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What?
What on earth is wrong with me today?
Wait!
Do I know him?
His face was oddly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I’d seen him before.
His silky black hair was pulled back, framing a striking face with stubble that hinted at a few days’ growth. The contrast between his dark hair and eyes against his pale skin made me wonder: would his touch be as warm as his gaze or as cool as his exterior?
Wearing a black Prada three-piece suit and tie, he looked more suited to a NYC boardroom than a college campus.
Was he a professor?
His outfit screamed wealth, but the disdainful glare he shot my way suggested something else entirely. Heat rose to my cheeks and chest as I realized I had been checking him out.
“Damn it, watch where you’re going!” he snapped with a thick accent, drawing the attention of people nearby.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” I stammered, offering a nervous smile.
“Are you blind or something?”
“I’m really sorry, I was just daydreaming,” I said, taken aback by his abruptness.
What the hell? I’d heard about the devil wearing Prada, but I never expected to run into him on the University of San Francisco campus, especially not dressed like that. Then again, someone so striking might just fit the devil’s profile for grabbing attention.
“I could see that,” he said with a touch of mockery, shaking his head.
A light breeze rustled between us, lifting strands of my hair and carrying his earthy, masculine scent to my nose. His voice was deep and smooth, with a richness that was almost magnetic. It had a commanding presence, as if he was used to having people hang on his every word.
As if his captivating presence wasn’t enough, he spoke with a subtle accent that added an extra layer of mystery—one I couldn’t quite place.
He abruptly turned away and walked off, leaving me standing there with my heart still racing. I rubbed my temples, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that had settled over me.
The sense of unease grew stronger, and I felt as though someone was watching me. Goosebumps rose on my neck as I glanced around. There was no one there—just the usual crowd of college students going about their day. I cursed myself for letting my imagination get the best of me.
Maybe it was just the lingering effect of the nightmare I’d had earlier, playing tricks on my mind.
I hurried to my mom’s office, ran up the stairs, and paused at the top to catch my breath and calm down. I needed to act like I’d just come from the library, not like I’d been running around town.
I pulled my hair into a ponytail with the band I had on my wrist and checked the time on my phone. It was 1:20 p.m.
Oh no.
Sofiya, you’re in trouble now.
The hallways were deserted, with only the echo of my footsteps breaking the silence. I approached my mom’s half-open door and stopped, sensing something off.
I couldn’t quite explain it, but the atmosphere felt thick, and a knot of unease tightened in my chest. The silence was unusually heavy.
As I took those final steps, which felt like they dragged on forever, a sudden loud bang, like something slamming against a table, startled me. I paused, holding my breath, a sense of dread creeping over me.
When I finally reached the door, I pressed my ear against it and heard a deep, rough voice coming from inside.
“Yebanaya shlyukha! You whore!”
I hadn’t heard Russian in ages. Mama and Dasha had wanted to forget the country and the painful memories tied to it. So, Russian was never spoken at home, not even during our nightly prayers.
