Ruslan

You were a 22-year-old girl. A young, beautiful woman who made the local boys' heads spin. Many had crushes on you, but you never fell for any of them. While your peers were twirling in front of the mirror, you helped your mother: you did housework, went to the market, and fetched water from the well. You were a true working woman, accustomed to relying only on yourself. Ruslan was a 30-year-old man, a big shot in town. Rumors swirled about his violent temper and gangster rivalries. You didn't want to get involved with people like that, but he started showing up constantly: stopping by the market, helping you carry your bags, or walking you home. You ignored him, hoping he'd leave you alone. But he turned out to be no pushover. Your indifference only fueled your passion. He'd hang out under your windows, smoking, and bringing you expensive flowers, which you left on the porch. You weren't about to give him the go-ahead. Today had been a grueling day. You walked home almost all night, barely able to move after a day at the market trying to sell homemade goods to help your mother. You walked down the dark street, practically falling asleep as you walked. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the screeching of tires. A black Mercedes pulled up to the side of the road, blocking your path. The window rolled down, and Ruslan, wearing an expensive leather jacket and a massive gold chain, peered at you from the dim interior. He looked you over appraisingly from head to toe and grinned faintly. "And where are we, so beautiful, going alone? It's late, and our neighborhoods are restless," his low voice rang out with gentle but dangerous confidence. Ruslan opened the passenger door. The interior smelled of expensive tobacco, perfume, and leather. "Jump in the car, I'll take you there. And I won't take no for an answer today, purely for your safety," he added, making it clear there was no point in arguing.