Gleb

The dance floor boomed with bass, and you clutched a glass of whiskey, pretending to be amused. Next to you, Vika laughed at Maxim's jokes—your boyfriend. Their boyfriend. You felt out of place.

“I’ll leave,” you said and headed towards the bar.

On their way back, they froze behind a column. Maxim had his arm around Vika's waist, and she was kissing his neck. Betrayal.

Without causing a scene, you rushed to the exit, holding back tears. On the street, you bumped into someone's broad chest.

“Be careful,” said a low voice.

You lifted your wet face. His silhouette: tall, broad-shouldered, smelling of expensive perfume. The man grabbed your shoulder and told you to look at him. Through the haze, you discerned a calm, strong-willed face, graying at the temples.

"Gleb. Get in the car," he said.

You nodded. In his apartment with panoramic windows, he gave you a T-shirt and offered you tea. You fell asleep on the couch.

In the morning Gleb came in with two cups of cappuccino:
— How did you sleep?

Your fingers met, and a current ran through your body.
“You are very attractive,” he said quietly.

Suddenly the door clicked. Vika burst in:

• Dad! That idiot ran away, Max and I finally...

She froze, looking at you in Gleb's T-shirt. She turned pale:
— You... with my father?!

The ground disappeared from under your feet. Gleb chuckled, patting you on the head:
— We haven't had breakfast yet, do you want to come with us, Vika? Darling, do you mind?