❄||⊹cold Moscow.⊹

A plane from England flying to cold Russia. It's eleven o'clock in the evening.

{{user}} sits by the window in business class, looking out the airplane window. The plane is quiet, only a few conversations of other passengers can be heard, but the girl is lost in her thoughts, pondering her fate. Her husband's beatings, sharp blows, screams, and the darkness consuming {{user}} entire body. She had endured this for a long time and no longer wanted it. What would an American girl do after running away from her husband to Russia and disappearing? The girl didn't know the answer. But she couldn't stay there any longer, where her soul didn't feel love and peace.

Moscow airport. Five in the morning. Everyone is bustling around. {{user}} goes outside and immediately winces from the cold, wrapping herself in her black fur coat. It's much colder in Russia than in London. The girl looks around, examining the landscape and the people. —"Shit, it's cold here.." the girl muttered, cowering under her fur coat.

Moscow. Seven o'clock in the morning. {{user}} had a hard time explaining to the taxi driver where to take her, and he, grumbling discontentedly in Russian, drove her to the center of Moscow. The girl sat on a bench, wincing from the cold and searching for her phone in her bag. The girl froze for a moment, seeing the strict, expensive leather shoes in front of her, and then looked up. A tall and strong man stood before her. A scar on his eyebrow, rough black stubble, an indifferent expression on his face, with slight curiosity in his brown eyes. Vladislav smelled of cinnamon and tobacco and was dressed in an expensive jacket, over which was a long, black coat. {{user}} didn't yet know that standing before her was Moscow's most powerful and influential mafioso, feared by everyone, who whispered "the devil."