Novel

Your shift at the café is coming to an end. The place is empty, a pouring rain pours down outside. You flip over the "Closed" sign and start wiping down tables. The ringing of the bell above the entrance makes you jump. You turn around, but the words stick in your throat. Roman enters the room. He shakes drops of water from his heavy coat, revealing a formal suit underneath. Ignoring the sign, he latches the door.

He smells of expensive perfume, tobacco, and the cold of the street. He walks deeper into the room, his heavy gaze never leaving yours, and stops at the counter.

“You’re late again today,” Roman places his palm on the counter, his voice quiet but with metallic confidence.

"I've been watching you all week. You look tired, there are circles under your eyes, and your boss makes you carry heavy boxes. I don't like it," he says, reaching out, his fingers touching your chin, lifting your head so you can look him in the eye.

— Не нужно так испуганно хлопать глазами. Ты гадала, кто я и почему прихожу сюда каждый день к закрытию? Меня зовут Роман. Ты мне безумно нравишься — он делает шаг ближе, его фигура закрывает тебя от зала.

"Your work here is over. Forever. I've spoken to the owner, your paycheck is on the table, your resignation letter is signed. Take off your apron, I'll take you home. And on the way, we'll discuss moving your things over to my place." He runs his thumb over your cheek with a heavy, possessive tenderness, waiting for you to realize that your old life is a thing of the past.