bChapter /bb82 /b

Elena’s POV:

bMy /bheart dropped into my stomach like a stone sinking in cold water. That one word “Yes“-red back at me from the screen of bmy /bbphone/b, pusing with a quiet finality that made my throat tighten.

So that was it. He’d really stop messaging me–stop everything–if I simply fulfilled my end of the contract?

Just gave him sex five times a week. Like I owed him a bodily debt.

I didn’t know whether tough or cry. I stared at the message for what felt like ages, the white screen gleaming in my hand, my knuckles pale from bhow /btightly I clutched the device.

But I wouldn’t cry. Not anymore. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

I huffed quietly under my breath, trying to convince myself that it didn’t hurt, that this wasn’t ba /bbetrayal, just business. That everything between us was a fabrication from the start, and this… this was just another transaction. Just stress relief. A mutual release. Nothing more.

Yeah. That was what it would be.

A convenient arrangement. Physical contact to rece the emotional chaos. The illusion of intimacy to bury everything else beneath heat and skin and the quiet moans of forgotten pain.

If we had sex enough times, maybe these feelings would fade. This whirlwind–this goddamned whirlwind–of hurt and hope and longing, Maybe it would burn itself out.

Maybe I’d be free.

I tried to snort at my own delusion. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t free. I hadn’t been for a long, long time.

After all, I owed him, didn’t I? That was the narrative that kept ringing in my head, wing at my sanity like rusted nails. I mocked myself inwardly for ever pretending I could live a righteous life, untouched by the dirt and grime that surrounded the Vetrovs and Morozovs. I was already in this mess, waist deep. I might as well swim through it.

If I was going to sell my body to him… then I’d take every dime I could get in return.

God, I was so tired of trying to be good.

Someone one shouted, jarring me out of my thoughts, and I blinked down at the now–dimmed screen of my phone before shoving it back into my bag. ss had ended. I hadn’t heard a word of it.

I moved like a ghost, standing and gathering my books, the chair legs screeching against the linoleum in an agonizing echo. I had a thirty–minute break before my next ss. I could grab something to eat, sit alone, try to sort through the hurricane in my head.

Or at least pretend to.

But the moment I stepped out into the hallway, I noticed the footsteps behind me.

Persistent. Heavy. Familiar.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Lazar.

I paused and turned, my expression cold as my voice dropped low. “Why are you following me?”

He blinked at me, feigning innocence. “Me? I’m just heading bto /bthe cafeteria.”

al zo

Chapter b82 /b

I narrowed bmy /bbeyes/bb, /bunconvinced. “You? The guy who dines at brooftop /brestaurants that cost bmore /bbthan /bbmy /bbentire /bsemester bLinition/bb) /bb(/bouta per cen

food from the uni cafeteria? Since when?”

He chuckled. That infuriating, infuriating smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. “What can I say? I wanted to trymon bpeople /bfood today calle culinary experiment. By the way, are you stalking me?”

I rolled my eyes so hard it gave me a headache. “Yeah, right. In your dreams.”

But he kept walking with me anyway, matching my stride with unsettling ease.

We entered the cafeteria together, though I refused to acknowledge his presence. I grabbed a tray, some mediocre snacks, a chocte bmilkshake/bb, /band slid into a seat at the far end of the room, hoping–praying–he would take the hint.

Of course he didn’t.

Of course, five minutester, he slid into the chair across from me like we were best friends.

I didn’t even try to hide my sigh. “Lazar,” I said slowly, dragging the straw between my fingers, “what do iyou /iwant from me? bWhy /bare you doing bthis/b?

He smiled. Not smug this time. Just… strange. “Hm. I’m curious.”

I gave him a t look. “About what?”

“About your fatheri,/ii” /ihe said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze gleaming with a strange light. “Who else?”

My heart thudded once. Then again. I chuckled under my breath, masking the sudden tightness in my chest. “I only had one father. And he’s dead bnow /b

A silence fell between us. The cafeteria noise dulled for a moment. Something shifted.

I paused mid–sip when I felt it. The atmosphere around us change. I looked up and saw his expression. He wasn’t smiling anymore. In fact, bhe /blooked…

angry?

Why?

“So,” he said, voice sharper now, “your biological father means nothing to you? Even knowing he’s been missing you all his life?”

I stiffened.

I didn’t want to y this game. Not now. Not with him.

“He’s mafia,” I said tly. “If he really wanted to find me, he would’ve. Instead, he ran an empire that ruined my life. He’s the reason my family’s in debt. He’s the reason I hate everything about where Ie from.”

Lazar’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know the full story.”

“And I don’t care,” I shot back. “He can rot in ba /bcell for all bI /bcare.”

I watched his face twist. Anger? Frustration? Maybe something else.

He stared at me for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to suppress bsomething/b.

“You’re thinking is too shallowi,/ii” /ihe said finally, voice colder now. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

That struck a nerve.

“Oh, really?” I tilted my head, mocking him. Because I won’t grovel at the feet of some man who abandoned bme/bb? /bbPlease/bb. /b

“Feelings only get you so far in life,” he said, low and dark. “You won’t seed if you don’t learn to take advantage bof /bbgood /bbopportunities/b.

19.22

Sat, 20 bJUI /b

There it was. That oily, aristocratic poison leaking through his words like a slow drip of venom. My spine bristled.

“Good opportunities?” I repeated, voice rising just a little. “So what? I’m supposed to sell myself to Sergei Morozov now? Let him use me to redeem ihe /i

sins? Join the family business and pretend none of it matters? Sorry, but I’m not that easily bought.”

The chair scraped loudly as Lazar stood up, his sudden movement turning heads across the cafeteria.

He didn’t flinch.

Hé just looked at me onest time, eyes burning with something I couldn’t name.

“Let’s see how far your morals will get you,” he said.

And then he walked away, leaving behind his untouched soy milk and a tension that clung ito /imy skin like smoke.

I sat there, hands clenched around my milkshake, my heart pounding in the aftermath. My appetite gone. My pulse racing

What the hell was that?

Did he like me? Did he hate me? Was he testing me, manipting me, warning me?