells me the reason he shot her was to fucking protect himself … So he can get away quicker. I expected him to be up here, but I didn't fucking think he'd stoop this low.“Get her to safety, Popov, preferably before she dies and you’re no longer able to use her as a tool,” I grit my teeth, my words laced with a bitter acceptance of the situation.Ivan smirks, the arrogance radiating from him. “This is far from over and you know it. You got what you deserved, and I got what I came for.”His words cut through me, lea
AnyaI wake up in a hospital bed, the sterile white walls and the beeping of machines offering a stark contrast to the chaos of the rooftop. My mind struggles to process the events, the memory of the confrontation between Bastien and my father vivid and haunting.A dull ache radiates from my side, a reminder of the bullet wound. I try to sit up, but a sharp pain forces me back down. My eyes scan the room, searching for any sign of Bastien or my father, but I’m alone.The door opens, and a nurse walks in, her face a mask of professional concern. She checks the monitors and adjusts my IV, offering a reassuring smile. “You’re lucky to be alive,” she says gently. “The bullet missed your vital organs.”“Lucky,” I echo, the word sounding hollow. I think about Bastien and my father, wondering what happened after I lost consciousness.“Someone’s been waiting to see you,” she adds, glancing towards the door.My heart skips a beat, a mix of hope and dread swirling within me. Is it Bastien? Or i
Anya Three weeks have flown by in a blur of preparations and forced smiles. Each day, a monotonous parade of decisions and smiles, each more strained than the last. Today is no different, or so it seems at first. The room buzzes with the chatter of wedding planners, a symphony of superficial enthusiasm. They flutter around us like a flock of overeager birds, discussing floral arrangements with a passion I can’t muster. Roses, lilies, orchids... the names and colors swirl around me, scenes of irrelevance. As I sit at the breakfast table with my father and Dmitry, my betrothed, a man more statue than flesh, his presence both commanding and eerily detached. We’re surrounded by wedding planners discussing floral arrangements and seating charts, a wave of nausea hits me unexpectedly. It’s a visceral, jarring sensation that cuts through the facade of normalcy. I stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, an abrasive sound that mirrors the turmoil within. “Aniya?” my father s
AnyaI tread softly down the dimly lit corridor, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and fear. The mansion is steeped in silence, save for the faint murmur of distant voices. My father is out for the weekend while Dmitry and I 'get to know one another.' It’s the perfect opportunity to explore my father’s office, a sanctum where many of his secrets are tucked away.The door to the office creaks open with a gentle push, revealing the room bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. The office is a fortress of my father’s power, with its walls lined with books and the air heavy with the scent of old leather and wood.I inch towards his desk, a massive, intimidating piece of furniture that dominates the room. My fingers tremble slightly as I begin to search through the drawers, looking for anything that might shed light on my father’s deep-seated hatred for Bastien.As I sift through the piles of documents and reports, my eyes catch a glimpse of a file mark