Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Anora couldn't stop crying. Everything hurt so much. The scratches from Diamond on her cheek. The roots of her hair from Diamond's yank as they were leaving HQ after finding Ivan. Her limbs, covered in bruises from the struggle two days ago. Her feet, which had been trapped in high-heeled boots for almost twenty-four hours — boots designed to impress, not to endure the kind of walking she had done. And most of all, inside, in her chest. Right in the center, a weight pressed down on her so heavily that breathing became a conscious effort, and she had to take small gasps of air between sobs to avoid suffocating under the pressure.

Igor held her in his arms for several minutes, in silence. The hand cradling her head moved down to her cheek, and with his thumb, he began to caress her temple with a tenderness that belied the rough demeanor most would've expected from him at first glance, just as she once had. A gesture that, though small, made Anora's pain spike for a moment, pushing her to bury her face in his chest in a desperate attempt to stifle the magnitude of her sobs.

Just as she was acutely aware of herself — the sensitivity of her skin, of Igor still being inside her, of the thousand emotions coursing through her body — she was just as aware of him.

She could feel the rapid, strong beats of his heart against her head; the warmth emanating from his body; his scent, a mixture of almond shower gel — the one available in the Zakharovs' guest bathroom — and the unmistakable sharpness of tobacco; the firmness with which he held her against his torso without causing her pain.

There was something tragically comedic about the fact that she had broken down in front of him when, just two days ago, she had been ready to do more than just punch him and bite his neck to escape his presence.

Anora cried until she was empty. Until the tears ran out, leaving only the spasms behind. Igor didn't stop holding her the entire time.

Suddenly, she felt the pressure of his lips on her forehead, the tenderness of the kiss, and the way he lingered for a second longer to inhale the scent of her hair.

Something stirred deep in her stomach, something she wouldn't have been able to put into words. For the first time since she had fallen into his arms, she felt uncomfortable. Then, she sat up.

She didn't need a mirror to know her face was swollen, so she took advantage of her long, jet-black hair falling around her, the shiny strands attached at the roots catching the light as she moved, to hide it. Leaning on Igor's shoulders, she pulled away from him entirely and returned to the passenger seat.

The discomfort she felt morphed into shame.

What was I thinking?

Quickly, she adjusted her panties and the skirt of her dress, hearing Igor do the same with his boxers and sweatpants.

With the back of her hands, Anora wiped her cheeks and nose. She couldn't bring herself to turn around and look at Igor after what had just happened. She didn't know if he was already staring at her — that way that made her feel truly naked, vulnerable — or if he felt the same rejection Anora currently felt toward herself and couldn't look at her either. She didn't want to find out. She didn't want to ask herself any more questions. So, with the little dignity she felt she had left, she buttoned up her coat, grabbed her backpack, and uttered a single word before stepping out of the car, her voice barely a whisper.

"Thanks."

The contrast in temperature between the car's interior and the outside stole her breath for a moment. Snow was falling hard, and by the time she hurried up the steps to her front door, a thin layer had already gathered in her hair, like a string of tiny pearls.

She didn't look back at the car as she opened the door, shoved her bags inside, entered, and closed it behind her.

The house was dark. Silent. Vera would be back from class soon.

She leaned against the door and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the car's engine outside. A few seconds later, it faded as the car drove away.

She opened her eyes, and the tears started falling again.

Chapter Text

Anora had cried against the front door for several minutes, curled up on the floor, hugging herself. Then, she dragged her belongings to her room, pulled her flannel pajamas out from under the pillow, and took a shower, despite having done so just a few hours earlier.

The water was so hot that her skin burned, and more than once, she had to clench her jaw tightly to endure the pain. She needed it; she needed to scrub every corner of her body with the sponge, to get rid of the feeling Igor had left on her, of what had just happened a few minutes ago in that car, of how she had felt.

Once clean and dressed, she closed her bedroom door, got into bed, and didn't leave it for the next three days, except to use the bathroom.

The first day, not even an hour after she got home, her sister Vera came back from the local community college where she studied culinary arts.

She must have noticed the bathroom walls were dripping with water, and the small window inside the shower was open to let out the steam, because she burst into Anora's room like a whirlwind, without knocking first, something she knew perfectly well annoyed her.

"Where the hell have you been!?"

Anora had no desire to listen to her sister or answer questions that would only remind her of the events of the past few weeks, when all she needed was to forget it all. Her only response was to pull the comforter up a little more, covering herself all the way to her nose.

"You disappear for days, then come back and tell me you're married. Then you disappear again. Don't answer my texts or calls. And now I find you in bed."

Vera entered and yanked the comforter off her with force, uncovering Anora completely.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?" Anora yelled, pulling off the sleep mask she wore and turning to face her sister. "Get out!"

Vera opened her mouth. Anora knew she was ready to argue, to drag her out of bed if necessary ― not that she would have let her. But her sister was left speechless when their eyes met.

Anora was well aware of how she looked; she had seen herself in the mirror before stepping into the shower. She could barely open her eyes, swollen from crying, dark circles marked her face, and the scratches from Diamond on her cheek looked much worse than they were due to the contrast with her pale skin.

Anora saw how the anger hardening Vera's features faded, turning into something more contained, more like concern. No matter how many hurtful words they exchanged in their back-and-forth, no matter how much they fought, the bond between them was above everything, even if neither of them acknowledged it.

She didn't feel guilty about keeping her comings and goings to herself, but she couldn't deny that she should have been more upfront with Vera. At times like this, when her sister took on responsibilities that weren't hers, she seemed the older of the two.

"What happened?"

"Leave, now."

Anora tried to cover herself with the comforter again, but Vera sat on it. The look Anora gave her would have intimidated anyone else, but not Vera ― they grew up together, after all. She knew her best parts as well as her worst.

"Get out of my fucking room." Anora's voice lacked its usual firmness.

"Anora, what happened?"

Vera's inquisitive gaze made Anora lower hers to her hands. She couldn't stand another second of the visible compassion on her sister's face.

Anora often thought about how much she had changed since her grandmother's death. People used to comment on how beautiful her eyes were, that mix of brown with green specks that shone amber in the sunlight. But over time, that sparkle had faded, and in its place was a persistent shadow that neither her smile nor her makeup could hide. No one talked about her eyes anymore. The shiny strands in her hair, her manicure, her body, were the first things that drew attention. At least, the effort she had put into her appearance since she started working as a stripper didn't go unnoticed.

Resilience had been her shield, the strength that kept her standing when everything around her was falling apart. Keeping the apartment where they had grown up with their grandmother had been a constant struggle: paying the mortgage, the bills, the food. It all fell on her, but she did it. And she did it for Vera too, so she could study culinary arts, so she wouldn't have to give up on her dreams like she had.

She didn't give a fuck about what others thought of her earning that income as a stripper. After her grandmother's passing almost four years ago, and with their mother living in Miami with her boyfriend, nineteen-year-old Anora had done what she could to survive and take care of Vera, who was fifteen at the time.

But now, that strength seemed like a distant memory. She was tired, as if the constant fight had finally consumed her.

How could she return to HQ after everything that had happened?

Suddenly, her sister wrapped her arms around her, resting her chin on her shoulder. Anora stiffened at the display of affection. The weight pressing on her chest intensified, and despite trying to hold it back, it was Vera's hand in her long hair, caressing it down to the small of her back ― just like their grandmother used to do to calm them down when they cried ― that made her break down in tears for the third time that day.

Anora finally embraced her, her fingers gripping her sweater tightly.

"It's okay," Vera said softly, resuming the caress from her crown. "It's okay."

That evening, Anora didn't tell Vera anything, and Vera stopped insisting. She made her dinner, Anora's favorite dish: pelmeni stuffed with pork. A typical Russian dish their grandmother used to prepare in large batches when they were little, freezing them to eat throughout the weeks.

Vera brought it to her in bed on a plastic tray, the one she used in the mornings to cut oranges and make juice. And in the same way, she cleaned everything up after Anora finished eating, wishing her good night.

The second day, Anora spent it sleeping. She was exhausted and hadn't been able to fall asleep the night before. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of Ivan ― how insignificant he and his family had made her feel, how stupid she had been.

Amidst that flood of memories, Igor's image had appeared often: when he asked Ivan to apologize to her, when she woke up on the plane back to New York with his coat draped over her like a blanket, when he handed her the ring that Ivan had gifted her as a symbol of their marriage with that disarming look in his eyes. But then, the agonizing minutes she had struggled with him back at the Zakharovs' house returned, and the panic and anger flooded her once more with suffocating intensity.

She had to remove her sleep mask, open her eyes and face the darkness of her room to calm herself. The darkness had been a refuge for her in recent years, and the silence that accompanied it had offered a welcome relief after working long hours at HQ, listening to music nonstop.

The third day, a Sunday, Vera stayed in Anora's room in the morning, curled up with her in bed. They had lunch together, and Anora found enough strength to tell her everything that had happened since her first encounter with Ivan, leaving out certain parts she didn't want Vera to hear, like what happened with Igor in the car. Not so much because of how Vera would react ― she had no problem facing her in that regard ― but because verbalizing it would make it all too real.

Vera choked on her food more than once while listening, and she had this habit of commenting through clenched teeth when she was upset ― cursing out Ivan, his family, and the three morons Anora had to put up with ― that instantly made Anora feel better. It reminded her of their teenage years, when they'd gossip about school drama and laugh together. But this time, what happened was so fucked up that Vera hugged her again when she finished talking. And she wasn't particularly affectionate ― none of them were ― so that said a lot coming from her.

"I have no fucking idea what I'm gonna do now," Anora muttered, taking a drag from her mango-flavored vape.

Vera placed the tray with the empty lunch plates on the nightstand.

"You could start by getting out of this room," Vera said, adjusting the comforter over both of them. "And taking a shower," she added, pretending to lean away from her because of the smell.

"Shut up," Anora shot back, though a small smile slipped through. "But yeah, I should probably shower now."

"You should."

Anora gave her a light elbow nudge before handing her the vape. Vera took it, had a puff, and handed it back.

They sat in silence for a few seconds. It had been months since they had shared a moment like this. With Vera's classes and Anora's job, whenever Vera was home, Anora was asleep, and if she wasn't, Vera was out with friends or locked in her room with her boyfriend. And if they ever happened to cross paths, they either ended up arguing, or Anora was so socially drained she avoided being in the same room as her.

It hadn't always been like that. Before they lost the most important woman in their lives, that apartment had been full of life. But it left with her.

"You don't have to do anything," Vera said after a minute, her tone more serious. "Take some time off. Ivan gave you fifteen grand, and his family threw in another ten for the divorce. I get you wanna save some, but what about the rest? With that and what I'm gonna make at the café, we'll be fine for a while."

"I can't just do nothing, Vera."

"Says who?"

"I mean it. I'd lose my mind." Anora set the vape aside and slid under the sheets, hugging her pillow.

"Then figure it out. What do you wanna do? Go back to nightlife? Look for a different job? Study?"

At that, Anora let out a laugh.

"We both know how that went last time."

"Last time, we ended up at a funeral. Plans changed. But now? What's stopping you?"

Vera left later that afternoon for a date with her boyfriend, but her last words stuck with Anora, lingering longer than either of them would have expected.

When she finally got up to take a shower and unpack the suitcases that had been abandoned in the corner of her room, the idea of going back to school still nagged at her.

Vera's program fees were covered, and with the money from the Zakharovs, they had plenty to pay the remaining semesters without having to stress about managing it.

She reached into the pocket of her coat for her phone. She hadn't touched it since coming home two days ago. That's when her fingers brushed against something small and cold, and she pulled out the ring.

She turned it over under the warm daylight streaming through the curtains. With a huff of frustration, she opened one of the drawers of her dresser, where she kept a small box of memories from her life, and placed it inside.

Once she plugged her phone in to charge, she waited impatiently for it to turn back on. At just 1% battery, the screen finally lit up, and dozens of unread messages popped up. But it was Lulu's texts that distracted her from the real reason she had grabbed it.

Thursday 3:16 AM

Girl, Idk what the hell just happened

Diamond is losing her fucking mind

You should be here to see it

She's screaming you broke two of her nails

That you almost sprained her ankle

And if she ever sees you again, she's ripping out "every shiny little piece of shit" in your hair

💀

What a fucking idiot

Jimmy is losing it too

Are you okay?

Friday 01:27 AM

Hey

Don't wanna bug you, but I hope you're alright

The girls are worried too

Love you

Anora smiled to herself. Lulu had been the best thing to come into her life last year — a surprising, steady presence when Anora hadn't realized how much she needed one. Lulu was just a year older than Vera, turning twenty in a few months, and already more levelheaded than most of the girls at HQ. Despite their four-year age gap, Anora hardly noticed it.

Still, it wasn't hard to see how life had forced Lulu to grow up fast. Starting as a stripper just shy of her nineteenth birthday wasn't how she had imagined spending her last teenage year. But she had embraced the cards she was dealt with a quiet resilience that Anora couldn't help but admire.

Sunday 4:09 PM

Hey

I've been better

But I'm okay

Let the girls know for me

Don't feel like talking to them rn

Let me know when you're free next week so we can catch up

Love you too

Thanks for checking in

Also

Fuck Diamond

Before leaving iMessage, her eyes drifted to Ivan's chat. The last time she had tried to talk to him was Wednesday — a desperate attempt to get a response when he wouldn't answer her calls after abandoning her. He hadn't replied, though, so it wasn't even a conversation.

She tapped on his name on impulse, staring at his profile picture. That stupidly charming smile he had with his sunglasses on made her blood boil. Her fingers moved furiously across the keyboard.

You're a fucking coward and a liar. Can't believe I wasted my time on you. You're not even good in bed. You pathetic mother

She stopped herself. She realized not everything she was typing was true. She had actually enjoyed her time with him. Beyond the luxury, beyond the money, for a moment she had been ready to open her heart, to believe in what was happening between them.

They way he made her laugh, how he surprised her, those glimpses of vulnerability he shared with her when they talked in bed... She liked him. A lot. And he had made her think he felt the same. He had made her believe, for one fleeting moment, that what they had could turn into love, with time. But how the hell had she thought that? How had she let her guard down for someone like him? As if a stripper, a woman from her social class, could even dream of something like that ― a better life for herself, the way Ivan had made her believe he was offering.

She deleted it.

It's not worth it.

Just like she deleted the chat and his number. He had probably blocked her already anyway, as his parents had likely ordered him to.

Then, because she felt she deserved so much better than him, than everything she had endured for him, she scrolled through the programs at the same community college her sister was attending. She kept browsing for almost half an hour before, not so sure anymore, leaving the phone to charge and heading straight back to bed.

Chapter Text

It was Tuesday when Anora and Lulu made plans to meet at Anora's place that night. The stars had aligned. It was Lulu's day off, Vera was sleeping at a classmate's apartment, and Anora and Lulu had the house to themselves.

Anora was excited to surprise her best friend with a home-cooked dinner. She wasn't half as talented in the kitchen as Vera, but, like her, she had picked up a thing or two from her grandmother's recipes, watching her move around the kitchen while listening to the Russian broadcast of a local radio station.

Vera had texted her a list of ingredients for mushroom stroganoff, along with the step-by-step instructions.

Anora had stepped out of the house for the first time on Monday, but only to sit on the back patio stairs and smoke a couple of cigarettes, the rumble of the train a welcome companion whenever it passed by. The sound grounded her, familiar. At any other time, she would have found it grating. But after the isolation of the past few days and everything that had happened, she appreciated the constants in her life.

This time, she went out onto the street. The deli she frequented was just a five-minute walk from her house.

The sky was clear, and the snow had stopped. What had fallen over the past few days hadn't settled, leaving only faint traces. Still, it felt colder than the previous week. She not only wore her longest, thickest coat but also the wool set Vera had gifted her two Christmases ago — beanie, scarf, and gloves — all in indigo blue.

Whenever she could wear layers and comfortable clothes, she took the opportunity. In her line of work, that never happened. Or at least in the job she'd had until a little less than two weeks ago. She hadn't yet decided what her next step would be.

She stopped thinking about it the moment she reached the deli entrance.

"Ani!"

Anora smiled as she saw Luka, the deli's owner. A man in his fifties who, despite having managed the store for less than a year, remembered not just the faces and names of all his regular customers, but also what they usually bought. He was charming.

"How are you, Luka?" she asked, not out of politeness but genuine interest.

"Good, good. So cold these days," he said from behind the counter, standing up from the stool he had been resting on. "Glad to see you. If you need anything, I'm here," he added in Russian.

"Thanks," she replied, stepping into the store.

She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and reviewed Vera's list. True to form, she had completely forgotten to check what they already had at home. She immediately ruled out staples like salt, pepper, and pasta but decided to buy everything else, just in case.

She had just picked up a bag of white onions and another of garlic when she suddenly felt a nudge on her back. Turning around, she saw a petite older woman trying to make her way down the narrow aisle.

"Excuse me," Anora said immediately, stepping aside to let her pass.

"Oh, no, no, don't worry about it. I'm just not as slim as I once was," the woman replied in Russian, laughing. "In my younger days, I would have slipped through here with no problem."

Anora met kind, blue eyes magnified by the lenses of golden-rimmed glasses. There was a transparency in her gaze, as if she could see right through her, that threw Anora off a little.

The woman was dressed entirely in black — the coat, the tights, the shoes, even the purse. The only splash of color came from the red flowers on the scarf covering her head, tied around her neck. A few white strands of hair had escaped her updo, framing her weathered face.

"You look lovely," Anora replied in Russian out of respect, smiling.

The older woman laughed again and patted Anora's arm affectionately as she passed by.

"You're the lovely one, dear."

She moved further down the aisle, her steps slow but steady, until she stopped at the pickled goods section.

Anora couldn't help but think of her grandmother and how many times she had accompanied her to that very deli, almost always reluctantly. At first, because her grandmother insisted she couldn't carry that much weight home on her own, though in truth, she just enjoyed Anora's company. And later, as her illness took hold, because she truly needed help with the amount of groceries she bought.

Anora glanced away from the woman, a small, nostalgic smile on her lips.

A couple of minutes later, she placed all the ingredients she needed on the counter. The bottle of red wine wasn't on the list, but she told herself they deserved the indulgence.

"Do you want a chicken salad too?" Luka asked, knowing it was Anora's go-to order.

"You know me too well." The grilled chicken was absolutely delicious. "Yes, please."

Luka turned to prepare it immediately.

Anora burrowed into her coat as a customer opened the door, letting Brooklyn's icy air creep into the shop for a few seconds. Then she froze for real when, looking through the glass door, she saw who was standing across the street from the deli.

Igor.

Her first reaction was to quickly look away, as if that would prevent him from seeing her if he glanced in her direction. Her heartbeat inexplicably quickened.

What the fuck is he doing there?

Anora hurriedly adjusted her scarf, pulling it up to cover her mouth and nose. Then she allowed herself another glance outside.

Igor wasn't facing the store. He sat casually on the hood of his grandmother's car, smoking a cigarette. The same car where, five days ago, Anora had started having sex with him, only for him to try to kiss her, and for her to break down crying in his arms.

His face was tilted slightly toward the sky, the sunlight hitting him directly as he kept his eyes closed. He wore a gray tracksuit, the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, and from that distance, she easily recognized the coat he had draped over her on the plane.

That sight made her hold her breath for a second without realizing it.

A thousand questions swirled in her head. Didn't he live in Brightwater? What was he doing in her neighborhood? Was he following her? That couldn't be it — he seemed far too relaxed to be aware of her presence. Was he running an errand? Waiting for someone?

"All set," Luka suddenly announced, startling Anora with his ever-energetic tone. The moment he looked at her face, he burst out laughing. "Cold, huh?"

Anora took a moment to process what he was talking about, still preoccupied with thoughts of Igor and how to leave without him noticing. She had no intention of talking to him.

"Very cold. How much is it?"

"Thirty-four dollars and sixty-six cents." Anora quickly started stuffing the items into the tote bag she always used for light purchases, its butterfly print peeking through the folds. "Card?"

"Yes." She tapped her phone to the reader, waited for the payment to process, and slung the tote bag over her shoulder. "No receipt."

"Perfect. Have a good day, Ani."

"Thanks, you too."

Anora stepped aside but didn't leave the deli right away.

Igor was still smoking, his eyes closed. He wouldn't see her. And with her face covered as it was, even if he did, how would he recognize her?

She adjusted her scarf once more, pulling her beanie down low over her eyebrows, then exited the deli.

"Ani!"

She hadn't taken more than three steps when a hand grabbed her arm. It was Luka, holding her salad.

"You forgot this," he said, handing it to her, his breath visible in the frigid air. "Damn, it's cold!"

He walked back inside without waiting for a "thank you." Anora stared down at the salad in her hand, her expression the same as someone who had just shit themselves.

For a moment, the world went silent. The pounding of her heart echoed in her ears. Without even looking, she already knew. Without seeing him, she had felt it — a subtle shift in the air, a tingling at the nape of her neck.

She turned slowly, and there he was, standing just a few meters away.

The first thing her eyes found was Igor's. There was something in his gaze that unsettled her like few things had in her life. It wasn't so much the way he looked at her, but how he looked at her.

She had been looked at in many ways throughout her life: with adoration by her grandmother, with gratitude by her sister, with recognition by Lulu, with hunger by the men who frequented HQ. But never with the fascination that Igor's gaze held, as if she were someone worth admiring.

They held each other's gaze for a few seconds, silence stretching between them. The cigarette he had been smoking lay on the ground, slowly burning out.

Igor broke eye contact, glancing at her beanie, her scarf, then letting his gaze travel over her coat, the tote bag, and the salad she clutched tightly against her side.

When his eyes met hers again, the corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile.

"Hi."

Anora felt her toes curl inside her boots. His voice. She had to swallow before speaking, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Hi."

"I like your costume," he said, his smile widening. Anora felt her nostrils flare at the comment. "New trend?"

Oh, that was the last straw. She had been nervous about seeing him again, about talking to him when she had thought she'd never have to, and here he was, mocking her.

If he thought their relationship had changed after that night at the Zakharovs' house, after what had happened in the car, he was sorely mistaken.

"And yours?" Anora stuffed the salad into her tote bag and adjusted her beanie and scarf, putting them back as they were before seeing him.

Igor's smile disappeared, and Anora felt a pleasant satisfaction bloom in her chest.

"Me?" he asked, frowning.

"The hunchback weirdo look," Anora said with utmost seriousness. "Looks like you love it since you never take it off."

Igor blinked, dumbfounded for a few seconds. Sometimes, his facial expressions were so absurdly endearing on a face like his, with his looks, that he seemed much younger than he actually was. Anora suddenly wondered what Igor had been like at her age.

Then Igor started laughing, throwing his head back so far that his hood slipped off.

A smile began to tug at Anora's lips, but she bit her lower lip to suppress it. His eyes caught the movement, and Anora wished she hadn't done it.

Was there a strange tension between them, or was she imagining it?

"Igor, help me!" a voice called from behind her in Russian. "Hurry up!"

With three long strides, Igor was at the deli's door. The elderly woman Anora had been speaking to in the aisle was struggling to push it open. Igor held the door effortlessly, taking the bag with her purchases and giving her room to pass under his arm.

The one blinking in surprise now, once again caught off guard by the turn of events, was Anora.

Could this woman be the grandmother Igor had mentioned before?

"Oh, it's you again!" the woman exclaimed when she saw her, placing her purse in the crook of her arm and approaching. "It's so cold your ears are falling off. What are you doing standing out here, dear?"

Anora didn't know what to say. Instinctively, she looked at Igor, who had followed the woman and now stood behind her. Either Anora had been too obvious with her expression — one that Igor returned, likely because he hadn't expected them to talk — or the woman was particularly perceptive, because she immediately turned to him.

"Do you two know each other?"

Igor shifted his gaze from the old woman to her. She turned back to Anora.

"You know each other."

Anora forced a strange sort of smile, one that resembled a grimace more than anything, out of courtesy.

She had no idea what to say. She didn't know if it would be a problem for this woman to know who she really was because, while she hadn't done anything wrong, the circumstances under which she had met Igor were far from ideal. She hoped Igor would take control of the situation since he knew her, but he wasn't being particularly brilliant at the moment.

Igor tried not to laugh when he saw her, and Anora shot him a sharp look as soon as she realized. The lady also noticed the exchange, so she looked back at Igor and, this time, gave him a playful swat on the chest with the back of her hand.

"Are you going to introduce us?"

Igor regained his composure and, standing beside both of them, made the introductions.

"Ani, this is Nadina, my grandmother." Nadina, who didn't seem to speak English or be willing to, nodded uppon recognizing the last word, smiling with pride. "Grandma, this is Ani, a... friend."

Igor glanced at Anora as he said "friend." A safe word that wouldn't prompt difficult questions from his grandmother. And while both he and Anora knew it wasn't the correct term, it would do for now.

"Nice to meet you," Anora said in Russian. She started to extend her hand for a respectful handshake, but Nadina pulled her into an affectionate hug, patting her back a couple of times.

"I'm so glad to meet you! My Igor mentioned you. Can you believe he's never talked about his female friends before?"

Anora looked at Igor immediately. He didn't seem embarrassed by the revelation. On the contrary, there was something in his gaze — an intensity, a provocation — that made her look away first.

Suddenly, the situation felt far heavier than Anora was prepared to handle. She needed to leave.

When they pulled away from the hug, she took a couple of steps back, gripping the tote bag tightly to steady the slight tremor in her hands.

"Grandma, we should go," Igor said suddenly, gently taking Nadina's arm. "It's cold, and it'll be dark soon."

"You're right." Nadina allowed her grandson to escort her to the car. He opened the passenger door for her, and before getting in, she turned to Anora. "Whenever you want, you're invited to come to our house. Igor's friends are always welcome."

If Anora had been honest, she would have said, "No, thank you. I don't want any contact with your grandson." Under any other circumstances, she would have. She wasn't someone who hid what she truly thought. But there was something about the fleeting nature of that moment, the idea of never seeing that woman again, who had been so kind to her, that silenced her.

Nadina got into the car without receiving any response from Anora.

Before closing the passenger door, Anora saw Igor murmur something to his grandmother as he handed her the bag, something that made her smile. Then he turned back to Anora, shoved his hands into his sweatpants pockets, and walked over.

"I'm going," he said, with the thick accent and calmness Anora had already come to associate with him.

Anora suddenly felt the need to adjust her coat, crossing her arms.

"And why the fuck should I care? Do you need my permission?"

She didn't even know why she was so defensive all of a sudden. Her reaction frustrated her even more, and she turned to leave.

"Are you okay?"

Igor took a step forward, his hand almost involuntarily reaching out, as if to touch her arm.

That made her stop and turn to face him.

"Listen. I don't know what the fuck you're doing in my neighborhood, and I don't want to know. We aren't friends. I don't want to see you, don't want you talking to me, and certainly don't want you worrying about me. Got it? You fuckin' piece of shit."

Igor held her fiery gaze with unnerving composure. His cheeks and nose were flushed from the cold. The only sign that he had even heard her was a small exhale, the vapor disappearing into the winter air.

Anora didn't wait another second. Turning her back on him, she walked away, heading home.

Chapter Text

"He wanted to see you. That's the only reason," Lulu said confidently, leaning her elbows on the couch.

"And why the fuck would he want to see me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked rhetorically, her red lips stretching into a smile.

It was half-past nine at night, and Anora and Lulu were finishing dinner, sitting comfortably on the floor around the coffee table in the living room.

In the background, one of Anora's favorite R&B playlists played through a cube-shaped speaker Lulu had brought from her place. The music played loud enough to be enjoyed but not so much as to drown out their conversation.

Lulu had been filling Anora in on what had been happening at HQ since she left: the arrival of her replacement, a twenty-year-old redhead with wavy hair who was stealing clients from Diamond, the club's only redhead before her arrival, making her more irritable than usual; the disaster of a night when the DJ decided it was a brilliant idea to play heavy metal for most of the shift; and how one of the clients had crossed a line with Jenny and ended up with a punch to the jaw from Jimmy himself before security tossed him out.

In return, Anora recounted the fiasco with Ivan and their failed marriage.

When she got to Igor — from the time he had held her at the Zakharovs' house, to the moment in the car when he handed her Ivan's ring, to their unexpected encounter earlier that day — Lulu's expression of horror slowly morphed into a mischievous smile.

Anora waited for her best friend's response as she took a sip of wine. It was Anora's second glass, and she felt that was more than enough.

"He likes you and wants to get to know you."

Or maybe a third, fourth, or even finishing the bottle was a better idea.

Anora, who was about to set her glass down on the table, brought it back to her lips and finished it in one go.

Lulu burst into laughter at the sheer horror on Anora's face. Anora laughed too, though more to shake off the nerves those words had stirred in her.

"That's a good one. You should consider a career change. Comedy suits you," Anora said, pouring herself another glass because suddenly, she couldn't sit still.

"You don't believe it."

"That a fuckhead gopnik like him wants to get to know me, so we can ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after?" Anora took another sip of wine. "Of course not. If anything, the only thing he wants is the same thing every man wants when they see me."

Lulu tilted her head, waiting patiently for Anora to finish her thought.

"To fuck."

The moment she uttered the word, something inside her told her it wasn't true.

That intimate moment in the car came rushing back with an unexpected clarity. She downed her third glass in one gulp, trying to bury the images, the sensations, under the bitterness of the alcohol.

Anora hadn't told Lulu what had happened, just as she hadn't told her sister, and she didn't think she ever would. It had been so abrupt and so vulnerable that she felt an almost instinctive need to protect it, to keep it to herself.

"That's what you'd want," Lulu remarked suddenly, taking a bite from what was left of the food on her plate and chewing slowly.

"What?" Anora had heard her perfectly. It was just so utterly ridiculous that she wanted to see if Lulu dared to repeat it.

"It'd be easier for you if all he wanted was sex. You've spent years dealin' with guys who want you for that. You know exactly how to handle it. But a dude actually givin' a damn about you, not judgin' you, and treatin' you with respect? That's different." Lulu punctuated her explanation with a sip of wine, letting the weight of her words settle between them.

Anora laughed again, this time out of pure disbelief. She had no idea how Lulu had drawn that conclusion from everything she had told her. She was talking about him as if she knew him, as if she hadn't heard how he had kept her in the Zakharovs' house when Ivan bolted.

"You know what? I'd hook you up, since you seem to think he's so wonderful, but I don't have his number." Anora poured herself another glass of wine and, noticing Lulu's was nearly empty, filled hers too. She finished the bottle.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend it doesn't affect you."

"Lulu, babe, I couldn't give two shits about that asshole. I promise you. I just don't get why you're so set on defending him."

"I'm not defendin' him, alright? What he did to you was fucked up. Everything you've been through because of that rich little shit is fuckin' insane. But I hear you talk about him, and at the end of the day, he's the one who stuck up for you, gave you the ring, wanted to check on you. And yeah, he's a lackey, but no one asked him to do any of that, right?" Lulu brushed her natural brown hair off her face and leaned over the table to grab her watermelon-flavored vape. "And today, you run into him at a deli five minutes from your place? When there's dozens of stores near his? If you ask me, he's into you and was hopin' to see you again. But hey, what do I know?"

Anora didn't know how to respond. Lulu's words were sinking into her in a way they wouldn't have just ten minutes ago. It was most likely the alcohol buzz, but there was a tiny part of her, somewhere deep inside, that felt excited at the idea of sparking that kind of interest from a man after so long.

She had only been in one relationship, a two-year one. He was a year older, and when he found out, after her grandmother's death, that she hadn't only dropped out of school but also found work as a stripper, he dumped her immediately.

Anora was devastated and, for a while, spiraled into a toxic cycle with herself and men, sleeping with practically a different one each night. At the time, she thought she was doing it for him, to somehow fill the void his absence left. But over time, she realized it was a desperate attempt to feel something again. Losing her grandmother had left her completely numb.

"I don't like him," Anora said suddenly, her finger tracing the rim of her glass.

Lulu watched her in silence, taking a puff, her expression serious, hard to read. The fact that Anora couldn't decipher what she was thinking, when they could read each other like open books, unsettled her so much that she had to shift her position.

"Okay. Then nothing's gonna happen," Lulu said after a bit, her voice flat. But Anora could have sworn she saw a flicker of something in her gaze that didn't match her words.

That same night, with Lulu sleeping beside Anora in the bed, her arm clutched between Lulu's like a child holding a stuffed animal, Anora was still awake.

She couldn't stop thinking about how she had treated Igor before heading home. The conversation with Lulu had made her more aware than ever of a truth she had tried to deny, clinging to the one memory capable of shielding her heart.

Igor had been attentive and considerate toward her since they left the Zakharovs' house. No matter how hurt and exhausted Anora had been, protecting herself against that group of men all alone, he had never retaliated against her attacks. On the contrary, there was something deeply gentle and empathetic in his nature. And that unsettled her because, if she couldn't bring him down to her level, to that familiar terrain she had relied on for so many years to defend herself, how could she possibly confront what he was offering?

She wasn't used to that kind of honesty. It was so unfamiliar to her in a man that she couldn't help but stay on guard, baring her claws and testing Igor in that cruel way that came from the part of her that had seen so much wrong, so much hurt, that it could only reflect it back.

Anora inhaled as deeply as she exhaled. She didn't understand why Igor was taking up so much space in her thoughts. Why she suddenly felt so guilty about the way she had spoken to him, as if he could even be affected by it after the first day they met. What she should be thinking about was her next step. She couldn't just be aimless her whole life.

"What's on your mind?" Lulu murmured suddenly, her voice heavy with sleep in the silence of the night.

"Can't sleep either?"

"More like your intense breathing dragged me out of my dreams." Anora took off her sleep mask and found Lulu smiling at her, her face softened by drowsiness. "What's wrong?"

The cold moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating part of her face. For a moment, it reminded Anora of Vera when she was little, clutching her arm like that with her big smile. Anora was starting to lose feeling in it, but the tenderness of the moment made her do nothing more than shift closer to her, relieving the tension in her shoulder.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" Anora asked. Her voice sounded so fragile that she regretted speaking the moment the words left her mouth.

Lulu didn't miss a beat. She reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair back from Anora's face.

"I think you're the baddest bitch I've ever known in my life."

The conviction in her voice, as though thinking otherwise was a sacrilege, made Anora smile despite herself. But the warmth of the moment brought a sudden, crushing wave of emotion to her chest. Tears burned behind her eyes, and she buried her face in the pillow for a few moments, trying to hold herself together.

Lulu didn't say a word. She simply let Anora take her time, her fingers gently brushing the skin of her arm in a shoothing gesture. It was one of the things Anora admired the most about her ― this almost magical ability to know when to speak and when to stay silent. Lulu never pressed, never demanded. She was just there, a quiet reminder that Anora could share whenever she was ready — even if she rarely did.

"It's just that I feel... I feel like..." Anora let out a trembling sigh, her hands moving to her eyes, pressing hard as if that might help her find the right words. "I feel like I've spent years existing instead of living. Like I resigned myself to a life I didn't want because, at least, I was keeping Vera and me afloat."

Lulu stayed silent, her presence steady and grounding.

"Then I met Vanya. I told myself it was just another job, but I fell for his game. I trusted him. I dreamed of a better life. I let myself hope. And everything fell apart." Anora let out a bitter laugh — short and dry, barely masking the tremor in her voice. "I thought I'd moved forward, but I'd gone even further back. I can't be the person I was before I met him, but I don't want to be... this either."

Lulu leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing Anora's arm again, the lightest of touches, but one filled with meaning.

Anora closed her eyes. It was exactly what she needed in that moment: not judgment, not advice, just the reassurance that she wasn't alone.

"Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm such a mess," Anora muttered, wiping at her eyes before the tears could start falling.

"Girl, stop that. You don't gotta apologize for feelin' like shit," Lulu shot back, her voice soft but firm. "You've been through so much in such a short time, it's gonna take a minute to get back on your feet. Let yourself breathe."

"I'm trying, but I don't know what to do," Anora sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Like, should I hit up Jimmy and see if he'd take me back part-time? Now that he's got someone else in my spot. Or maybe I should check out some other clubs."

"Jimmy would take you back in a heartbeat. You know how many clients have been asking about you since you left? But are you sure you wanna go back there?"

"I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore. But I gotta do something. We can't live off savings forever, and everything's so damn expensive."

"What about school?" Lulu asked suddenly. The question hung in the air like an open secret, and Anora looked at her with wide eyes, caught off guard. She hadn't told her how she had been thinking about it too. Lulu shrugged, playing it cool. "Didn't you used to study nursing before HQ?"

"Yeah, but that was a lifetime ago," Anora said quickly, her tone sharper than intended.

The truth was, it wasn't just that nursing hadn't been for her ― it was that it would have broken her.

Her grandmother's cancer had turned her world upside down. Those weeks in the hospital were like slow-motion torture: watching her fade away while pretending to be strong, even though she felt like a hollow shell inside. She had spent hours wandering those sterile halls, disconnected, trying to hold it together while everything around her came crushing down.

After her grandmother passed, the thought of stepping foot in another hospital made her stomach churn. Even if she could have afforded to finish school, she knew she couldn't do it.

But, deep down, the spark hadn't entirely died. Anora had always been into health and science ― always wanted to help people. That part of her was still there, buried under all the pain, waiting for her to figure out how to bring it back to life.

"Ani, you know you can do anything you set your mind to, right? Anything," Lulu said, catching a glimpse of Anora's expression in the dim light of the room, a mix of doubt and longing.

"The truth is, I've been thinking about it, about going back. My sister brought it up, briefly, a few days ago, and before, it wouldn't have crossed my mind, but now... It's a possibility."

"It is, isn't it? And you have time to think it over and make a decision. No need to apply for anything until you're sure." Lulu's voice was lighter, giddier.

Anora made a guttural sound of affirmation, smiling the tiniest bit.

It was difficult for her to express her deepest thoughts and feelings clearly, almost as if she tiptoed around them in her day-to-day life, not allowing herself to process them properly, prioritizing things that seemed more urgent and practical ― things that gave her control. 

After a few seconds of silence, which felt like minutes in the quiet of the night, their breathing syncing unconsciously, Anora took the liberty of reaching for her best friend's hand, squeezing it gently.

"Thanks," Anora whispered.

Lulu smiled and squeezed her hand back in response.

Chapter Text

By the end of February, the Brooklyn cold had settled in, unyielding. The temperature barely shifted, but the wind battered the streets with such force that stepping outside without getting your hair messed up was impossible. Winter knew its days were numbered, and it seemed determined to leave a mark before spring took over.

In the past few weeks, after considering attending the same community college as Vera ― where she herself had spent almost a year studying nursing ― Anora came to an inevitable conclusion: waiting until September to start one of the programs, which she still hadn't decided on, without doing anything significant in the meantime, wasn't an option. She neither wanted to nor could afford to.

Her goal was to save ten thousand dollars from the twenty-five thousand she had received from the Zakharovs. But after estimating the cost of Vera's remaining semesters, whichever program she ended up choosing, the mortgage, insurance, and daily expenses... the math simply didn't add up. Not even with her sister's new part-time job.

Anora needed to work.

Vera had helped her write her resume, although there wasn't much to put on it. Before working as a stripper, she had only had two jobs, and one couldn't even be considered as such. At seventeen, she walked dogs for a few neighbors for a while, and the summer she turned eighteen, she worked in the ticket booths at Luna Park in Coney Island.

Her sister assured her that, while mentioning her experience as a stripper wasn't ideal for finding a job in a different field, she could still highlight some transferable skills she had developed as one: her ability to solve unexpected or complicated situations quickly — "resourceful," as Vera called it — and her ease in dealing with people, those "people skills" which, according to her, were highly valued in almost any job.

Anora sent out resumes to supermarkets, fast-food restaurants, coffee shops. The job hunt stretched over three weeks before she gave up.

At almost twenty-four, not only did she have high school as her last academic qualification, but she also had a six-year gap in her work history. When asked about it in interviews, she would simply say that she had focused on herself and her professional projects. If pressed, she mentioned she was a dancer.

The last straw came during an interview with a man in his forties, his thick mustache taking all the attention from his face. Halfway through their conversation, she caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, smile sharpening, and she knew before he said anything.

He had seen her dance at HQ.

Hell, she had danced for him months ago.

The wedding ring on his left hand gleamed under the fluorescent light.

She wasn't selected for any of the positions.

Anora had tried. She really had. But there she was again, on a Friday night, in the locker room of HQ, not even two months after quitting, getting ready for her shift.

Jimmy welcomed her back with open arms. Even Dawn didn't seem to mind adjusting the schedule for her return. However, as Anora had expected, she couldn't go back full-time. For the time being, she would work two nights a week, five hours each. At least Jimmy had the courtesy — or rather, the financial savvy — to assign her the Friday and Saturday shifts, the most profitable days.

The girls were happy to have her back. Even Diamond decided to behave, for a change, and greet her with a smile, though it looked like it hurt.

No one asked her about Ivan. She couldn't tell if it was silent empathy ― a shared understanding among women in their field, an unspoken acknowledgment of striving for something bigger, something safer ― or if it was Lulu's doing. Perhaps Lulu had said something to them before she returned. Whatever the reason, she was grateful.

On her first day back at HQ, Anora embraced her identity as Ani like she hadn't in a while ― the confident, in control, magnetic woman she had become the moment she first stepped into the club. It came easily as she slipped into one of her favorite outfits: a scarlet bra and thong beneath a silver fishnet dress that matched her heels. Already made up, she looked at herself in the mirror and, for the first time in many days, smiled genuinely at her reflection.

She had given it a lot of thought since she left, and returning to work as a stripper had been near the bottom of her list of job options. Except for the amount of money she could make in a week compared to other jobs, everything that had happened since meeting Ivan had drained whatever resolve she once had for it. Still, she knew how good she was at it ― talking to men, making them feel special, boosting their egos, dancing for them. It had been so long since she felt like she was worth anything, that going back to something familiar gave her a kind of relief she didn't realize she needed until she stepped out of the locker room and into the club's main room. Within less than a quarter of an hour, she had already taken her first client of the night to a private room.

Weeks passed, and Anora settled into her new routine. On weekdays, from Monday to Thursday, she allowed herself to do things she hadn't had the desire to do in a long time when she worked full-time at HQ, and was now rediscovering at her age and with her current financial independence. She borrowed books from the library and read them in cafés over coffee and cake, went to the movies with Vera, and helped Lulu pack orders for her small online store, where she sold handmade accessories crafted from various materials.

One Saturday night, in mid-March, as Anora was getting ready with two other co-workers to start her shift at eleven, Jimmy informed them that a group of five men had just entered the club to celebrate one of their birthdays. His eyes sparkled at the thought of what they could make that night just from them.

"Make them feel at home, girls," were his exact words before heading out of the locker room toward the kitchen.

When Anora stepped into the club's main room, mango-flavored vape in hand, she spotted the group of men near the bar, raising their voices with enthusiasm as they ordered drinks and talked amongst themselves, making big hand gestures.

As she approached them with a trained smile, her hair — featuring a new set of blue shiny strands — pushed back to clearly show the neckline of her corset, she caught part of a conversation in Russian amidst the loud music. Something about celebrating the night in style.

She froze.

The memory hit her like a slap. The night Jimmy introduced her to Ivan and his group.

Then she saw the profile of one of the men ― slicked-back black hair, a prominent nose, a neatly trimmed beard.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Garnick turned at that exact moment, like he had sensed her watching him out of the corner of his eye. The buzzed, easygoing look on his face vanished instantly, replaced by sharp sobriety.

A laugh of pure disbelief escaped Anora's lips. She was about to turn around, walk away, and pull herself together when one of the other men in the group noticed her and called out.

"Hey, gorgeous! Love those things in your hair. What are they?"

Anora decided in a split second that she didn't want to cause trouble that night. Jimmy had already warned her: what happened last time, when they came for Ivan, couldn't happen again. If she and Diamond screwed up once more, they were out.

"Something like extensions," she replied, flashing a sweet smile and dialing up the honey in her voice. The shock of seeing Garnick wasn't about to ruin her night. "You like them?"

"A lot," he said, shamelessly letting his gaze wander down the length of her bare legs, accentuated by her heels.

Anora stepped closer to the guy — tall, blond, lanky — and allowed him to casually slip an arm around her waist. She completely turned her back on Garnick.

Her mind was made up. If they were planning to hit the pole room as a group, she wasn't about to be one of the dancers with that brute sitting front and center. Either she'd find a way to lead the blond guy to a private room or switch clients entirely.

The two co-workers who had been getting ready with her were already chatting up the others in the group.

"My name's Ani. What's yours?" she asked, casually brushing the collar of his shirt and letting her knuckles graze the skin of his neck.

"Andrei."

"Nice to meet you, Andrei." She flashed him a coy smile. "A little bird told me you're celebrating a birthday tonight. Who's the special guy?"

Andrei grinned and pulled her closer, keeping his hand firmly on her waist. He used his free hand to clap Garnick on the shoulder. "Right here — Garnick, my bro! Thirty-six today! Old man!"

Garnick gave a half-hearted pat to Andrei's arm, but his eyes locked with Anora's. Her deadpan stare was ice-cold.

Of course, he has to be the birthday boy.

Garnick took the chance to sip from the drink the waitress had just placed in front of him. The young woman continued serving the rest of his friends.

Anora's eyes drifted to his nose, where she had kicked him that night, sending him crashing into a glass coffee table. It had healed. Perhaps there was a slight bump, but it was barely noticeable.

Garnick noticed her staring and briefly covered his nose, making it look like a casual gesture while he laughed at something Andrei said.

"Happy birthday, Garnick," Anora said after taking a slow drag, her voice dripping with venom as the smoke curled from her lips.

"Thanks," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

When one of his friends paid for the drinks, the group moved to a low table surrounded by couches. Garnick took the chance to approach Anora, while Andrei got caught up in conversation with another friend.

"I thought you didn't work here anymore."

"What made you think that?" Anora shot back, dropping the sweet tone she used with her clients entirely.

"Not long after—" He hesitated, her unflinching stare making him rethink his words. "I came in February. I asked about you, but they said you left."

"And why the fuck would you ask about me? What, were you hoping for a private dance?" Anora's face twisted into a look of utter disgust. "You're fuckin' sick."

"What? No, no! It's the opposite," Garnick said quickly, settling into one end of the couch with Anora to his right, sitting between him and Andrei. "I can make us leave."

Anora tilted her head slightly, surprised for a moment before narrowing her eyes.

"What's wrong? Grown a conscience all of a sudden? Not with me, but the other girls are fair game?"

"I know," Garnick mumbled.

They had to pause their conversation when his friends raised their glasses for a toast in his honor. Anora and her co-workers joined in the celebration. The cheers were loud, the laughter careless.

After everyone took a sip from their drinks, Garnick continued, "This is weird. I don't want to make you uncomfortable — not again."

"Not again? You fuckers did a hell of a lot more than just make me uncomfortable," she retorted, making sure to blow the vape smoke straight into his face. Garnick blinked a few times, caught off guard. "And let's be real, the only one uncomfortable right now is you. You weren't this wound up when you came in here with your boys, right?"

If it weren't for the flashing lights cutting across the room, Anora would've sworn he was blushing. He took a sip of his drink, like he was trying to hide the little crack in his cool.

"I never apologized," Garnick said suddenly, his voice so low that Anora had to lean in closer, the pounding bass of the music drowning him out. "At least, I don't think I did. Honestly, that night is—" he paused, searching for the words, then exhaled, "not clear in my head."

Anora leaned back, giving him a long, skeptical look, one eyebrow raised. He seemed different now, softer almost, compared to the first time they met.

She thought back to that night — the chaos of it all. Between those pills Igor gave him for the busted nose she had given him, and the stupid amount of booze he had knocked back by the end of the day, the guy had barely been able to string two words together.

And the times they did talk? Yeah, all they did was rip into each other.

Well, until they got on the Zakharovs' private jet. That's when he stopped being a pain in the ass — just for a second — before passing out cold.

"Sorry. For everything," Garnick said after a few seconds, as Andrei and one of the other guys, shorter but twice his size, got up from the couch to sing for a bit, too caught up in the music to notice the tension between them.

"Even when I broke your nose?" she asked, not because she was seriously considering it, but just to see him talk about it.

"Yeah, I understand why. We didn't give you a choice." Garnick rubbed the back of his neck, offering a tight smile at the memory. "If you still think about it, don't. I forgive you."

"Oh, you already did."

"I did?"

"On the plane to Vegas, right before you passed out and snored the entire way there," Anora explained, perfectly disguising the amusement in her voice.

"I don't remember any of it," Garnick admitted with a laugh, though there was no humor behind it. "Did you know I had been sober for almost six months before I started drinking again that night?"

Anora hadn't known, but suddenly a lot of his behavior that day started to make sense. And while she was surprised — and she had definitely borne the brunt of that mess — the rest of them had to put up with the chaos a man barely out of puberty caused too. It would've driven anyone crazy.

Not Igor, though. Igor had kept his cool the entire time they were looking for him. Even on his birthday.

The thought of him stirred a sudden urge to ask how he was doing.

"And what about the others? Didn't they want to celebrate your birthday?" Anora kept her voice casual, with just a hint of playful teasing, the kind she used when she wanted someone to know she was joking.

"My brother would rip his balls off before willingly setting foot in a place like this," Garnick said. Anora still found it hard to believe that he and Toros shared the same blood. They couldn't be more different. "And he's married, so I guess that's important too," he added with a shrug.

Anora rolled her eyes but let him finish.

"As for Igor... he's a stubborn bastard. I told him about it, but he didn't want to come."

"Why not?"

Garnick stared at her, tapping the rim of his nearly empty glass with his fingertips.

"He said this place isn't his kind of place. Too loud. Too many people. But I think... it's because of you."

Anora frowned.

What the fuck does that mean?

"Garnick, man! I'm out!" one of his friends yelled, the other blond guy with an excessively flushed face. One of Anora's co-workers, Carla, was holding his hand, smiling the same practiced smile that Anora and the rest of the girls had perfected for clients. "I'll be back!"

Without further ado, he let Carla lead him toward the stairs that went up to the private rooms.

At that moment, Anora felt Andrei's arm drape over her shoulders.

"Looks like Garnick's stolen all your attention. I thought you and I could have some fun too," he murmured near her ear, his warm breath brushing against her skin, sparking a disgust she expertly concealed.

"Still can, if that's what you want," she replied, blinking in that way that made her look so sweet and accommodating. Normally, she would have grabbed his hand and led him straight to a private room at the mere suggestion. But her conversation with Garnick was proving to be far more entertaining than she had expected.

Andrei grinned and, taking her hand, pulled them both to their feet.

"I'll catch you later, guys!" Andrei called out, glancing back at Garnick one last time. "Live it up, man! Thirty-six doesn't come twice!"

Anora looked at Garnick, and he shifted his gaze from his friend to her. From above, hunched forward on his knees, Garnick looked strangely smaller than he was. He downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp.

No words were necessary for Anora to know that Garnick wasn't exactly thrilled about her leaving with Andrei.

It threw her off. Garnick barely knew her, and until just a few minutes ago, she had believed he hated her guts as much as she once hated his. He had known from the start what her job was. Even if he had thought she didn't work at HQ anymore, he was there, with his friends, on his birthday. They were all spending money for their services.

So what fucking right did he think he had to look upset?

If anyone had the right to be pissed, it was her. She was the one who should have been fuming after seeing his goddamn face.

Anora would have said something, but Andrei was next to her, and that meant she couldn't.

Garnick raised his empty glass in a half-hearted gesture of acknowledgment toward Andrei before standing up from the couch and heading to the bar.

That was the last time Anora saw him that night.

Chapter Text

Almost a week after Anora saw Garnick at the club, on a cloudy Friday with intermittent rain, it was just before eleven at night when, as Anora was getting ready for her shift alongside Lulu, Daisy, and Sunny, she heard for the first time the girls talking about the "ghost car" ― or at least, that's what Lulu liked to call it.

"It's really fuckin' weird. It's like, we've all seen it at some point this week," Lulu said, pulling a smaller plastic bag from her sports bag, where she kept a turquoise bob wig. A new addition to her collection, which she was debuting that night.

"I saw it for the first time on Wednesday, and then again yesterday. What about you, Daisy, when was it? Earlier in the week?"

"Yeah. I went out for a smoke during break, and the damn car was parked across the street. Didn't think much of it at first ― some clients just chill in their cars for a few minutes before they leave, you know?" Daisy explained, moving a bit closer to the mirror to apply a second layer of mascara. "But then it's 4 AM, freezing cold, fog rolling in, and the freak's still parked there. As soon as Jimmy and Dawn locked up, he drove off."

Anora was sitting on one of the red couches, tying the laces of heels that went up her calves. That night, she was rocking metallic shorts that barely covered her ass and a black bandeau with the word "angel" in rhinestones across the chest.

"Did you tell security? Jimmy?" Anora asked, standing up. She took a couple of steps to check the laces, making sure they were tight enough without being uncomfortable.

"Actually, no. I didn't think much of it... until yesterday, when I mentioned it to Daisy. Before that, I just thought it was in my head," Sunny replied, spritzing herself with perfume in all the right places: behind her ears, on her chest, on the inside of her arms, wrists, behind her knees, and one final spritz on the strip of visible skin between her top and mini skirt.

"There's cars all over the place around here. And sometimes, people just park, you know?" Daisy added, finishing her makeup with a nude lipstick that really made her smokey eyes pop. "But I'll tell you this ― now, five of us have noticed it, including Raven and Celeste."

"You know what? If I see it again tonight, I'm goin' straight to Jimmy," Lulu said, running her fingers through the wig, smoothing it out. "Like, he might not've gotten out of the car yet, but what if he starts followin' one of us when we head home? Gotta be careful, girls. Besides, there's no harm in Vince or Héctor gettin' close and askin' a few questions, right? And if it turns out we're just paranoid? Well, we'll have another funny story to tell."

"So you don't know who he is?" Anora asked, digging around her backpack for a pack of mint-flavored gum.

"No clue. Pretty sure I haven't seen that car around here until this week. But one thing I do know — it's a man," Daisy said, catching a glimpse of Anora in the mirror as she popped a piece of gum into her mouth. With an innocent smile, she stretched her arm back. Anora sighed but handed her one anyway — along with another for Lulu, who had perfected the art of the puppy-dog look.

A few minutes later, the four were ready to start their shift. The bad weather had kept some customers away, but it was still a Friday night. By the end of her shift, Anora had taken three men to the VIP area and two to a private room, leaving with a bundle of one thousand two hundred seventy-eight dollars.

The VIP area was where most of her co-workers entertained their clients, a dimly lit lounge with plush couches separated by curtains. Conversations were kept to a minimum, but there was always a silent exchange of glances and quick gestures between them: "we'll go smoke later"; "this is taking forever"; "this guy smells awful". Those moments, however brief, always brought a sense of camaraderie — especially on nights when everything felt like an uphill battle.

One of the three men, a man in his fifties or sixties, came in his pants without even having the decency to warn her before it happened. This not only made her get up and immediately end the dance he had paid for, but she also had to go to the locker room to clean up. The fabric of his pants, dampened, had stained her legs upon contact with her skin.

As for the two men she had taken to the private rooms, one was a regular client of hers since she was twenty-one. A businessman in his early thirties, single, who paid by the hour every time he saw her. He was one of the few who had earned her trust enough to allow him to kiss her skin, her back and neck, and touch her bare breasts. He was always respectful, checking with her before doing anything, and accepting "no" without getting offended. The bare fucking minimum.

The other was an Indian tourist who had come to the club for the first time. After twenty minutes of dancing for him, he told her they should get married, that a woman like her should settle down and start a family. Same old crap. Anora just laughed and made it clear she valued her independence.

Since Anora hadn't had time to smoke during the break ― comforting Jenny with Lulu's help, who had argued with her girlfriend and didn't think the relationship would last much longer ― the anxiety to do so and relieve some of the stress from that night made her pack up quicker than usual.

She threw her work clothes into a ball on top of the bag where she stored her heels in her backpack and changed into what she had worn on her way to HQ: a thermal long-sleeve shirt under a sweater, which was then covered by an oversized black hoodie that reached halfway down her thighs. She completed the look with gray leggings and leg warmers sticking out from above her black UGG-style boots.

After removing her makeup, she slipped on her coat, placed her headphones around her neck, and slung her backpack over her shoulder, ready to leave the club with Lulu, Sunny, and the others. However, Daisy, who had gone ahead to get home as soon as possible since she had to wake up early, returned to the locker room before they could head outside.

"It's there again."

"What? The car?" Sunny asked, wrapping a purple scarf around her neck, the color accentuating the blonde of her hair.

Daisy nodded in response. Sunny and Lulu exchanged a quick glance, and as Sunny rushed toward the entrance, Daisy hot on her heels, Lulu grabbed Anora's hand and quickly followed. The rest of the girls, clueless about what they were talking about but eager for some gossip, trailed behind them.

When they stepped out onto the street, the drizzle from earlier had turned into a torrential downpour. The water on the sidewalks of that Manhattan street reflected the city lights in a mix of blues and oranges, making the scene look as if it belonged to the collection of urban landscapes by Childe Hassam.

The girls huddled under the large cornice of the HQ entrance to shield themselves from the rain. Vince, one of the security guards, wasn't there; either he was inside, getting ready to leave, or he had already left.

"There," Daisy pointed, her eyes narrowing not only to better distinguish the car through the curtain of water, but also to reflect the distrust she felt seeing it parked there another night.

Anora did the same, and while for a moment she could only make out the silhouette of the car — parked in such a way that only its left side and rear were visible from the club entrance — when another car passed in the opposite lane and its headlights swept over it, Anora's body tensed from head to toe.

"Fuckin' sicko," Anora muttered under her breath, her disgust actually tinged with the night's earlier discomforts.

Without hesitation, she started walking toward the car, unfaced by the downpour that hit her with every step, nor the fact that she had nothing to cover herself.

"Ani! Girl, what the hell are you doing!?" Daisy shouted, and along with her, the rest of the girls called out, alarmed.

When Anora heard footsteps behind her, she didn't need to look back to know it was Lulu. Her best friend quickly caught up, and together they crossed the empty street.

Igor got out of the driver's seat almost immediately, likely having seen her approach in the rearview mirror. He held an umbrella in his hand, which he opened and extended toward Anora as soon as she stopped in front of him, Lulu just a step behind her — like a lioness protecting her cub.

Sheltered under the umbrella that Igor held over them with his arm stretched out, he remained still under the rain. Hundreds of drops hit his wool beanie, slid down his face, and soaked his clothes within seconds.

After almost two months, Anora found herself face to face with his green eyes again. And there was something in his expression — a mix of contained joy, daring caution, and genuine concern — that disarmed her.

Without thinking, she snatched the umbrella from his hand and held it herself.

"What, not satisfied with all the felonies from the first day? Now you're adding stalking to the list?" Anora snapped, raising her voice more than necessary to be heard over the roar of the rain.

Igor smiled. Smiled. As if he had been waiting for exactly those words, and hearing them gave him some twisted satisfaction.

"Ani, who the fuck is this?" Lulu muttered behind her, loud enough for Anora to hear but not Igor.

"Hi. My name's Igor."

Or so Anora had thought.

After a brief pause, as if that was enough explanation, he nodded toward Anora with a small tilt of his chin before adding, "We know each other."

"Unfortunately."

Anora felt Lulu inhale sharply right behind her. When she turned for just a second to look at her, she saw the exact moment Lulu realized who he was.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Lulu, her best friend." Anora caught from the corner of her eye how Lulu raised her hand briefly in a greeting, though the gesture was more awkward than friendly. "Ani's talked about you. Not sure if you remember me, we met a while ago at HQ when you came to—"

This time, Anora turned fully toward Lulu. Their eyes met for an instant, and that was enough for Lulu to stop talking. Instead, she let out a couple of laughs that didn't sound forced at all.

"You're gettin' soaked," Lulu said, grabbing the handle of the umbrella above Anora's hand. With a subtle nudge, she made Anora take a step forward. As she extended her hand, the umbrella stopped covering them and, instead, shielded Igor and Anora together. "I'll leave you two to it, okay? The girls are waitin' for us, but I'll tell them you're stayin' to talk."

She didn't wait for a response. Covering her head with her hands in a futile attempt to shield herself from the rain, she dashed back to the HQ entrance. The rest of the girls, still standing under the cornice, watched the scene intently.

Instead of returning the umbrella to Igor and rejoining the group, or simply walking away like she had the day she met his grandmother and he asked if she was okay, Anora turned to face him.

The rain had settled in his lashes, like morning dew clinging to the petals of a flower, about to fall. Several drops traveled down his temples, over his jawline, and one lingered on the tip of his nose. Anora had the strange impulse to reach out and touch it, but instead, she tightened her grip on the umbrella handle.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice calm ― neither cold nor accusatory.

Igor stared at her, quiet for several seconds, studying her face. Anora held his gaze. She could feel the weight of his eyes tracing every part of her: her forehead, her cheeks — one slightly more than the other — her lips, and then back to her eyes.

"Do you want to get in?"

Igor didn't break eye contact. There was tension in his voice, like he was holding something back. Like he wasn't sure what her answer would be.

Do I want to get in?

She swallowed, taking a deep breath. The storm around her felt like a mirror to the one brewing inside.

What do I want?

She extended her arm slightly further, offering the umbrella to Igor. Igor hesitated before taking it, his fingers brushing against hers for a second. When she stepped back, the composed look on his face cracked, just for a moment. Anora wondered if he had been holding onto something ― an idea, a thought, a wish ― that has just shattered.

"Wait, keep the—"

Without a word, Anora swiftly circled the car and opened the passenger door, leaving his unfinished words hanging in the air. She climbed in, the door closing with a sharp click behind her.

Sitting there again, inside that car, brought back memories of that January day. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself.

What am I doing here? 

She wasn't sure if it was because, deep down, she knew there was something unresolved with Igor — something she needed to face to truly move on and stop feeling whatever it was she felt when she saw him. If it was because this way, she could avoid having to explain herself to the girls when she was already exhausted. Or if, simply, she wanted to be near him.

Anora saw Igor's figure, blurred through the rain that pounded against the driver-side window. Several seconds later, as if snapping out of a trance that had kept him standing under the downpour, he got into the car.

He tossed the dripping umbrella onto the floor of the back seat. Then, he settled into his seat.

A strange silence filled the space. There was an intimacy in it that heightened every sound — the rain drumming against the windshield, the murmur of the engine, the soft whir of the heater.

Igor stared ahead, and Anora stared at him.

Under the car's warm light, she noticed the faint scar on his right cheek ― the one left by her wedding ring when she had punched him, the diamond cutting into his skin.

If Anora had seen him like this when they first met, she would have thought he was just serious, indifferent. His expression betrayed no emotion, just like that time when Ivan and Garnick had left them alone in the Zakharovs' living room, both of them waiting in silence on the couch. But she had seen him serious before, and now, there was something different. The stiffness in his movements, the depth of his breathing.

He was just as nervous as she was. Maybe even more.

"Well? You gonna answer my question or just sit there like a statue?" Anora had grown tired of the silence, of him suddenly avoiding her gaze, of the tightness in her chest just from looking at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked again, and as she did, she dropped her backpack at her feet, between her legs.

They were both soaking the seats — him more than her.

He didn't seem to care.

"Garnick told me you work at the club again," he finally answered, still not looking at her. "I just wanted to see if you are okay."

Anora shook her head, processing his words.

"Of course it was Garnick. What a fucking great duo you are, dumb and dumber. Always meddling in shit that doesn't concern you."

Now it was Igor who took a few seconds to process her words. Then, at last, he turned to her and met her eyes. The intensity of his gaze made Anora's breath catch, her body tense.

"Sorry. I didn't want you to see me." He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening, as if English was betraying him. "I mean, not want you—" He huffed in frustration before continuing, more deliberately, "That wasn't the reason. I only wanted to see if you are okay."

"You already said that."

"I wanted to see you," he corrected, his tone sharper, like he wanted to make sure she heard him right. "That's all."

Anora held his gaze, and suddenly, there was a transparency in his eyes, a truth slipping through, that made her look away instantly.

"And you thought parking your car here every fucking day of the week was a good idea?" She let out a dry laugh. "Who the fuck does that?"

"I didn't know what days you work."

"That's your fucking excuse, seriously?" Anora's voice kept rising, frustration seeping into every word, exasperated by Igor's attitude — by how easily he said things, like they were trivial facts. "Some of the girls were freaked out, thought you were some fucking perv. But no, turns out you're just fucking insane."

Igor didn't even blink. His expression remained unreadable as he calmly asked, "And?"

The question caught her so off guard that she frowned.

"And, what?"

He tilted his head just a fraction, studying her.

"Are you okay?"

Anora fell silent for a few seconds, inhaling deeply as she tried to steady her heartbeat. She turned fully to face him, her left leg bent on the seat, her right hand resting on the dashboard.

"You're so fucking weird, you know that?" She pointed a finger at him, as if to emphasize the severity of his weirdness. "You have a fucking obsession with me being okay. What makes you think I'm not?"

She leaned in slightly, challenging. "I am. Or I was, until I saw you."

Igor's mouth twitched — maybe a smile, maybe not. He looked away, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Sorry," he said again, quieter this time.

Anora caught his scent then — tobacco, clean aftershave, something woody underneath. It threw her off, the familiarity of it, the way it made something stir in her stomach.

"This is... strange, after many weeks," Igor admitted, almost to himself.

She watched as warmth crept into his face, coloring his cheeks red. For once, he looked insecure. Like there was more he wanted to say but wasn't sure if he should. 

She didn't know if that restraint was for his sake or hers — to avoid scaring her, to keep from seeming even weirder in her eyes.

At that moment, Anora realized she liked listening to his voice. She liked how he took his time between words, trying to express himself correctly in English. How he spoke to her with that unmistakable honesty of his, looking straight into her eyes. And she hated how much she wanted to hear whatever it was he wasn't saying.

"Do you want a ride home?" Igor asked, breaking the silence.

When their eyes met again, Anora realized something had shifted. She wasn't tense anymore. Her shoulders had dropped. Her jaw wasn't clenched.

Igor must have noticed too, because the corner of his mouth twitched up just a little.

She exhaled, settled into her seat, and — without a word — clicked her seatbelt into place. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Igor's grin widen before he did the same.

Then, he released the handbrake, shifted into first gear, and drove off.

The forty-minute ride passed in near silence. Anora didn't have to tell him where to go ― he still remembered the way, and although she noticed, she decided not to comment on it.

The only sounds inside the car were the low hum of the engine, the rain's steady patter, and the occasional tapping of Igor's fingers on the wheel as he followed the rhythm of whatever was playing on the radio.

Anora spent most of the ride with her head resting against the window, stealing glances at Igor every now and then. He looked calm, focused. Unbothered by the rain hammering down, by the windshield wipers working at full speed, sweeping the water away.

When he finally pulled up in front of her house, Igor didn't say anything right away. He just looked at the entrance, hands resting loosely on the wheel.

She looked at it too, feeling her throat go dry as she thought about how that exact moment had played out on a Friday two months ago. Both of them sitting where they were now, snow covering everything around them, Ivan's ring tucked in his pocket before he gave it to her.

Anora turned to meet his gaze, and Igor was already looking at her.

She still vividly remembered the way she had felt his breath hitch when she straddled him. The smile they had shared when she pushed the driver's seat back so quickly that Igor fell flat on his back. The way his hands had felt on her skin when she placed them on her ass after lifting the hem of her dress. And, most of all, the feeling of control — no matter how fleeting.

That, despite everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, she still had the ability to decide. To show Igor that she wasn't as broken as she seemed, that she wasn't powerless. That just as he had taken the ring and given it to her because he wanted to, she could give him that moment of pleasure because she wanted to.

But then, Igor had held her face in his hands and looked at her in a way that felt like a mistake. A mistake so overwhelming that every part of her screamed to run away. And when he leaned in to kiss her, his breath mixing with hers, Anora shattered.

As they looked at each other, Anora knew Igor was remembering too.

His expression softened. He gave her a small, uncertain smile.

And, to her own surprise, she smiled back.

"Can I see you again?" Igor asked suddenly, his voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

Anora's heart pounded against her chest as hard as the breath she sucked in upon hearing those words.

He was brave for asking her that.

After everything — after the way she had lashed out at him, the way she had pushed him away — he was still there. And for the first time, she saw it. The fragility in his gaze. The same one he had when he asked her an hour ago if she wanted to get in the car.

Without answering, Anora reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She unlocked it, opened her contacts, and tapped to add a new one.

Igor watched her in silence, not quite understanding what she was doing.

She chose not to say anything until she handed him the phone, realizing that, perhaps for the first time in a long while, she was enjoying the power she held over the situation.

"Save your number."

Igor blinked. Once. Twice. Then, without hesitation, he typed it in and handed the phone back.

"I'll call you," Anora said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Or maybe I won't." Then she stepped out into the rain.

Before closing the door, she glanced back at him one last time. And when she caught the way he smiled at her, something inside her shifted ― just a little. As if a part of herself that had slipped away when she fell apart in his arms that day, had finally started finding its way back home.

Chapter Text

The next day, it wasn't a surprise when some of the girls, having seen Anora talking to Igor outside the club after work, started grilling her about who he was and how she knew him.

She played it cool, giving them just enough to satisfy their curiosity without giving away too much. Told them he was someone from her past, wanted to reconnect, and that they shouldn't worry if they saw his car around again. He wasn't a threat.

Talking openly about Igor meant revisiting the whole thing with Ivan, and just like when she got back to HQ, she wasn't about to go there.

Time had been the best remedy for her pain. Each day, she felt a little stronger, thought less about what happened, and the guilt over her decisions was slowly fading. In the end, she had just fought for a better future. No way she was taking steps back just to talk about it again.

But with Lulu? She knew. They couldn't not talk. If something was going on with Igor, she could bet her ass Lulu was gonna bring it up.

It was half past one at night. Anora and Lulu were outside HQ, near the entrance, cigarette in hand, enjoying their break. It wasn't raining, but it had been most of the evening and the sidewalks were still wet.

Even though spring had started, the night chill cut right through them. Along with their coats, both had thrown on long pants ― the ones they had worn on their way to work ― over their mini dresses. Anora swapped out her heels for boots, but Lulu had kept her high-heeled sandals on, not even bothering with sneakers. Too much of a hassle to untie them just for the sake of comfort.

They both busted out laughing when they noticed her feet getting red from the cold.

"So, now that we're alone," Lulu said, taking a quick look at Vince and the line of clients waiting to get into the club. "He drops you off, and then what?"

When Anora saw Lulu's message the next morning asking if she got home okay, she told her Igor gave her a ride and they'd talk about it in person later.

"Nothing much, really. Garnick told him I was back working at the club, so that's why he's been parking around here these past few days."

"Garnick... wait, the dude from last week? The one you busted his nose?"

Anora nodded.

"He wanted to see me," Lulu grinned at hearing that, "and check in on me."

Lulu took a drag of her cigarette, chewing over what she just heard. The grin stayed on her lips — making Anora smirk to herself because she knew exactly what was running through her mind — and she said:

"He's into you."

"Lulu—"

"No, girl, he's into you. And this time, you can't talk your way out of it. How long had it been since you two saw each other?" Anora opened her mouth to reply, but Lulu was on a roll, all caught up in whatever was spinning in her head. "I don't know what's goin' through his mind, but if the first thing he did when he found out where to find you was show up again? That man hasn't forgotten you."

Anora was about to argue, but Lulu held up her hand in front of her face, cigarette between her fingers.

"Alright, yeah, parkin' in front of the club every night? Maybe not the smartest move. I'll give you that. But the dude's tryin'."

Anora glanced down at the ashes of her cigarette for a second, flicking her finger to make them drop to the ground as it burned away.

"What are you thinkin'?" Lulu asked after a few moments of silence. Anora felt her eyes on her, searching for the answer.

The image of Igor in the car, asking if he could see her again, kept looping in her head. How cute he had looked with that wool beanie on. The transparency in his eyes, revealing a fragility, a fear, that somehow mirrored her own inner turmoil.

"He asked me if he could see me again."

Lulu exhaled quickly, then waved her hand to clear the smoke when, without meaning to, it blew in Anora's direction.

"Okay..." Lulu dragged out the word, her smile slipping a little when she saw Anora's serious face. "And that's bad?"

Anora took a long drag from her cigarette, letting the smoke drift out through her nose. She massaged her brow with her ring finger ― the cigarette held between her index and middle one ― unable to stop herself from furrowing it as the conversation took that turn.

"I asked for his number."

Lulu let out a squeal and jumped a little. When she noticed Vince giving them a curious look, she waved her hand to brush it off.

"I knew it," Lulu said, tossing her long sky-blue wig back, the color making her skin look even warmer.

"Knew what, exactly?"

Lulu tilted her head forward just a bit, giving Anora a look that said, Bitch, seriously?

"That there was something there. Something makin' you overthink shit."

"I overthink lots of shit. Doesn't mean anything."

"And yet, you asked for his number," Lulu shot back, her grin turning into a chuckle. "Because you wanna see him again."

Anora took a last drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out against the wall and flicking it to the ground. Crossing her arms, she pulled her coat tighter around her.

"Yeah, okay, fine, there's something about him. I won't lie. But let's say we meet up. Then what? We hang out a few times? Maybe every week? Is that how it works? I've been around enough to know that doesn't really lead anywhere. So, what's the point of getting to know each other after everything?"

Anora was looking everywhere but at Lulu, shifting, fidgeting, her nerves showing in every little movement. Lulu gently took her arms, careful not to burn her, and locked eyes with her.

"Ani, babe, all of that? It's in your head. You're overthinkin' because you're scared. Scared of gettin' close to him, scared of realizin' he might actually be a solid-ass dude. Someone who wants you in his life, and someone you might wanna keep in yours too. And yeah, maybe it's the opposite ― maybe you realize there's nothin' there. You don't know yet. So stop stressin' about what's next and focus on right now." Lulu took a beat, then added, "What you wanna do?"

Anora held her best friend's gaze. Lulu didn't waver. If anything, her expression hardened, steady and sure. And in that moment, Anora knew — no matter how it turned out, good or bad, Lulu would still be there. Holding her up. Making her laugh. Putting up with all her bullshit without so much as batting an eye. And when she got home, her sister would be there too, bitching about a professor or nagging her to watch the latest episode of whatever trash reality show she was into that week. Life would go on. And she'd be okay. Because somehow, she always was.

"Talk to him," Anora finally admitted, the smallest, most hesitant smile flickering across her lips.

It had been so long since that part of her — the timid part — had shown itself. She was always so sure, so carefree, so in control. But out there, with Lulu, in the crisp Manhattan night air, she didn't have to fake it. She wasn't Ani, the one with all the answers, the one who never wavered. She was just Anora. And when something weighed that much, not even her armor could hide it.

"Call him," Lulu said, her expression softening at Anora's vulnerability.

"Right now? Hell no, it's too late. He's probably asleep."

"Girl, he's been parked outside the club all week, waiting until God knows what hour just to see you. That man is not sleepin'."

Anora took a deep breath, running her thumb over the edge of her acrylic nails, a nervous habit.

"And what the fuck am I even supposed to say?"

"That you wanna see him."

Anora rolled her eyes. Lulu made everything sound so damn easy. And maybe it would be — if it weren't for the knot in her stomach.

It wasn't easy. Not when it came to Igor. To her. To them.

"I can tell him that tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning, you're gonna bitch out. I know you," Lulu said, taking one last drag from her cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing it under the point of her heel. She sighed, shaking her head with a half-smile. "Sorry, I ain't tryna pressure you. I don't even know why I'm doin' it. It's just... I think this could be good for you. And I really, really wanna see you—"

"I'm texting him."

Lulu froze for a second. Then she let out a tiny, muffled squeal and bounced on her heels.

Anora leaned back against the wall and pulled out her phone. Before she could even unlock it, Lulu was right there, pressing her temple against hers to get a good look at the screen.

When Anora tapped the "New Message" button and entered Igor's number, she let out a small sigh, staring at the text bar. Her fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of what to type next.

"What's up?" Lulu asked, swiping the curtain of black hair from Anora's face to see her better, tucking it behind her ear.

"When do I suggest we meet? And where?" Anora closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head. "I seriously have no clue what I'm doing. This is..."

"New for you?"

"Yeah." Anora let out a short laugh, biting her lip. "It's not like with Liam. We met, hit it off, and started dating right away. And it's not like with Ivan, who was just a client at first. With Igor... I don't even know what the fuck we are. We aren't friends, but we aren't strangers either. We've talked, sure, but it's never been about anything real. Not when I—" Anora paused, realizing Lulu was about to finish her sentence again. But Lulu stopped herself, biting her cheek. "I've been so defensive. How the fuck do I talk to him now?"

Lulu took a moment to think while Anora watched her, hoping for something that would make sense of the mess in her head. And then, Anora saw herself from the outside: at twenty-three, with all her experience... and still totally lost. She couldn't help it. She started laughing, shaking herself out of it.

"Okay, I'm being a fuckin' idiot," she muttered, focusing back on her phone. "This isn't that hard."

Sunday 1:46 AM

Hunchback weirdo

My number

Bet you didn't expect this

You free this Sunday?

"Hunchback weirdo — is that your nickname for him?" Lulu asked, raising an eyebrow as she read the text. "That's kinda cute."

Anora frowned at her, shooting her a look. Lulu just shrugged, like it was no big deal.

Suddenly, Anora's phone buzzed. Both girls looked at the screen. Not only had Igor's profile picture changed from the default one to a photo of the sea ― meaning she was officially in his contacts ― but there were also two new messages.

Anora's heart skipped. She felt the urge to toss her phone into the street and run down the block. Instead, she gripped it tighter and read:

I'm free in the afternoon

Are you working?

Anora and Lulu exchanged a look. Anora was confused, but Lulu looked like she was getting a kick out of it.

"Why's he asking that now?" Anora muttered.

"Who cares?" Lulu said with a grin. "Just say yes."

Yeah

I'm on break

When do you finish?

At 4

Okay

Do you work Fridays and Saturdays?

Yeah...

What's with all the questions?

What's next? Kidnapping?

I'm no kidnapper

But I want to go for you

Can I drive you home again?

"Ugh, he's so dry when he texts, a bit like you ― but it's cute!" Lulu squealed, tapping Anora's arm repeatedly.

"If you say that word one more time, I'm gonna lose it," Anora shot back, half-joking.

"Okay, okay, sorry. But you're gonna say yes, right? A ride home? And free?" Lulu said, shoving her hands in her coat pockets to warm them up. "Fuck yeah!"

Anora didn't know what to think. Her break was almost over. She hadn't expected anything like what happened the night before to repeat itself ― especially after he had probably been driving all the way from West Brighton to Midtown Manhattan every day for the past week. Yet, her heart quickened at the thought of seeing him in just a few hours.

It'll take me a while to get ready

Come around twenty past

Twenty past is 4:20?

Yeah

Okay

I will be there

Anora didn't realize the smile that crept onto her face when she read that last message — not until she turned to Lulu and, by the look on her face, knew she was enjoying this a lot more than she let on.

"That's a pretty sweet move, him wantin' to take you home. And if he's comin' all the way from Brighton to pick you up, he definitely cares," Lulu said, her tone softer than usual, like she understood this was a big deal for Anora and didn't want to freak her out by saying anything that might make her overthink.

"Let's go in."

Lulu gave a little nod, letting the moment pass. She linked her arm with Anora's, and together, they walked into the club, Vince holding the door open for them as they went through. Without missing a beat, they headed straight for the locker room to change and start the second half of their shift.

A few hours later, when the last customers had left and the girls were getting ready to head home, Anora decided, instead of leaving with a freshly washed face and no makeup, like she usually did, to curl her lashes and swipe on a bit of tinted Vaseline, which brought out the natural red of her lips.

She glanced quickly at her phone to check for any new messages, but the only notification in her inbox was about a system update. So, she buttoned up her coat, slipped her headphones around her neck, and with her backpack on, walked out of the club with Lulu, Sunny, Diamond, and a few other girls.

The moment she stepped onto the street, she saw him.

This time, Igor had parked right across from the entrance. He was standing outside his car, leaning against the driver's door, one foot crossed over the other, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cigarette. He reminded her of that afternoon, a few weeks back, when she had bumped into him by chance at the deli near her place.

He was wearing a black tracksuit, white sneakers, and his usual coat, keeping out the cold. Anora figured he was the type of person who didn't care much about what he wore, as long as it was comfortable and functional. He also had a beanie on, but this time it was a different color than the last one — burgundy, if her eyes weren't deceiving her from a distance.

Igor smiled the second he saw her. Anora returned the smile, though it was smaller, more uncertain. She was glad to see him because, even though she never would've guessed in a million years that the "ghost car" the girls had been talking about was actually the one he drove, and despite how she had left him hanging, with her grandma watching from the car, there was something about his presence that sparked an interest in her she wasn't sure she had felt before meeting him. And it terrified her.

"I'll see you this week," Lulu said to Anora before looking at Igor and waving at him. Igor took his hand out of his pocket for a second to wave back at her. "Even if he's droppin' you off, let me know when you get home, okay?"

"Yeah, you too," Anora replied, pulling her into a quick hug.

"And who's that now? The guy with the car you girls couldn't stop talking about?" Diamond suddenly chimed in, having been listening to their conversation from a few steps away. Sunny and Celeste exchanged glances, their faces tightening the moment Diamond spoke. "Your new boyfriend?"

Anora held Diamond's challenging gaze, keeping her expression neutral, hiding the disgust she felt from Diamond's obvious jealousy — not just toward her, but to all of her co-workers. Anora couldn't figure out if it was an issue of self-esteem or some unacknowledged narcissism.

"Take it easy, girls. See you Friday," Anora said, completely ignoring Diamond as she turned away. She wasn't about to waste another second arguing with her. The fight at HQ had been the final straw.

She crossed the street briskly, checking that no cars were coming, heading toward Igor. He took a final drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke upward before flicking it to the ground and crushing it under his sneaker. Then, without warning, as she was just a few steps away, he walked around the car and opened the passenger door.

Anora took a second to realize what was happening and, rolling her eyes, followed him to the other side of the car.

"Hey," Igor said, his arm resting on the open door, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-smile.

Anora met his gaze, briefly tracing the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that deepened with his smile. Her gaze then moved down to his body, casually leaning toward her. The subtle nod of his head silently invited her inside.

"Such a gentleman," she said with a hint of sarcasm as she slid into the car.

Despite the tone, she appreciated the gesture. No one had ever done that for her before, and to her surprise, she found she wouldn't mind if it happened again.

Igor closed the door and walked around the car again to sit in the driver's seat.

He turned on the heater when he saw Anora take off her coat and drape it over one of the back seats. That's when she noticed the plastic bag sitting there. A warm, sweet baked scent hit her all of a sudden.

"What's that?" Anora asked, pointing to the bag. There was something about that smell that seemed strangely familiar, but she couldn't place why.

Igor also removed his coat, laid it on top of hers, and then reached for the bag, offering it to her with a small smile.

"Hungry?"

Anora took the bag with curiosity and peeked inside.

"My grandmother made them this morning. Some are beef and onion, and others are... uh... kabbij... no, uh... cabbage? Yeah, cabbage and carrot," Igor's words trailed off as he looked at her, a slight embarrassment in his eyes, but he quickly shrugged it off with a small, awkward smile.

She untied the simple knot of the cloth inside, noticing how stuffed it was. When she opened it, she found at least ten pirozhki, perfectly lined up, their golden crust firm. The scent, now stronger, hit her full force.

"They're cold, but still delicious. You can eat now or take them home. Whatever you want," Igor added, his words coming out a little faster than usual, as if trying to downplay the gesture.

Anora inhaled deeply, savoring the smell, and without hesitation, grabbed one, biting into it under Igor's watchful gaze. His lips were slightly parted, and he blinked slower than usual.

When she finished chewing, a wide, inevitable smile spread across her lips.

"This is so fucking good," she said, just as Igor looked away, a light laugh escaping his throat. "What?"

He lifted his gaze to hers again, that look of his that never seemed to hide anything. But this time, there was something different to it, something new that Anora couldn't quite put into words. It made her heart race.

"It's the first time I see you smile that big," Igor revealed, settling back in his seat. He rested his head against the headrest, turned toward her, not taking his eyes off hers. "You have a beautiful smile."

Anora was left speechless, feeling her body tense up from head to toe. It was an automatic reaction, as if something buried deep inside her was urging her to get out of the car, to run away from that look, from that moment.

But not this time. This time, she wouldn't let it take over. She would let it sit, let it be — because there was nothing wrong with it. Because it was just a comment. Because it didn't have to mean anything more than what it was.

She licked her lips and took a deep breath, feeling the heat rise up her neck and settle in her cheeks. Turning her gaze forward, she took another bite of the bun and fastened her seatbelt.

A strange silence fell between them. Anora could feel Igor's eyes on her profile, probably trying to figure out what had just happened, but he didn't say anything. He simply buckled his own seatbelt and started driving, heading toward Brighton Beach.

She finished the first bun, and as she grabbed a second, she turned on the radio, glancing sideways at Igor, who remained calm, focused on the road.

She chewed slowly, savoring the caramelized onion in the meat filling, the hint of black pepper. Memories of her grandmother started flooding her mind, and suddenly, a wave of warmth washed over her. She felt the need to talk about her.

"My grandma used to make these too," she said, surprising Igor, who flicked his eyes toward her for a second. "Breakfast, school lunch... but mostly, I remember them from board game nights. My sister and I were obsessed. My grandma always had her tea, but we hated that shit, so we had kefir instead. Best snack ever."

"Your grandmother... she is not with you?" Igor asked, his voice soft, quiet.

"No. She passed away almost four years ago," Anora replied, her tone the opposite of Igor's, cold, hard, like it was something she had said too many times. She kept her eyes on the streets passing by outside. "Pancreatic cancer."

"That's fucking shit," Igor said suddenly, after a few seconds of silence, of processing and feeling. He said it so bluntly, so unexpectedly, that Anora couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

It was the first time she had heard him speak so crudely in English. The laugh escaped her without thinking, a mix of surprise and relief, as if somehow, those words had just lightened the weight inside her. Because, yeah, it really was fucking shit.

"You and your sister... Did you live with her?"

Anora hummed in confirmation, biting off a smaller piece of the bun, just enough to keep talking without difficulty.

"The house in Brighton Beach is hers. Was hers. We do what we can to keep it," she explained, relaxing in her seat as she absentmindedly shifted her backpack between her feet. "I had to sell her car to cover the mortgage for the first few months," she added, a sad smile appearing at the memory. "I loved driving that car. You're lucky you still got your grandma's."

"I know," Igor replied, and Anora could hear the smile in his voice, even without looking. "What was her name?"

"Lyudmila. She was born in Russia, in Saint Petersburg. Not long after World War II ended."

"A strong name," he said, and Anora couldn't help but smile at that. Him and his thing for the meaning of names. "And your sister?"

"Her name's Vera." Anora shook her head slightly, but her tone was light, filled with the warmth of sisterly affection. "She can be the biggest pain in the ass, but we're close. More than ever these past few weeks. She's been there for me a lot after... After Ivan."

That was when Anora turned toward Igor. He felt the weight of her gaze and, for a moment, their eyes met. A flicker of understanding passed between them before Igor, with a small smile, refocused on the road.

"I'm glad to hear that. And your friend Lubu?"

"Lulu," Anora corrected, holding back a laugh.

"Lulu," Igor echoed, but he didn't hold back his own laugh, clearly amused by the mistake. "She supports you too, yeah?"

"A lot. She's like another sister to me."

"That's good. She seems like a nice person."

"She's the best," Anora almost whispered, the certainty in her voice proof of how much she admired Lulu, of how grateful she was to have her in her life.

A new silence settled between them, but it didn't feel awkward. Quite the opposite. Anora picked up one last pirozhki, tied the cloth around the buns to keep them safe, and placed the bag where it had been before. Then, she looked at Igor, whose expression was relaxed as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song playing on the radio.

Her eyes traced the curve of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, the slope of his forehead, and when they reached the beanie, still on his head, she had the impulse to touch it. The wool's pattern was not like any typical beanie you'd find in a store.

"How many beanies you have?" she asked suddenly, purely out of curiosity, as she took a big bite of the pirozhki in her hands.

Igor's lips spread into a wide grin. Anora couldn't tell if it was because of the question itself or the way she had asked it, with that childlike cadence ― like a kid trying to satisfy their need to know.

"Many. My grandmother makes them," Igor said, his voice softening a bit, and at that moment, Anora could see how much he must love her, just by the way his face lit up. "She always says my head loses... How do you say... Hot?"

"Heat," Anora corrected.

"Heat. Like when I was a bald baby. Now I'm a bald adult and I have to protect it because it's cold."

Anora couldn't help but laugh at those words. The truth was, for her, hairstyles made all the difference. When she had a good hair day, she felt like she could conquer the world, but a bad one ruined everything. Over the years, she had seen plenty of bald guys, mostly at HQ, but Igor was one of the few who, in her opinion, looked good with a shaved head.

"Do you like it?" he asked after noticing her still looking at the beanie.

"It's cool. I like how it's woven. It's original."

"Do you want one? My grandmother makes many things. Do you need socks? Gloves? Scarf? She can make them for you," Igor nodded, proud, then added in Russian, "She's a pro."

Anora chewed the last bit of the pirozhki in silence, feeling a warm sensation spreading across her chest at the offer, and at the way Igor spoke of his grandmother. It was a feeling she could deeply empathize with.

"I'd love that. If she doesn't mind."

"She doesn't. She'll be very happy. She always gives to neighbors, to friends."

"How's it that you live with her?"

The change of topic was abrupt, but Anora wanted to know more about Igor. He always showed so much interest in her, and she never voiced her own.

"My grandmother moved to the United States when she was young. She wanted to be a teacher. She met my grandfather, they fell in love, and started a family. When my mom and uncles were little, they moved to Russia for work. But they came back here when I was fifteen. My grandfather missed his home, and he was my grandmother's home." Igor took his time saying each word, making sure he was expressing himself correctly in English. "My grandfather died two years ago, and she was alone. I always wanted to leave Russia, travel like them, so we talked and I came here. Now I take care of her, like she took care of me."

"She doesn't speak English, right?"

"She understands, and speaks a little, because of my grandfather. But she found here a community that speaks Russian, so... I learn, for her and for me."

"You speak it pretty well," Anora said, genuinely.

"Thanks. I still need to improve. Your Russian is good too. Your grandmother teached you?"

"Yeah. She never really learned English, so she always spoke to us in Russian. Her story is kind of like your grandma's, though she was already married to my grandpa. They came to the States for his job and had my dad—" she explained, but realized she was treading into sensitive territory. If there was one thing Anora didn't really talk about, other than her grandmother, of whom she only had good things to say, it was her parents.

Igor must've noticed the way her voice dropped, like she had wanted to continue but held back at the last second. He respected it.

After that, the ride to Anora's house grew quieter. They briefly discussed their favorite artists when Anora switched the station, as a song came on that she didn't like at all. Soon after, she fell asleep.

Igor gently woke her, giving her shoulder a light shake. She jerked awake, pulling herself away from the window, needing a moment to get her bearings.

"We're here," Igor said, barely hiding the smile tugging at his lips as he saw her in that confused state.

Anora fixed her hair, grabbed her headphones from her lap ― having taking them off for comfort ― and put them around her neck while taking a look at the entrance to her house through the window.

"Fuck, I was completely out. Didn't even realize we'd arrived."

"I noticed," Igor said, amusement lacing his voice.

Anora put on her coat and grabbed her backpack.

"Don't forget this." Igor handed her the bag with the pirozhki. She took it, and their fingers brushed for a moment longer than usual.

"I never thanked you." Anora looked him straight in the eyes. "Thank you, really. For everything."

"It's nothing," he replied, his voice full of that sweetness that always threw Anora off balance. She still didn't understand the full extent of the effect Igor had on her. "Today... we're meeting?"

Anora paused. She had forgotten agreeing to meet that afternoon when they had texted. Her Sunday afternoons had been packed for the past couple of weeks, but she decided it wouldn't hurt if she shared that special time with Igor.

"Yeah. You like animals?"

Igor blinked, furrowing his brow. He hadn't expected that question.

"I love animals."

"Good. We wouldn't be keeping in touch if you didn't," Anora said, no trace of a joke in her voice, as she got out of the car. "Meet me at five. I'll send you the location." Before closing the door, she added, "And don't bring anything you don't wanna get dirty or ruined."

Chapter Text

In ten minutes, Anora had to leave the house. She was finishing getting ready, tying her hair into a ponytail in front of the bathroom mirror when her sister opened the slightly ajar door and leaned against the frame, watching her in silence.

Anora ignored her for the first few seconds, spraying her whole head with hairspray to keep the ponytail intact, until she caught the glint of a smile on Vera's face in the reflection and turned around.

"You seriously got nothing better to do?" Anora asked, glancing back at herself in the mirror to adjust the elastic at the top of her head. "Stop staring at me like that."

"You've been in the bathroom for an hour."

"And?"

"Well, that's me, not you. You usually wake up, get ready, and head out in, like, fifteen minutes," Vera said, trying to sound casual, but her tone had a playful edge. She crossed her arms. "You got a date or something?"

"In sweats?"

"That ain't sweats," Vera shot back, eyeing her from head to toe. Anora was in a tight navy blue workout set and white sneakers, with matching socks that went up past her ankles. "I dunno, maybe you're meeting someone for, like, a workout or something."

Anora gave her a look through the mirror as if she had just said the most ridiculous thing ever.

"What? It's not that weird."

"It's Sunday. You know where I'm going."

"And yet, you actually put in more effort than usual."

Anora grabbed a nude lipstick from her make-up bag on the bathroom sink. Despite her sister's raised eyebrow, as though she had just made a point, she applied the lipstick, tossed it back into the bag, and closed it. She left the bathroom, brushing past Vera, who turned off the light for her.

"You ain't got plans today or what?" Anora asked, not really interested, just trying to get rid of her.

She walked into her room to grab her phone, her coat, and a large black crossbody bag with several pockets. A silver thermos filled with coffee peeked out from one of the side pockets, something she had prepared to sip on while she was on her way. Vera followed her.

"Might go out tonight. Not sure yet," Vera said, leaning against the doorframe as Anora rummaged around the room, tossing aside the sheets of her unmade bed. "Headphones are on the dresser," she added, pointing lazily to where they were covered by a couple of t-shirts.

Anora shot her a quick look, grabbed them, and threw them around her neck.

"What if I go with you?" Vera asked, almost offhand, as Anora walked toward the front door.

Anora paused, letting out a short, amused laugh as she buttoned her coat.

"You're so bored. Watch a movie, bake one of your cakes, or go for a walk. Whatever the fuck you do when you're home alone."

"You told me I could come with you one day," Vera said, her voice rising just a little, like she was testing Anora, unsure of whether she meant it or not.

"Yeah... One day," Anora replied, without missing a beat. "Not today. You're still in pajamas. And it takes you an hour to get ready." Vera was about to object, but Anora cut her off. "Your words, not mine. I gotta go."

But from the way Vera looked at her one last time before she closed the door and hurried down the stairs to the street, Anora knew her sister's suspicion hadn't faded. It had been a pretty lousy attempt to shake it off, especially since Vera had seen her get ready for dates with Liam plenty of times when they were younger. But what else could she have said? It wasn't a date. But she was meeting Igor. And she was about to share something important with him ― almost worse than a date.

What would Vera have said if she knew the truth?

Anora was afraid to know the answer. Vera was the only person in her life who truly knew her, the closest to her most intimate secrets — not because Anora had bared her soul, but because they had lived through many of them together. Maybe she didn't know the Anora of the last four years as well, but she had grown up with her. She knew the kid who clung to their grandmother like a shadow, the hopeless romantic teenager who stayed up all night handcrafting gifts for her boyfriend or devouring epic love stories under the covers, the dreamer who envisioned herself in far-off places, living a hundred different lives. All those versions of herself that had bloomed and then withered as reality crushed them, leaving whoever she was now.

Letting Vera in on that messy process ― one that she was still figuring out ― gave her a vertigo so intense that she questioned whether it was even worth trying. Because she had told her about Igor. About how he treated her at first. And knowing how Liam had treated her years ago and how it affected her and their relationship, Vera wouldn't cheer her on or tell her to give Igor a chance, not in the way Lulu did. Of that, she was certain.

Anora slipped on her headphones and, after hopping on the subway, made her way to the animal shelter — her second time volunteering there. The first had been years ago, after she stopped walking her neighbors' dogs but couldn't shake the need to keep caring for animals.

When her grandmother got sick, she had to quit. However, with so much free time for the first time in many years, she felt the need to fill her mind with activities that made her feel good and useful. Even if the relief was temporary, the emptiness inside her — which sometimes weighed so heavily that she wished she could escape her own skin, and stop thinking, feeling, existing — lightened when she spent those hours surrounded by noble creatures. The animals didn't ask for anything but her company and love, and, in all honesty, she needed those things too.

With music blasting in her ears, Anora watched the city through the train window. She sipped from her thermos, eyes trailing the way the light reflected on the glass of the buildings that lined the tracks; how it illuminated the weary faces of people dragging themselves home after a long shift, the faces of teens laughing and filming each other on their phones, the couples walking hand in hand, caught up in their own little worlds.

She dug her phone out of her coat pocket and read Igor's last messages once again.

Sunday 12:04 PM

[Location link]

You remember what time?

5 PM

See you there

One question

🙄

What?

My grandmother wants to know what color you want the bini

*Beanie

And Idc

What's Idc?

I don't care

What's your favorite color?

Black

No, another

Then why the fuck you asking?

I told you

I don't care

You look good with red

Yeah?

Like with that scarf?

What?

Now you don't answer?

My grandmother says red is okay

She says blue looks good too, but you had one when she met you

Ok

Tell her thanks

How big is your head?

What?

She needs to know how big

Normal

Are you sure?

It's not too big?

What the fuck

You are bighead

Fuck you

😁

When Anora reached the end of the chat, she realized she was smiling. She locked her phone and turned back to the window, but the smile refused to fade.

By the time Igor arrived at the shelter entrance at 5 PM, Anora had been there for half an hour already. She had come early not just to let one of the staff members know about Igor's visit, but to sign herself in, prep his visitor sheet, and organize the activities they'd be doing together that afternoon, since she was the volunteer in charge.

She went to meet him with a lightness in her step, almost like a kid skipping from excitement.

Anora felt his gaze on her before their eyes even met.

He had listened to her and worn comfy clothes: an all-black outfit, not too different from what she was starting to consider his everyday clothes. No beanie this time, though — he had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head instead. In his right hand, he held a paper bag, which he silently offered as soon as she stopped in front of him.

"What's this? More food? You trying to win me over through my stomach or what?" she joked, sneaking a peek inside. There were two packs of pet snacks.

"I saw the address say this place is for dogs and cats. I got something for them."

Anora instantly looked up at him. Igor was smiling — a closed-mouth smile, with one corner of his lips tugging higher than the other. It was a proud expression, the kind people wore when they knew they had just caught you completely off guard.

Her stomach fluttered.

She didn't know what to expect from Igor. She didn't really know him — not enough, anyway — but moments like this made her doubts fade. Standing on the edge of a cliff, with one foot hanging in the air, stopped feeling like just another mistake. For the first time in a long while, the idea of jumping into the unknown felt freeing.

"They're gonna love them," she said, her smile small but genuine. She started walking, and Igor followed. "You gotta fill out a visitor form before you can come inside. If you wanna leave something, you can put it in my locker."

They stepped into the main building. Igor filled out the form at reception, and then they entered the kennel area — a large room lined with dozens of cages where dogs of all sizes and colors rested. Some perked up when they heard footsteps, tails wagging, letting out a few barks. Others stayed curled up on their fabric beds, staring blankly into space.

Anora waved at Jessica, one of the workers responsible for the animals' health, who was kneeling in front of a greyhound's cage. Igor, on the other hand, didn't greet her — not out of rudeness, but because he was completely captivated by the dogs around him.

Anora watched him silently. There was a tension in his face, a tightness she recognized all too well.

It wasn't easy to see the animals like this. The staff, with the help of volunteers, did everything they could to care for them and promote adoptions online, but the dogs still spent too much time locked up, growing accustomed to a life they were never meant to live.

Anora had a list of the dogs they'd take to the play yard. Depending on the dog, people could usually walk one or two large ones, or two to three smaller ones. Since it was Igor's first time, he'd only handle one.

They had just reached the cage of the dog Igor was supposed to walk when Anora turned around and realized he was no longer behind her. He had stopped a few feet back, standing still in front of another cage.

Luckily, the cages weren't stacked, making them big enough for the dogs to move around, stand on their hind legs, or even jump — though that meant the shelter could house fewer dogs than others. But that didn't seem to matter to Igor, who crouched down despite being able to see the entire cage while standing. He lowered himself, just to meet the dog's eyes.

Anora walked over, and strangely enough, she wasn't surprised when she saw which dog had caught his attention.

Nova had been at the shelter the longest — a pit bull and golden retriever mix. They had found her on the side of a highway, lost, starving, and dehydrated, with a frayed rope around her neck and wounds on her snout and paws. That was over six years ago. According to the info sheet hanging on her cage, she was around seven years old.

"Her eyes..." Igor started, sensing Anora beside him. "They hold a melancholy depth," he finished in Russian, probably unable to find the right words in English.

Anora looked at the dog's face. The dog wasn't lying down on the bed set up for her on one side; instead, she was sitting in one of the cage's corners. Her body was turned toward the wall, but her head, slightly lowered, was facing them. She watched them through amber eyes, blinking slowly. Igor was right. Her gaze was oddly human, as though it belonged to someone who had been through a lot and had resigned herself to carrying the weight of it all.

"We take them outside, right?" Igor asked, referring to what they were supposed to be doing that afternoon. Anora had planned to explain it when she introduced him to the dog he was assigned, but, as always happened when she was with him, things didn't go as planned, so she simply nodded. "Can we take her out?"

Anora stood, holding Igor's gaze from above. In his eyes, she saw a silent plea — a ridiculously sweet gesture that made her smile.

A memory from her past pushed its way into her mind. It was a summer day, hot as hell. Her grandmother walked with her, hand in hand, while she, in turn, held her little sister's hand, no more than three years old. Vera had dark hair tied in two small buns with ribbons. Her grandmother carried a big cloth bag in the other hand, full of clothes. The washing machine had broken, so they had to go to a laundromat to do the laundry. On their way back home, across the street, she and her sister saw an ice cream shop. All they had to do was look at their grandmother with puppy-dog eyes, and the three of them ended up sitting on a bench, sharing the brief happiness of ice cream.

Anora glanced one last time at the dog's file, at the section about the animal's personality and behavior: sweet, but cautious. She thought about how she wasn't so different from her grandmother when, just a second later, she told Igor to stay put because she was going back to reception to make the necessary adjustments and let one of the coordinators know.

A few minutes later, the two of them were walking out to the play yard. Luckily, the dogs assigned to them were calm, and it wasn't a hassle to quickly adjust the schedule. It was better if the more energetic dogs didn't overlap with the slower ones to avoid causing them stress.

Igor, who didn't want the dog originally assigned to him to go later than scheduled because he wanted to take Nova out, ended up walking her too. It wasn't common for visitors to take out more than one dog at a time during their socialization hours, but Igor assured Anora that he could handle it — he had grown up surrounded by animals thanks to his mother's love for them.

In another fenced-off area of the play yard, Anora saw several volunteers with smaller dogs, running wild without their leashes, playing with the toys scattered around the yard.

She released the leashes of the labrador and the pit bull she was in charge of, and both ran across the field, their tails wagging side to side. Igor went to do the same with Nova and the shepherd mix, but Nova, just as she had been hesitant to leave her cage, wasn't as eager as the other dogs to run and play.

The other dog trotted toward the grass, but Nova remained still, her ears partially lowered, watching Igor with the same look that had caught his attention from the start.

Igor reached out his hand toward Anora, pointing to the paper bag with the treats. She took out the dog snacks and handed them to him. Igor opened the pack and, crouching down next to Nova, who stepped back a couple of steps at the gesture, offered her a treat, his hand extended toward her without invading the distance she had placed between them.

Nova's muzzle, starting to show the signs of her age with the first gray hairs, moved as she sniffed the air. She slowly approached him, sniffed his hand, and, gently taking the treat, moved aside to eat it peacefully. Igor watched her with a small smile. When Nova finished and approached him again, Igor allowed her to sniff him — his shoes, his sweatpants, the pack of snacks he still held — and suddenly, she rested her head on his knee. Igor's smile widened so much that Anora, watching them just a few steps away, felt a lump in her throat and a terrible urge to cry.

Igor began to stroke Nova's back with slow, steady movements, taking his time, as if he understood that she needed it. And that was how he truly was, wasn't it? Observing, understanding, caring.

When he looked up at Anora, that big smile lighting up his face, she didn't feel the need to hide the emotion on hers, especially when he let it slip into his.

"Are you okay?"

That question again. Every time he asked it, his voice became so sweet that it erased all the harshness that usually accompanied it. It made her feel vulnerable in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. The same feeling that, as a child, had unknowingly made her let her guard down, knowing her grandmother was by her side, and that she could place all her trust in her. She knew that, if she fell, she would be picked up by her; if she got lost, she would be found by her; if she was scared, she would be protected by her.

Anora had learned to rely on herself since her death. She didn't need anyone else. She took care of everything, and as Vera grew older, it became harder for her to delegate certain responsibilities to her. But with Igor… her guard fell without her being able to stop it. And although she knew she couldn't allow it, it was exhausting to keep it up all the time.

Not even with Ivan had she let her guard down. Because yes, she had clung to the hope that what they had was real, that it could turn out well, that she had left behind a life of ruins and broken hearts. But he was volatile, full of excess, and Anora had always known that. To her, he had been a celestial body in a dark sky, one that trapped her with its brightness. Until, too late, she realized he wasn't a shooting star to make a wish upon, but an asteroid destined to destroy everything in its landing.

"I'm good," Anora said, regaining her composure and turning her gaze toward the dogs playing in the distance, jumping over each other and rolling on the ground. "Glad I brought you here."

She noticed from the corner of her eye how Igor stood up and approached her. She turned to face him, hugging herself when a gust of cold wind hit her head-on.

"I'm glad you brought me," he replied when their gazes met. Nova followed him. "This is important to you, right?"

Anora nodded, letting Nova approach her and sniff her hand.

"It's nice," he added, lowering his gaze to watch Nova enjoy Anora's gentle strokes on her head. "What you do, it's important." He looked back up into her eyes. "I want to know more. More about you."

Anora raised her eyebrows. His words were sinking into her in a way that rarely happened, as if she were hearing each one with the weight they deserved ― one that, instead of suffocating her, pushed her to the surface. The fluttering in the pit of her stomach grew so intense that she didn't even realize the step she took toward Igor, nor how her eyes traced his face until they stopped at his lips.

Suddenly, the pit bull leaped toward Igor, a jump of sheer force that, however, was nothing more than part of the dog's play. The impact pushed him backward, but he laughed as the dog began sniffing the pack of snacks with curiosity. Anora chuckled, smiling as she called over the labrador and the shepherd mix, who came running toward them.

Amidst the petting, licking, and barking, they gave out treats, and Anora showed Igor how to get Nova to sit, something Toby, the labrador, already knew how to do.

An hour later, the dogs were back in their cages, and Igor, who had grown particularly fond of Nova, bid her goodbye with one last treat. Before heading to the feline area, they made a brief stop in an outdoor zone, away from the animals, where smoking was allowed.

Anora, who had left her cigarettes in her bag inside the locker, didn't have to ask Igor for one. She watched as he took the pack from his pocket, pulled out two cigarettes, and lit them, offering her one. She accepted it with a small smile. The gesture inevitably reminded her of that night at the Zakharovs' house, after returning from Las Vegas. The night she first realized there was something about him that attracted her. She had hated herself for it.

"How's your work?"

The question threw Anora off, not only because it was unexpected but also because the last thing she wanted to discuss with Igor was work. She took a longer drag than usual, letting the smoke envelop her as she absentmindedly scratched her cheek with her thumbnail. Then, she let the ashes fall to the ground, watching them intently while her mind searched for an answer that wasn't a simple denial but, at the same time, ended the conversation.

"Same old thing. When you think something new's going on, you realize you've been through it before."

"Why did you come back?"

Anora's gaze met Igor's, her head turning toward him as if she had just been slapped. For the first time since they had met that day, Anora felt uncomfortable beside him, and that brief moment was enough for her defenses to go up immediately. The question, though it might have seemed like simple curiosity, had the potential to quickly become judgmental, especially with a job like hers. And she didn't allow anyone to judge her for it, much less a man.

"What's this now? A fucking interrogation?" Anora couldn't help the venom that slipped into her voice. "Why all the interest?"

Igor furrowed his brow, and Anora realized that she wasn't the only one feeling uncomfortable. He didn't respond immediately, just took a drag from his cigarette, leaning against the wall that separated the center's grounds.

"You left, right? Then you came back. I just want to know."

"Why? You think I could live easy off the Zakharovs' money?" Igor blinked, furrowing his brow even more. "Or you think it's such a vile job that I'm crazy for coming back instead of finding something else? Is that it?"

"Anora…" Her name left his lips like an exhalation, and Anora was so caught off guard hearing it from a mouth other than her sister's that, for a moment, she stopped breathing. If Igor noticed that he had called her by her real name, he didn't show it. "I'm not saying anything bad. I don't need to know why you do it. I just want to know if everything's okay. I thought coming back was hard if you already left. What about Ivan's ring―"

"The ring's kept away."

"Do you still have it?"

Anora regained her composure, letting the moment pass where Igor had spoken her real name. She took a few quick drags of the cigarette and crossed her arms.

"Where the fuck do I sell a four-carat ring?"

Igor shrugged, kicking a small stone near his sneakers.

"The same store where you got it. Couldn't give it back?"

"I didn't have the receipt. And even if I did, the money would've gone back to Ivan's account, or his dad's, or whoever the fuck it was."

Silence.

"Toosh."

Anora looked at him, not believing what she had just heard. And then, suddenly, she burst out laughing, releasing all the tension that had been building since the start of the conversation.

That damn word.

Igor watched her with a small smile, taking a long drag from his cigarette and shaking his head, as if she were hopeless.

"I'll help. If you want to sell it."

Anora avoided his inquisitive gaze. It wasn't that she didn't want to sell it, but the ring represented something that even she couldn't put into words. Was it a tangible proof that those two weeks had been real? That she had been married to Ivan? That someone had valued her enough to want to spend the rest of their life with her, even if it had all been a lie?

She felt stupid just thinking about it.

"And you? What do you do for work?" Anora asked, changing the subject.

To Anora's surprise, she found out that the question wasn't easy for Igor either. His expression froze for a second before he took one last drag of his cigarette. He put it out against the wall and tossed it in the bin by the door, since they weren't allowed to throw cigarette butts on the ground.

"Anything I can. Jobs for a short time."

"Like what?" Anora decided to push him, just to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Igor held her defiant gaze and stepped away from the wall, a smile tugging at his lips. He grabbed a lock of hair from her ponytail, ran it through his fingers, and let it fall over her shoulder as he passed her on his way to the door.

"I'm going to the bathroom. Be back soon."

Anora opened her mouth to tell him where it was, but the door had already clicked shut behind him. She tilted her head, staring at the wood.

What just happened?

When they entered the feline area, one of the workers suggested they take off their coats and led them straight to the common room, where at least a dozen cats, out of their cages, roamed, played, and socialized with each other.

Even though they weren't the only volunteers around, within minutes, several cats had gathered around Igor, rubbing against his legs. Anora stared, wide-eyed.

"Okay, what is this? Are you like... the cat whisperer or something?"

A smaller one, completely black, latched onto Igor's sweatpants leg with tiny claws and started climbing like it was a tree trunk. Igor carefully scooped the kitten up and held it against his chest.

"This one looks like you," he said, nodding at the kitten in his arms, belly up, batting at his hand.

Anora stepped closer, gently stroking the kitten's soft belly. The cat kicked at her fingers with its hind legs, switching from playing with Igor's hand to hers.

"See? He looks at us like he's mad — like you. But he's good. He just wants to belong." Igor's voice was soft, and when Anora glanced up at him for a second, she realized he had been watching them with the biggest smile.

"Can you stop with the cat comparisons?" she said, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. Her attention drifted back to the kitten, who had caught one of her fingers and was nibbling on her nail, all while staring at Igor.

"But you're a cat."

"A cat?"

"Yes. Independent. Defiant. Cute. Loyal."

Anora's heart skipped a beat at the way Igor said each word, like he meant every single one. She had to remind herself he was literally comparing her to a cat.

"Well, you're a dog."

"I know," Igor said, like he had spent his whole life thinking about it, and saying it out loud was not just obvious but incredibly satisfying. "And what breed, too."

Anora was about to burst out laughing but decided to play along.

"Which one?"

"Weimaraner."

"Wow..." Anora pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back her laughter. Igor noticed. "I pictured you more like an Afghan Hound."

"A what?" Igor handed her the kitten and pulled out his phone to look it up. The moment he saw the picture, he lifted his head and started laughing — a breathless, broken laugh that promised revenge. "You're mean."

Igor grabbed Anora by the waist and pulled her toward him, the kitten getting slightly squished between them. The sudden action caught Anora off guard, and she loosened her grip on the little creature. The kitten scrambled onto her shoulder, then clung to her clothes as it carefully climbed down toward the floor.

The feeling of tiny claws dragging against her shirt would've been mildly uncomfortable if Anora hadn't been completely captivated by Igor's eyes, barely processing anything else. His face was only inches from hers, close enough that she could notice the subtle contrast in his irises — the grayish-blue rim surrounding the light green center, with two dark specks in his left eye.

Then she realized Igor wasn't just looking at her; he was studying her features with an almost fervent interest. But before she could say anything, he suddenly started tickling her under her ribs.

Anora doubled over like an air dancer, bursting into laughter with a high-pitched squeal of surrender.

Luckily, the attack lasted only a few seconds — not just because several startled cats scattered away, but because one of the coordinators glanced over and politely asked them to keep their voices down.

Anora turned as red as a tomato, unaccustomed to being scolded like that since her teenage years. Igor, on the other hand, seemed to thoroughly enjoy her embarrassment, even pretending to lunge at her for more tickles just to watch her shoot him the deadliest glare yet.

They stayed with the cats for another half-hour, handing out treats from the pack of snacks Igor had bought. Anora lounged quietly in an armchair, a sleepy cat curled up on her lap, while Igor darted around the room with a feather wand.

Anora took the chance to snap a few photos of him without him noticing. In one, she managed to capture the exact moment a cat leapt into the air, paws stretched out to catch the end of the wand, while Igor grinned like a little kid. The black kitten from before was in the frame too, climbing back up his leg, stubbornly clinging to his sweatpants.

For the last hour they were at the shelter, they helped clean and refill the food and water bowls for the animals, along with several other volunteers.

Anora found that her sense of humor meshed perfectly with Igor's, and it was as easy to make him laugh as it was for him to make her laugh. By the time it was time to leave, Anora was having so much fun that she wouldn't have minded if the activity went on for another hour.

Anora had just finished cleaning and refilling the bowls for the last cat when she realized Igor was gone. She searched the center and finally found him sitting in front of Nova's cage, gently petting the dog's head through the bars.

"You've fallen for her, huh?"

Igor looked up at her and simply nodded, smiling when Nova gave his wrist a lick.

"You know you can adopt her, right?"

"I would love to, but my grandmother, she has big respect for dogs. A dog bit her when she was little, and I don't think she would like it."

"And it's a big responsibility. When you adopt, you're committing to taking care of that animal for the rest of its life. Too many people get pets and then return them once they realize how much work it is. It's not fucking right."

"No, it's not," he murmured, before standing up. "Goodbye, Nova. We'll see each other again."

Once they gathered all their things and left the shelter, Anora suddenly grew nervous. She didn't quite understand why. Maybe it was because it was the first time she had spent so many hours with Igor, and she felt that the time they had shared had brought them closer, making the farewell suddenly feel different. Or maybe it was the way Igor was looking at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips, his eyes filled with something she couldn't quite place.

The light of the sunset illuminated his smile when they stood for a moment in front of the entrance.

"I had a great time," he said, burying his hands in his coat pockets.

"Me too. You can come back whenever you want."

"I'll come back. Maybe I'll volunteer."

Anora offered him the paper bag with the snacks he had bought.

"Keep them. That way, you'll have to come back for sure to give them more treats."

Igor took one hand out of his pocket and grabbed it, but his fingers didn't just wrap around the handles of the bag; they also gently grasped Anora's fingers. She looked down at their hands joined together, processing the awkward but sincere way Igor was trying to show affection, and then she looked into his eyes.

"Can I drive you home? It's only five minutes. I parked around the corner."

Anora nodded, grateful. It would only take twenty minutes by public transport, but the night's chill was beginning to take over the streets, and besides, the offer meant delaying the moment of goodbye.

But then, Igor's phone rang, and pulling his hand away from Anora's, he took it out of his other pocket. One quick glance at the screen was enough for his expression to change completely. The soft lines of his face turned into sharp angles, his smile disappeared, and his muscles tensed.

"I need to take this. One moment."

He stepped a few paces away, just enough for Anora to only discern that, whoever was on the other end of the line, they were speaking to him in Russian.

The conversation was brief. Igor didn't make any gestures, didn't raise his voice, and didn't reveal in any way what kind of call it had been. He simply returned to Anora's side, and by the way he clenched his jaw, she knew their encounter was coming to an end.

"Sorry. I have to leave earlier than I thought."

"Don't worry. I get it. I won't take long to get home."

Igor nodded, clearly dissatisfied with the situation. The air was thick, but not with the kind of tension that had earlier made Anora glance at Igor's lips with budding interest, but with the kind that makes you want to escape as soon as possible.

"I'll text you. Is it okay if I pick you up again next Friday?"

"Yeah, it's okay."

"Okay. Sleep good."

"You too."

And without another word, Igor started walking down the street with long, hurried steps. Anora didn't move from her spot until he turned the corner and disappeared. She stood still, her hands stuffed into her pockets, her shoulders hunched against the cold, wondering where he would go now and why she felt like she hadn't done what she really wanted to do.

Chapter Text

Igor had told Anora he'd text her, and the next morning, he did.

When Anora saw it for the first time, she felt a sharp tug at her heart. Igor had taken a picture of her grandmother's hands while she was knitting the wool beanie meant for her. She seemed to be sitting in an armchair, in front of a window, sunlight streaming over her hands. The vermilion red stood out against her pale, veiny skin, marked by the passage of time.

Anora stared at the picture longer than she normally would. Igor had added a smiley face emoji. And since she didn't really know what to say, she ended up sending another emoji, a white heart, feeling so grateful that she spent the rest of the day in a surprisingly good mood.

On Tuesday, Anora went to the library to borrow a fantasy romance book. She had suddenly reconnected with her love for reading, as if her fifteen-year-old self — the one who had been obsessed with series like Shadowhunters and worlds full of wonders yet to be discovered — had taken over again. Turns out, all she really needed was time for herself. Quality time.

As she passed by the film section, she spotted Young Frankenstein — the 1974 comedy — on one of the shelves. It was a film she had watched several times with her grandmother and her sister, one that never failed to make her grandmother burst out laughing.

The nickname she had given Igor the night they talked about the meaning of their names had come from that film, though she knew he hadn't picked up on the reference.

She took a picture of it and sent it to him. Igor replied just as she was leaving the library, with the borrowed book tucked in her backpack.

Tuesday 11:55 AM

[Photo]

One day we gotta watch this together

Your twin shows up

What? My twin?

What do you mean? What is that?

Horror movie?

You asking cause you're scared?

No

Maybe

Awww

Awww no

I don't like horror movies sound

But if you watch, I'll watch too

You're a big boy

You'll be fine

🤨

Chill

It's a comedy

Good

For a horror movie, we should go to the cinema

Funny

When do we watch it?

You want to?

Yeah

Now I'm curious about my twin

Anora took a little longer to respond after reading that message. In fact, she stood so still, staring at the screen, that she didn't realize she was blocking the way for people leaving the library until a boy, not much younger than her, politely asked her to step aside.

Mumbling a quick apology without looking up, she moved out of the way, leaning her right shoulder against the building's outer wall.

For a second, she wondered if inviting Igor over to watch the film would be too soon. They had only been talking for a few days. She had no idea what was exactly happening between them, but she knew one thing — she wanted to keep figuring it out. Especially after that afternoon at the shelter.

Seeing Igor with the animals, with Nova, the way he had been so willing to help with everything the staff needed — it had softened something inside her. That part of her world was important, and Igor hadn't just wanted to be involved; he had accepted and embraced it in a way that gave Anora a level of trust she hadn't even known she needed from him.

She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and made up her mind.

How about Thursday? Vera's sleeping out

You free?

Yeah, I'm free

Ok, 8 sounds good?

We can make pizza

I got dough ready

What's dough?

The base

Okay

Yeah, 8 is good

I'll buy the ingredients

Great

Great

Anora's heart sped up. The image of Igor at her house — both of them on the couch, wrapped in a blanket watching the film — quickly morphed into something else. Something where they were doing everything but watching the film.

Heat rushed to her cheeks.

It was the first time her mind had so vividly betrayed the quiet but growing attraction she was feeling for him. She had gone from analyzing and questioning his every move to simply appreciating the sound of his voice, the warmth in his eyes, the way his head tilted back when he laughed — exposing the curve of his neck — his smile, his lips.

For fuck's sake, even the way he lit a cigarette.

It had been weeks since she had gotten laid, so it made sense that she was craving it. The thing was, sex was rarely just about physical pleasure for her. Not that she didn't want it, but guys were usually too focused on their own needs — getting off, and that's it.

What she actually craved were the power dynamics. The theatrics. The control. She knew what men wanted when they were with her, and once they got it, she made sure her satisfaction came in some form outside the bed.

But with Igor? She had no clue what kind of dynamics would play out between them — if they ever got that far.

How could she, when she didn't even know what Igor truly wanted?

She shook off the thought and retraced her steps back to the library to rent the film.

The next day, Anora returned to the animal shelter. It was one of the quieter days, and after lunch, she and the other volunteers went in to help clean the cages and bathe the dogs that needed it.

She helped bathe five dogs, including Nova, making sure to send several photos and videos of the process to Igor. His replies came quickly, full of red heart emojis, until he wrote:

I looked the meaning of Nova

Of course you did

And?

It means new

But it's also a type of star

It shines more after a explosion

We see it from Earth and it's like a new star for us

That's beautiful

Anora is light and Nova is a star

You both shine

🙄

Dude, that's so fucking cheese

But you love it

Sure

I'm skipping meadows and puking rainbows right now

What's skipping meadows?

Never mind

What?

What does it mean?

Then Thursday came.

Anora was in a better mood than usual, which quickly caught her sister's attention. Vera pestered her with silly questions and even tried bribing her with her favorite dish, just to see if she could get Anora to spill what was going on. For the past few days, Vera had sensed that something was changing in Anora's life, something that, for some reason, she wasn't sharing with her.

But Anora's mood shifted when she texted Igor to decide what kind of pizza they'd make and what ingredients he needed to buy, and he didn't reply.

An hour passed. Then another. And another.

Anora, not knowing whether he had read her messages ― he had "read receipts" turned off ― texted him again. Casual. Trying not to reveal her growing concern, and much less the desperation creeping in.

Hey

I can go buy them if you're really busy

It's no trouble for me

She sent a few more messages half an hour before the time they had agreed on. At that point, she no longer cared about making her worry obvious.

Is everything ok?

If you can't make it, it's fine

But let me know

It was eight in the evening. No squeal of car brakes outside. No knock at the front door.

He wasn't there, and he was always on time.

Anora waited fifteen minutes. Then thirty. Her leg bounced restlessly as she sat on the couch, eyes flicking over the film on the coffee table without really seeing it. She texted him again. Called him.

Nothing.

She locked herself in her room, her hunger gone.

Maybe she would have finally talked with Vera about what was happening if she hadn't gone to her boyfriend's place for the night.

Anora was alone. And she hated it.

Minutes passed. Lying face down on her bed with her eyes closed, she struggled to stop feeling what she was feeling: disappointment, rejection, and above all, anguish. Anguish from not knowing about him, from realizing how much it was affecting her, from the implications all of it could have. But blocking out every thought, every emotion, was proving much harder than usual.

She had been so excited, so nervous about inviting him over for the first time, about watching the film together and what that night might become, that she couldn't deceive herself anymore.

The silence was suffocating her. Seeking a distraction, she grabbed her phone and video-called Lulu.

Not even five seconds later, Lulu appeared on screen wearing penguin pajamas, not a trace of makeup on her face. Her wavy hair, tied up in a loose bun, had mostly come undone and now rested near the nape of her neck.

The few times Anora had seen her like this — just lounging around the house — her soft features always stood out more, making her look even younger than she already did.

"Everything alright?" Lulu asked the second she picked up. She set down the pliers she had been using to twist wire for one of the handmade accessories she sold through her online store and grabbed her phone instead, bringing it closer to her face.

The question could've easily made Anora burst into tears, and as she swallowed the lump in her throat, for a moment she didn't know what to say.

Crying was the last thing she wanted. Especially because it wouldn't just be about Igor not showing up — it would be about something far more complicated. And if she cried, she'd be admitting a truth that, as long as it only lived in her heart, would never have to become real.

All she had to do was hold back the storm of feelings pushing its way up inside her, keeping her mind busy with things that could shrink it down until it disappeared.

"Is Igor with you?" Lulu got up from her desk chair and plopped down onto her bed. "Ani, what's goin' on?"

"He didn't come."

Her voice was firm, cold — like she didn't give a fuck. And maybe it would've been convincing, if she hadn't immediately looked away from the screen to avoid seeing her best friend's face.

Lulu blinked a couple of times, her brow furrowing as her mouth opened to say:

"What the actual fuck!?"

Anora couldn't help but smile. She pushed herself up on her elbows and rolled onto her back, arms stretched above her head.

"Why?"

"I don't fucking know. He's not answering. Texts, calls — nothing."

"Shit, what if something happened to him?"

Anora rolled her eyes.

"No, I'm serious! I don't buy that he just ghosted you outta nowhere. That dude is into you — like, properly. It makes zero sense."

"It actually makes perfect sense," Anora said, her voice cool. "He realized I'm not about to quit the club for him, so he dipped before wasting more time."

As she said it, she felt it — that creeping fear that had been gnawing at her since he stopped replying. And the moment the thought took full shape, it landed on her chest like a brick.

For the first time since Ivan, she felt stupid. Like, really fucking stupid.

The ache twisted into anger.

"I knew it. The second they don't get what they want, they bounce. Every time."

"Ani." Lulu's voice came sharper now, snapping Anora's gaze back to the screen. "You don't know that. You don't know shit right now. You need to talk to him."

"I tried! He's not fuckin' answering!"

Anora sat up, and the long waves she had curled for the occasion fell over her shoulders — a cascade of jet-black hair and blue shiny strands that caught the warm amber light of her room.

The silence that followed hung heavy, held up by the intensity with which they looked at each other through their screens.

Anora clung to her walls with the stubbornness of someone who refused to be stepped on, and Lulu saw right through every crack.

She could never really hide how she felt from her best friend. Just like she could always pick up on Lulu's mood shifts — though she wasn't sure if it was because she was good at reading people, or because Lulu never really bothered to hide anything.

"I don't wanna keep talking about that asshole," Anora said at last, doing her best to bury every last thought connected to Igor. "You working tonight?"

Lulu let out a small sigh. Anora knew she hated when she changed the subject like that — especially knowing how much it was eating her up inside — but, as always, Lulu let it go. At the end of the day, what Anora did or didn't do with Igor wasn't her business.

"Yeah. I leave in an hour. Was tryna finish a couple orders now that the little one's finally asleep. She's been wakin' up nonstop lately 'cause of the nightmares," Lulu said, talking about her six-year-old sister, Valentina — daughter of their mom's second ex-husband.

Lulu looked after her during the day while their mom was at work. Most days, by the time she got home, Lulu was already getting ready to head out to the club.

"Is she okay? Are you okay? He hasn't come back, right?"

"Nah, we're good. Don't worry." Lulu's mom hadn't exactly struck gold in the love department. "We haven't seen his face since the restraining order, thank fuck. But nights are still hard."

Anora pressed her lips together, feeling for her best friend — and for everything she and her family had gone through until just a few months ago.

One night, late last summer, Lulu and Valentina had stayed over at her place. Vera kept the little one entertained while Anora comforted Lulu and tended to her split lip.

It had been the first — and last — time Valentina's father laid a hand on her. Touching one of her daughters was what finally pushed Lulu's mom to take legal action, after years of constant verbal abuse.

Every time Lulu caught even a hint of drugs at the club — even though they weren't allowed — she had to step away.

"You know I got you, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Lulu gave her a small, tired smile. "Same goes for you. I'm glad you called."

Just before hanging up the video call, she added, "I'm sure it'll all make sense soon."

Surprisingly, Anora had actually managed to fall asleep that night. The first thing she did when she woke up was grab her phone and check her inbox, hoping for a message.

It wasn't exactly shocking to find there was nothing. No one had written her. Not a single damn person.

When Vera came back around lunchtime, buzzing with way more energy than Anora could handle, it also wasn't surprising that things blew up fast. Anora, already crankier than usual, snapped the second her sister got nosy and started asking about the night before.

Vera ended up storming off to her room with her plate of vegetables, but not before firing back a solid "Go fuck yourself" over her shoulder.

So by the time Anora walked into HQ a little before ten, her will to work was somewhere between zero and "fuck me, indeed".

"With that shitty attitude, anyone'd think you haven't been laid in a minute."

Anora's head snapped toward Diamond — two seats down at the mirror — the second she heard the jab.

She had just gone off on Sasha, who had made it a habit of digging into other people's make-up bags like everyone was just cool with sharing. Maybe Anora hadn't said it in the nicest way, but considering everything was already going sideways that day, she didn't give a fuck anymore.

Still, who the fuck did Diamond think she was, jumping in like that? No one had asked for her fucking commentary.

"Shut up, Diamond," Lulu said from the red couch behind them, tying the laces of her heels like she had done it a thousand times — because she had.

"Yeah, chill the fuck out," another girl chimed in — Anora didn't even catch who it was. Her ears were ringing, her cheeks burning.

"Me?" Diamond's voice jumped an octave. "She needs to chill. She's being a fuckin' buzzkill. Don't gotta ruin everybody else's night just 'cause hers is in the shitter."

Anora shot up from her seat. No warning. Just heat and motion.

She shoved past the girl sitting between them, grabbed Diamond's obnoxious-ass glass jar — the one she always brought filled with juice or tea or some bullshit — and without a second thought, dumped it right over her head. The fucking straw she always sucked on like no one else was around fell straight into her cleavage.

Diamond screamed. She blinked furiously, fake lashes catching globs of liquid that kept her from seeing straight. Her bright red hair clung to her face and neck like wet seaweed, and her thin white top? Might as well have been made of tissue paper now — left nothing to the imagination.

"Fuck you, Diamond! You been pushing me for weeks. Well, congrats. You fuckin' found me."

"You bitch!"

Diamond lunged, but Lulu and Daisy grabbed her just in time. Anora didn't flinch — just stepped back and, with one pointed finger, let loose a string of curses like she was on some kind of ratchet version of Wheel of Fortune.

When Dawn came rushing into the locker room like the human embodiment of a cold compress, both Anora and Diamond went dead silent. The rest of the girls followed suit, playing dumb like seasoned pros.

Because if Dawn found out what had actually gone down, Jimmy would hear about it. And Jimmy had made it real fucking clear: he wasn't tolerating another diva meltdown between them.

Anora kept doing her make-up, while Diamond locked herself in one of the bathrooms and came back with a blow dryer. They didn't exchange a single word for the rest of the night.

It was just past 3:15 AM when Anora walked out of the club with Lulu. Daisy, as usual, had already taken the lead, knowing she had to wake up early. Sasha and Diamond were a few steps behind. Carla, Raven, and a couple of other girls were a few steps ahead.

Anora didn't even bother glancing at the cars parked along the road. She hadn't received a single message from Igor in over thirty-six hours. Any hope she had held on to when she woke up had evaporated into nothing.

"Ani…"

She just wanted to get home and sleep it off. She hadn't even made more than five hundred bucks. On a Friday. She couldn't understand how everything had fallen apart so fast that day. Anyone would think that Igor's absence was the cause of her bad luck, like some kind of curse was at play, beyond human understanding.

"Ani."

But she knew the truth. The truth was that she had been left with a handful of broken illusions, and there was nothing more dangerous in a person than trying to rebuild illusions that had already shattered in the past — only for them to be destroyed again before they even had a chance to be reborn. 

"Ani, girl." Lulu grabbed Anora's arm and shot a glance toward the road. Anora stopped dead in her tracks, pulled out of her thoughts, and followed her gaze.

She found herself staring at the infamous ghost car.

Igor was driving slowly, close to the curb, keeping pace with them without making any attempt to stop, get out of the car and face her, or at least roll down the window and get her attention.

And still, something inside Anora cracked loose — like a weight suddenly lifting off her chest. Igor was okay. He was okay, and he had come looking for her. He hadn't just disappeared for good.

She quickly looked away and picked up her pace, dragging Lulu along with her, who still had her by the arm. In a matter of seconds, they passed the girls walking ahead of them toward the subway.

She wasn't going to be the one to make the first move. She hadn't ghosted him. She wasn't the one who had ignored message after message, missed call after missed call, without a single damn explanation. If he wanted to talk, he could haul his ass out of the car and come to her.

"Ani, wait. He wants to talk to you," Lulu said, digging her heels in, using her grip to slow her down.

"I don't see it."

"Yeah, 'cause you don't wanna look. I think something's up with him," Lulu added, sounding a little worried. And that was all it took — Anora stopped cold and whipped around.

Truth was, she could barely make out his face. He was wearing one of the beanies his grandmother had knitted, a neck gaiter pulled up past his mouth, and on top of that, a hood over everything.

"I'll wait. Go on, talk to him."

"I'm good. Go catch up with the girls. If we talk, it's not gonna be quick. And I don't want you hanging back waiting on me."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Anora pulled her into a hug, and Lulu gave her that tiny smile — the kind that said be nice, bitch — before heading off to join Carla and the rest.

Anora walked up to the car — but instead of going straight to the passenger side, she headed for the driver's window. She knocked on it with her knuckle, hard enough to rattle it a little, and waited for Igor to roll it down.

"What? You cozy in there, motherfucker? I can see how you're real eager to hop out and actually talk to me. Shit, I'm so relieved. Thought maybe a damn UFO snatched your ass or something. But no, here you are."

Igor looked at her without really looking at her. Wouldn't even lift his face. And that shit hit her in the gut — hard. She hadn't expected that kind of energy. Cold. Off.

Why the hell had he come to pick her up if he wasn't even gonna look her in the eye?

"I'm sorry," he muttered eventually. His voice was rough, like it had been through sandpaper. "I'm sick."

Anora raised an eyebrow. Okay — him being bundled up like that suddenly made a little more sense.

"Sick? What, your fingers too? 'Cause I see you grippin' that wheel just fine." Then she noticed the gloves. "Oh wait — your phone. It's sick too, huh? That's why you straight-up ghosted me yesterday?"

She hated how it made her feel, saying that out loud. Didn't feel like she was begging, but shit — it sounded pitiful. Childish. Like the old Anora, the one that used to hurl every fucking insecurity she had at Liam back in the day.

At least this wasn't one of those never-ending rants.

Igor looked away, and that was it. That little move flipped a switch.

Fuck being the nice one. She was about to be the pettiest bitch ever.

Anora didn't wait for his permission. She stormed around the front of the car, yanked open the passenger door, and slid in like she owned the damn seat.

The second she got in, the smell hit her — antiseptic. Strong. It had swallowed up everything that usually lingered in Igor's car. No trace of his cigarettes. None of that woody cologne he wore. Just sterile, sharp, hospital-ass air.

She hated it instantly.

Igor looked forward, like he was about to throw it in first and drive off, but Anora shut that down fast. She slapped her hand over his on the gear shift. He jerked back instantly — and she swore he almost let out a groan.

"What the fuck is going on with you?" she asked, her voice low and tense. "Why're you acting like this? Why're you not saying shit?"

"It's contagious," he said. "I don't want you to have it."

"Have it?" Anora looked at him — his profile, covered top and bottom, only his eyes and nose showing. "You should've stayed your ass home instead of showing up like this. You look pathetic."

"I told you I pick you up."

"Oh, like you told me you were coming over at eight to watch that movie? Listen, Igor, I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I don't like it. This shit? It's weird as fuck. It always has been. You're the one who wanted to see me again. I was doing just fine without you in my life. And I mean that. I don't want you feeling like you owe me anything. That shit would piss me off even more. You don't owe me a fucking thing."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't yesterday," Igor muttered, like all he caught was that first sentence and tuned out the rest. "I take you home."

He went to shift into first again, and this time when Anora stopped him, she used enough force to finally yank a real sound out of him — a sharp little groan he couldn't bite back.

"Knew it. What the fuck's wrong with your hands?"

"Nothing."

"And your face?"

Anora moved to pull down his neck gaiter, but Igor gently grabbed her fingers, pressing them against his chest like he was trying to calm her down with the contact.

"Anora."

"Igor."

He finally looked her in the eyes, and that's when she noticed it — the swelling just above his left eye. Her breath caught for a second, and this time, Igor didn't stop her when she pulled her hand free, reached up, and slowly tugged his hood back. Then, she took off his beanie.

A gash, the length of a damn pinky finger, ran across the left side of his forehead — from the edge of his buzzcut down to the middle of his brow. A sorry-ass little band-aid tried to cover it, but it wasn't doing shit. Dried blood crusted at the edges. The whole area was swollen and bruised up.

"What the fuck…?" Anora murmured, her heart kicking into overdrive.

She slowly moved her hand down to his neck gaiter and tugged it down. His bottom lip was split and puffed up, and his chin was red as hell.

"Igor, what the fuck!?" Her voice jumped. "Who the fuck did this to you? What happened?"

Igor lingered on her hand as it cupped his cheek, careful not to touch the messed-up part — like her touch alone was giving him some kind of relief — and then turned his face away, looking out the driver-side window.

That's when it hit her.

He was ashamed.

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Bull-fucking-shit you're fine!" Anora grabbed one of his gloved hands, and when she felt his whole body flinch, her voice softened for just a second. "Please. Take them off. You got your fucking knuckles shredded, the last thing they need is being wrapped in sweaty-ass gloves."

At that, Igor finally gave up the act. He pulled them off carefully, finger by finger.

The second she saw the mess — skinned raw knuckles, swollen fingers — she felt something rise up in her chest that made her want to scream.

"Igor… who the fuck did this?" she said again, this time low and deadly calm, and it made even him tense up.

"Just some guys. Stupid fight."

Anora blinked. Silent. Processing.

"And you didn't go to the ER."

"I... I fixed it. Myself."

"Oh, I can see how well you 'fixed it'." She lifted his right hand, the worst one. "These wounds? They're not clean. They're gonna get infected, if they aren't already. And that cut? That needs stitches, not a fucking drugstore Band-Aid."

Igor watched her as she examined the damage, and the corners of his mouth started to twitch into a faint smile, like he was amused by her indignation. 

"Don't even," she snapped. "Now's not the time for your stupid smile. Get outta the car."

"What?"

"I don't even know how the fuck you drove forty minutes looking like this. And bundled up like you're smuggling a space heater. You look like the fucking Michelin Man." She got out of the car, and before slamming the passenger door shut, she shot him a dead-ass look. "Move. I'm driving."