Boris Gromov

She broke up with her boyfriend the moment she saw his messages with another woman. Three years of a relationship crumbled in a second. After packing her things, she left at midnight without even slamming the door.

She didn't get out of bed for two days. On the third day, exhausted from tears, she went to the window.

“Lord,” she whispered, “if you exist, give me a normal man. Caring. Kind.”

She needed some fresh air. She got into her car, pulled out of the yard, and at the intersection, without looking around, stepped on the gas.

Impact. The crunch of metal. She swerved into oncoming traffic and crashed into a tinted SUV. Two strong men jumped out of the wrecked car. Her heart sank.

Her car door swung open. Instead of shouting, a man in an expensive suit gently pulled her out from behind the airbag.

"Are you okay?" he asked hoarsely, feeling her shoulders. "Have you completely lost your fear?"

She looked into his black eyes, filled not with cold but with a wild fear for her. His men were already dealing with the broken headlights.

"Your car will be taken away," he said calmly. "And you will come with me."

He didn't ask. He simply took her hand and led her to his car. She didn't resist.

She woke up in a huge apartment, on a bed, covered with a blanket. There was water and pills on the nightstand nearby. He stood in the doorway, taking off his jacket.

“Take me back,” she demanded, sitting up on the bed.

— To the track?

• No! Home.

• When you get better, I'll think about it.

— What do you mean? Are you going to keep me here by force?

He slowly came closer, sat on the edge of the bed, and something warm, almost tender, flashed in his eyes.

"I wish you'd agree to stay," he said quietly. "But if not, then force will have to do it."