The driver pulled up in front of a tall building I didn't recognize. I was holding his tie in my hand and had barely looked at the road. Only when he opened the door did I realize: this neighborhood was definitely not mine. Rent here would cost several million more than my little apartment.
At the entrance, next to the concierge, two familiar security guards were already waiting. Questions flashed through my mind, but I didn't bother guessing—I simply followed them.
We took the elevator to the very top floor. It opened directly into a cozy hallway: a small table with a mirror, a couple of chairs—almost like a waiting room.
The guards opened a door and gestured for me to enter.
"Mr. Theron asked that you wait for him," one of them finally broke the silence.
I stepped inside.
The doors shut behind me.
I found myself in a spacious—no, an expensive and oversized apartment. The kind they love showing in movies about rich men.
Black floor. Black walls. A statement leather couch. A television stretching across half the wall. No carpets. No paintings. Everything strict. Precise. The dim light bounced off the floor, making the space gleam.
By the window—which spanned nearly the entire wall—stood a leather armchair with a footrest and a reading table stacked with books.
Three more doors branched off in different directions from the room.
I took off my coat and tossed it onto the sofa.
Everything here felt cold. Measured. Impersonal.
But the view of the night city was breathtaking. Hypnotizing.
One of the doors opened, and an older woman stepped out. She was dressed entirely in black, with only a small white apron at her waist breaking the interior's tone.
"A-ah…" she gasped the moment she saw me.
She froze, staring straight at me.
"Theron asked me to wait for him," I clarified, hoping it would calm her down.
It was hard to tell what exactly had startled her—my sudden appearance, my body, or the tie in my hand. She still stood there like a statue.
I waited too. Unmoving. Though the ache in my heels was already making itself known.
Ignoring her, I took off my shoes and placed them near the couch, where my coat was.
A few seconds later, she slowly walked toward the door I had come through and cracked it open.
There was no conversation. She peeked inside, as if receiving some silent sign, then closed the door and turned back to me.
"Forgive my rudeness. May I help you with anything?" Her voice was polite, calm, almost lulling. It surprised me, coming right after her frightened outburst.
"No, thank you. I'm just waiting for Theron," I replied.
I felt warmth spill through my body again, that same intoxicating feeling returning.
"There's a bedroom and a bathroom if you'd like to rest," she gestured in one direction. "The other way leads to the kitchen and bar, if you're hungry or want a drink. And that door," she pointed to the third, closer to the window, "is the master's office. But it's locked."
"Is this some kind of guest suite?" I asked.
"Guest?" she repeated sincerely, with clear confusion.
"A place where Theron brings his women to rest," I chose not to put it crudely. There was something about her that made me feel strangely ashamed—like swearing in front of her would be out of place.
"Excuse me… is that Mr. Theron's tie?" she motioned to my hand.
"Yes," I answered, still not understanding this strange ritual at all.
"Then I believe Mr. Theron will explain this place to you himself," she said gently. "The only thing I can say is that it's entirely the opposite of what you assume."
She dipped her head slightly.
"Please excuse me. I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."
With quiet grace, she turned and left. Without waiting for a reply. Without glancing back.
I approached the reading table and flipped through the books. They looked as if they'd been taken straight from my little home library.
I glanced around—there weren't any bookshelves here.
I peeked into the bedroom. It was just as minimalist. Behind it was a walk-in closet: black and dark suits, watches, cufflinks, and other accessories.
Not a single tie.
I found a black tracksuit—the kind I liked—and black slippers. I took them and headed to the bathroom.
Since I'd been invited, I might as well be bold. Men like that usually get tired of boldness faster.
To my surprise, the bathroom was done in white. But the size—obscenely luxurious.
I filled the tub, added the bath foam I'd found, and lay down to relax.
After all the stares and whispers, it felt like I was washing off whatever residue remained from the event.
The warm, nearly hot water and complete stillness became dangerous—I started drifting off.
Jerking myself awake, I got out of the tub. Changed into his tracksuit, picked up the dress and tie, and shuffled back into the living room, slippers whispering against the floor.
I sat in the armchair and admired the view. When would I ever get a chance like this again?
Suddenly, the phone rang in the pocket of my coat. It was Derek.
"You okay?" he asked. It was eleven o'clock.
"Yeah. Don't worry. Theron invited me over," I smirked.
"Got it. I'll take the couch," he said, no questions asked.
"Thanks."
The call ended.
I sank back into the chair, staring at the night skyline.
Theron had a family estate—practically its own mini-city. An apartment above his office. One in this luxury building—probably the most expensive in the city. And surely dozens more.
And yet, it was me he'd been keeping awake for weeks in my tiny apartment.
Was it rational? No.
Logical? Also no.
Last time he even slept on my couch.
And that, out of everything Theron did, was the least logical part.
And it wouldn't let me rest.
Sleep kept washing over me, then letting go. I fought it as best I could. Closer to midnight, Theron finally arrived.
"You should've just gone to bed," his voice snapped me out of the haze.
I was still sitting in the armchair, the tie in my hands.
"I'm not spending the night here. I've got an underage sister.. In case you forgot," I stood up and stretched slightly, trying to shake off the sleep.
His shirt was unbuttoned at the top. Theron tossed his jacket on the couch and studied me closely as he came closer.
"Too bad you changed. I liked the dress today," his voice was calm. He looked tired.
I stepped closer, took his hand, and placed the tie into it.
"I don't know what game you're playing this time, but I'm out."
I didn't want to drop the tie on the floor, but he didn't hold on to it either.
It meant nothing to me. To him—it meant almost everything.
"I already told you. You're my choice. Accept it.," he took the tie and tucked it back into my pocket.
"Why? Why do you even need this?" I was too tired to think, and the questions spilled out on their own.
I needed clarity. Even if he lied—I'd see it. That would at least make things simpler.
"I feel calm with you," he answered flatly.
"Then find someone similar. It'll feel the same. Just pick someone on your level," exhaustion mixed with irritation.
"No," he said with the same even tone. "Only with you. When I come to your place, I can be myself. I don't have to hold my posture, my head, my control. And if you think that's easy to replace when your last name is Vescari—you're dead wrong."
"So I'm just convenient?" I scoffed.
"Call it whatever you want. You nearly took that away from me, and I'm not letting it happen again," he stepped closer. His voice dropped, rougher now. "I'll be a selfish bastard, but I'm not letting go. Fight me all you want. But you're mine."
Some part of me rejoiced that someone like him had chosen me. Back then. And now.
But that part of me was broken. Unhealthy.
"There are plenty like me. Just look around," I exhaled.
"Ahahah," a genuine laugh burst from his lips. "Like you? Mirey, sunshine—do you really see yourself as average?"
There was no ridicule in his voice. Just honest surprise.
"You know, back then with the pendant…" he continued. "I could've just bribed the bank clerk. He'd have swapped it or stolen it. Quiet. Clean. No trace."
He took a step closer.
"But my blood was boiling because you just wanted to help. When you decide something, when you read people—it's insanely captivating."
He was far too close, but he still hadn't touched me. His eyes were burning.
"You're the first woman who doesn't expect anything from me—but gives. So don't tell me," he leaned in even closer, "that there are many like you."
He paused to breathe.
"I've seen a lot of women."
"You're insane," I smirked after his confession.
"So are you," he replied with the same crooked smile.
Theron turned away, walked over to the couch, and picked up my dress, coat, and shoes.
"We won't destroy each other. We'll be the perfect unison. Just deal with it. Now I'll take you to your underage sister."
He opened the elevator door. The guards were already waiting in the hallway.
I said nothing and stepped inside in silence.
I thought I'd feel better after that conversation.
But I didn't.
It didn't seem like he was lying. But trusting him felt just as stupid.
The car was already waiting outside. Theron opened the door and, without a word, gestured for me to get in.
I didn't refuse—even though he never used to do things like that.
We pulled away almost immediately. Snow had started falling outside. My feet were a little cold—and oddly, it helped me think more clearly.
"If I become like everyone else… start asking, demanding, or expecting only from you," I began again. "Will you get tired of me faster?"
"You can try. But I don't think anything could change that anymore."," he leaned in and, with one smooth motion, scooped up my calves, pulling me toward him and turning me on the seat to face him.
"If you really wanted to push me away, you would've. Like you did with Dave."
He carefully slipped off my slippers and began massaging my feet, holding my legs in his palms.
"I don't think you'd last long in the role of a spoiled girl," he said, focused, kneading the muscles. "You'd get bored too fast."
"But at least it would be an attempt," I replied, not removing my legs from his lap. "Better than sitting around waiting for your next mistress to come after me."
It felt indescribably good after the heels and exhaustion. And watching Theron do it—felt unreal.
"I won't deny it—it's not safe," he finally looked up at me. "But I don't have pity, or nobility. If you forgot, I'm the head of the largest clan in America."
He paused, but his hands never stopped.
"I've simply revised my priorities. And in them—you're supposed to be by my side. I won't let that change. Not by you, or anyone else."
He looked at me like a predator guarding his prey.
And I was that prey.
It was unbearably selfish.
But the broken piece of my ego inside—was celebrating.
We pulled up to my building. He slipped the slippers back on my feet and gently lowered my legs.
Getting out of the car, Theron walked with me toward the entrance.
Remembering Derek, I stopped him near the front door. I glanced back—the guards were too close. I tugged on Theron's coat, just enough so only he could hear me.
"You should head back," I said quietly, not knowing if anyone was listening.
Theron gave me a questioning look.
"The couch is already taken. Derek's on it," I added even quieter.
"How reckless of him," Theron muttered harshly.
"If you hadn't kept me so long, he wouldn't be there," I reminded him—his choices, his consequences.
From the outside, we probably looked like lovers.
But in truth, this was a quiet, hard duel. For Derek's safety.
And that was when I realized—no matter how close he'd been yesterday, today he was keeping his distance. Aside from those kisses on the shoulder—not a step more.
I decided to test it and pulled him even closer. His face, his lips, were just inches from mine.
"And don't come tomorrow either," I said, trying to provoke him.
In return—a calm, satisfied smile.
"Naïve," he murmured, not moving, not even pretending to close the distance.
I pulled back, realizing my nearness didn't stir anything in him.
And that—infuriated me more than I expected.
I stepped inside the building. Two guards followed me. Theron stayed outside, watching until the elevator doors closed.
Back home, I found Derek asleep, an empty bottle beside him. Brittany's room was already quiet—just soft breathing behind a closed door.
I tossed the dress into the laundry, set my shoes back in place, and collapsed into bed without even changing.
The moment I let myself relax, I finally slipped into the sleep I'd been fighting all night.
The next morning, I asked Derek if he wanted to join us—I'd already promised Brittany a divine shopping trip.
He declined without hesitation.
Quote:
"No-no-no, I didn't sign up for suffering."
Shopping plus my sister—that was a trial.
All the way there, she kept throwing sharp little jabs about her new phone.
We arrived at one of those massive department stores—the kind that sells everything from toothpicks to cars. You could spend a week in there and still not see all of it.
Accepting that the phone wasn't happening, we headed to the floor I knew well—the one with stationery and books.
"I think you hit the wrong button," I corrected her as she pressed it. "That one's for books."
"I didn't hit the wrong one," she replied calmly.
We stepped out.
Brittany went straight to the law section and started stacking books. Then moved to the attorney section and added five more.
If we were comparing prices, the phone would've been cheaper.
Then came a few books based on real stories, and some stationery—journals, sticky notes, pens. Almost exactly like mine.
I watched it all in silence, puzzled—but didn't ask. The rule was clear: anything but the phone.
I had expected makeup. Maybe a curling iron. But not this.
"Strange taste," I finally said as we approached the elevator.
"I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do in life," she said, pressing the button for the restaurant floor.
"I want to be a family lawyer. Or an attorney. Exams are next year. It's time to start preparing."
She was much stronger and more serious than she tried to appear.
Most likely, she hid behind childish antics because she had no idea how to cope with everything life had thrown at us.
Especially—not when you go through it completely alone.
We weren't biological sisters.
I could've left her in the shelter after her father vanished. But then the sacrifice I'd made to protect her would've meant nothing.
She blamed herself for what happened to me. And probably thought I blamed her too.
But it had been my choice.
Back then, I believed someone would do the same for me. That someone would take the pain and save me.
But my mother betrayed me. And the social workers didn't care.
Because of that, we never said too much to each other.
And we were never truly close.
She hated herself for what happened.
And I hated myself for accepting it.
For never fighting back.
For believing the one closest to me would protect me from the monster.
We were both just victims of grown-up cruelty.
"You've been checking your phone a lot today," Brittany decided to change the subject.
I hadn't even noticed it.
Waiting for messages.
Catching my own reflection in the shop windows—like I was looking for Theron.
I was seriously messed up if I was hoping he'd show up or text
And I accepted that.
"It's him, isn't it?" she said softer—half a tone lower—as we sat at the table and the waiter handed us menus.
"Who?" I feigned confusion, pretending not to understand.
"Well, I know a men's tracksuit from a women's one," the childish edge returned to her voice.
"It's him… my father…"
I froze halfway through reading a dish name.
"I Googled what kind of man he is," she continued, flipping through the menu like she was talking about the weather.
"There are a lot of rumors online. But rumors don't come from nowhere."
Was it really that obvious to her?
Then what would the police think?
I didn't know all the details, but I was certain—they'd try to pin it all on Theron.
"What did they tell you?" I asked, faking nonchalance.
"They found him on the other side of the country," she said in the same neutral tone, still scanning the menu.
"They say he owed money to cartels. He was hiding."
She didn't even lift her eyes.
"They found him in a ravine. Naked. Bullet in the head."
I suddenly remembered how his blood got on me. My hands twitched.
"Everything that happened to him—that's his business," I lied again, trying to mask what I really felt.
"Neither I nor Theron had anything to do with it."
She didn't reply.
But I could feel she didn't believe me. Not even for a second.
"When you get involved with dangerous people, you should always expect tragic consequences," I added.
His ending had been inevitable—with or without me.
"Exactly," she said gently—clearly referring to me now.
What a perceptive little girl.
"Just stay alive," she concluded.
Did she know that side of me too?
She looked at me with nearly empty eyes—there was more weariness in them than a girl her age should carry.
I just nodded.
We ordered our food and ate in silence, drowned in the noise of the restaurant.
Afterward, I did stop by the electronics store.
Brittany was smirking, clearly hoping she'd finally get that long-awaited phone.
But to her deep disappointment, I simply had mine repaired and bought a basic button phone—as backup. I also got an extra SIM card.
The last time I had to run, the lack of a second phone had proven inconvenient.
As long as Theron was around, there was no such thing as certainty.
Which meant I had to be ready for anything.
Close to eight, we were finally heading home.
The streets were packed with happy couples and people rushing to Christmas dinners.
Not a single word from Theron all day.
Had he actually listened to me?
But the moment the taxi stopped in front of my building—I saw him.
Leaning against his car like nothing had happened.
As soon as we stepped out, he started walking toward us.
"Don't tell me you waited for me to come back," I smirked.
At the same time, I scanned him from head to toe: expensive suit under an open coat, top button undone, still no tie.
And he smelled like my least favorite cologne.
"No," he smirked back.
"The guards informed me you were heading home."
He nodded toward the car behind us.
I'd completely forgotten about them—this morning, when they weren't at the door, I'd assumed he'd called them off.
Theron handed Brittany a gift bag.
She opened it carefully and immediately lit up.
"Thank you. I knew you wouldn't let me down," she said brightly, pulling out the latest-model phone.
"Oh, come on," Brittany jumped in, catching my darkening expression.
"You bought yourself a new one too."
She elbowed me. That girl just never knew when to stop talking..
But Theron didn't look surprised. Which meant someone had already reported it.
"The guards will keep an eye on her," he said, pulling me closer and passing my bags to them.
"I'm taking her for a couple of hours."
He said it to Brittany, then was already tugging me toward his car.
"Have fun," her muffled voice called from behind the closing door.
I glanced at him again as he sat beside me and turned toward me.
"Wanna go somewhere?" he asked.
His clothes looked almost festive—like he'd just come from some other high-profile event.
"Had fun?" I asked, pushing his coat aside and running my finger along the expensive suit.