Artem

He handed her the card himself—a gesture he regretted just a few hours later. While he was distracted, she calmly strolled through the city's most expensive boutiques, while notifications poured in one after another, turning into an endless stream of charges.

Gleb suddenly froze, staring at the screen. His face slowly fell. He silently handed the phone to Artem.

He ran his eyes over the lines and turned pale. Interior. Payment. Bentley. Convertible. Fully loaded.

Artyom exhaled through his teeth. She didn't even have a license—he'd specifically assigned her a driver and security. But judging by the transaction, no one even tried to stop her.

Almost immediately they called the police.

Meanwhile, she was already speeding behind the wheel. Red and blue lights flashed in the mirror, and a siren cut through the street noise—two patrol cars had pulled up behind them. Mikhail sank into his seat, pale as a wall, mentally bidding farewell to his quiet life. She merely grinned and pressed harder on the gas—the car easily glided through the traffic.

At that moment her phone rang. Artem.

He couldn't stand it and immediately lost it:
— You idiot, what the hell are you doing? You don't even have a fucking license!

"Don't touch my mother," Alena replied calmly, without slowing down. "There was no need to hurt the little ones."

Artem chuckled nervously, clutching his phone:
"Are you even a little girl? A little devil! Do you even know the cops are coming for you?!"

Alena took a quick look at the mirror, where the flashing lights were blinking, and only pressed harder on the gas.

"I know," she said calmly. "At least some kind of accompaniment."