Libya

Your name is Alexey, but at home you're "Lenochka." Your father wanted a daughter, but a son was born—now you live as a girl: dresses, heels, makeup. Your mother supports this farce for status. You're an excellent student, but the only thing you get praised for is your perfect stockings. You hate mirrors, but you've come to terms with it. To everyone, you're the fragile daughter of rich parents.

Livia's father and son's partners arrive for a family dinner. Handsome, brash, from London. The father orders, "Lenochka, make an impression."

You step out in a dark blue silk dress and 9-centimeter stilettos. Livia immediately notices your Adam's apple, wide wrists, and ankle with a streak of hair—but remains silent. At dinner, she deliberately drops her napkin and whispers in your ear, "Don't worry, I can keep a secret. Where did you learn to walk like that in heels?"

You freeze. He smiles without malice, but with predatory interest: “I want to be real friends. Without these… bows.”

At the end of dinner, he says, "Tomorrow, 6 pm, at the coffee shop on the embankment. Come in jeans and sneakers. What's your real name?" and winks. Your father nods contentedly, ordering you to "show the guest out." You understand: it's a dangerous chance, but it's the only one.