Chapter Eight

Dominique

I woke up with a pounding headache.

For a few seconds, I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above me, completely confused.

This wasn't my room.

I sat up quickly.

The events of last night came rushing back.

The party.

The bathroom.

Oh God.

I looked around the room.

It was enormous. Dark curtains covered the windows, expensive furniture occupied every corner, and a black suit jacket was draped casually over a chair.

I climbed out of the bed wondering where the man I had hooked up with was. Nikolai. That was his name. He had told me to say it.

I checked the bathroom.

Empty.

The sitting area.

Empty.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and nearly screamed when I saw the time.

Seven thirty in the morning.

My mother was going to kill me.

I quickly got into my clothes, wincing as I moved. The pain was proof that everything had been real.

I hurried out of the room, making my way through the quiet corridors of the club. The place looked completely different during the day. Without the music and flashing lights, it almost felt like a completely different building.

I found the exit and rushed outside.

My friends were long gone.

Fantastic.

I managed to get a taxi home and spent the entire ride rehearsing excuses.

None of them sounded convincing.

The moment I walked through the front door, I knew I was finished.

My mother was standing in the living room.

Arms crossed.

Face furious.

“Where were you?”

“Good morning to you too.”

“Don't play with me, Dominique.”

I sighed.

“I stayed at a friend's place.”

“Which friend?”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Exactly.

That was how my morning went.

By the time I finally escaped upstairs, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I stared at it.

Then answered.

“Hello?”

“You left already, Zaika.”

I froze. That voice laced with thick Russian accent could never be forgotten.

“Nikolai?”

A quiet laugh came through the phone.

“How did you get my number?”

“I have my ways.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It wasn't supposed to be.”

I smiled despite myself.

" I want to keep seeing you. " I whispered.

" What does that mean?"

" It means I don't want it to be one off. I want us to be a thing. "

I leaned against my bedroom door.

“Where are you?” He asked.

“ At home. "

" I feel like a fucking pervert but I do want to keep seeing you too. "

" Don't feel that way. I'm an adult. " I said confidently.

Silence.

“What exactly do you do for a living?” I asked.

“Would you like to find out?”

I smiled.

“Maybe.”

“Then I'll see you tonight.”

And that was how it started.

At first, I told myself I was only seeing Nikolai because it irritated my mother.

There was something thrilling about doing the exact thing she had gone out of her way to make me stop doing.

Every time I slipped out of the house to meet him, I felt like I was winning some ridiculous battle she didn't even know we were fighting.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about my mother.

It became about him.

Nikolai remembered things.

My favorite food.

The music I liked.

The way I hated being rushed.

The fact that I always complained about being cold even when everyone else was comfortable.

He listened when I talked.

Actually listened.

And somehow, he became the person I wanted to tell everything to.

We kept our relationship secret.

At first, it was easy.

My mother didn't know where I went half the time, and Nikolai had an entire world I knew almost nothing about.

We met at his night club.

We went to restaurants far from my neighborhood.

Sometimes he picked me up late at night and drove around the city with no particular destination.

Sometimes we simply sat somewhere quiet and talked for hours.

Two years passed like that.

Two years of stolen moments.

Two years of lies.

Two years of falling deeper into something I had never expected to find.

And somehow, nobody found out.

Not my mother.

Not my siblings.

Not my friends.

Nobody.

Or at least, that's what I thought.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of Nikolai's car, fixing my hair in the small mirror attached to the visor.

“We're going to be late,” I complained.

Nikolai glanced at me from behind the wheel.

“You're the one who spent an hour choosing what to wear.”

“I had to look good.”

“You always look good.”

I smiled.

“You're finally learning.”

He shook his head, but I caught the small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

We were almost at the party when the first police car appeared.

I barely noticed it.

Then another came from the opposite direction.

Nikolai's expression changed.

“What is it?”

He didn't answer.

A third vehicle pulled out behind us.

Then another.

Then another.

My smile disappeared.

“Nikolai?”

He pressed his foot against the accelerator.

The cars behind us accelerated too.

My heart began pounding.

“What's happening?”

“Put your seat belt on.”

“What?”

“Now, Dominique.”

I barely had time to obey before police vehicles surrounded us from every direction.

One slammed to a stop in front of us.

Another blocked the road behind.

Doors flew open.

Guns appeared.

“GET OUT OF THE VEHICLE!”

I froze.

Nikolai's hand immediately moved toward the weapon beneath his jacket.

“Don't,” I whispered.

His eyes flicked toward me.

For the first time since I'd known him, I saw something in those eyes I'd never seen before.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For me.

“Stay here.”

The driver's door flew open.

Officers dragged Nikolai from the vehicle.

I screamed his name and reached for the door.

A hand seized my arm.

“Get out!”

“That's my...”

I stopped.

My father stood among the officers.

His gun was drawn.

His eyes met mine.

For one second, he looked less like a detective and more like a father who had just discovered something he couldn't possibly understand.

“Dominique?”

“Dad…”

His expression hardened.

“Get him out of the vehicle.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“Take my son into custody.”