Page 63 of Sinful Games

“Not all of them,” she countered, trying to lighten the mood. “So, tell me more about thisacquaintance.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to focus on my screen. “There’s not much to tell. He’s just …a friend of my father’s.”

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Wait, that guy? What’s he doing hanging around your father?”

I chuckled. “Why does it matter?”

“Because,” she said, crossing her arms and giving a mock shiver, “I know your father, Caia. He’s a bit… offbeat, even creepy sometimes. But I guess you already know that.”

I turned back to the screen, trying to remember if the patient in room 157 had vanilla yogurt or lemon cake for breakfast. I was desperate to change the subject, to push Alexsei out of my mind. But it was impossible. His touch, his mouth, the hunger in his eyes—they were all I could think about. Damn, I knew I should’ve ignored thatperfectugly face of his.

"You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?" Valeria asked, her voice full of concern.

I let out a sigh. "Everything's always a mess, Valeria."

She moved closer, taking my hands in hers. "Talk to me, Caia."

My heart was screaming for help, begging me to open up, to get an outsider’s perspective on this disaster I’d stumbled into. Maybe talking it out would help me find a way out.

"Okay, so his name’s Alexsei Romaniev," I began slowly. "And here’s the thing—my dad’s basically forcing me to sleep with Alexsei for leverage. At first, I felt like I had no choice, but now I want nothing to do with it. But I know my dad’s going to be furious, maybe even… hurt me."

I took a deep breath and continued, the words spilling out. "Alexsei stopped by last night. I don’t even know why, really. The last time I saw him a couple nights ago, I told him I’d never touch his ugly face even with a stick, but I guess he wanted to prove me wrong. He’d invited me for dinner a few days before that, but things didn’t go well. I almost went along with my dad’s plan, felt like I had to, but …I couldn’t do it. I can’t keep letting my dad control my life. Especially not after…" My voice trailed off, tears stinging my eyes.

Valeria nodded, squeezing my hands tighter. "I understand."

A couple of years ago, Valeria found me in my apartment, broken, drowning in tears and alcohol. I told her everything—what happened, whathedid, whohewas, and how scared I was.

She saw me at my worst, and she stayed, helping me piece myself back together. She’s my rock now, my only confidante. But I didn’t want to drag her into my mess, didn’t want her to get hurt because of me—just like my poor Lily.

"I don’t know what to do, Valeria. I’m completely stuck."

Without hesitation, she wrapped me in her arms, comforting me.

I was supposed to meet my father tonight, supposed to have fulfilled that grotesque demand of his tonight, but each step toward that meeting felt like I was marching straight to my own execution.

Mankiev:

Dinner at eight at Morozko. Don’t be late.

I received his text a few hours after my emotional meltdown—a message that landed just as I was cheering myself up with a game of bingo with the patients. Valeria had suggested it, hoping it would distract me and put a smile on my face. Surprisingly, it worked.

For three hours, our patients fiercely competed for two tickets to Swan Lake at Moscow's prestigious theater. Lugia, a lively seventy-five-year-old, won and immediately invited her friend, or should I say her crush, Kosviev, to join her. Her cheeks turned pink when she asked, and he happily accepted, sealing it with a kiss on her cheek.

As I settled back at my desk to finish up the day’s tasks, my phone buzzed. A message from my father. My stomach twisted into a knot. Morozko was his fancy restaurant just outside the city, and him wanting to meet me there was definitely not a good sign.

That’s it, Caia. He’s going to kill you.

I raced home, jumped in the shower, and turned the water scalding hot, hoping it could steam away more than just my stress.

Sitting there, I found myself dreaming up absurd escape plans, straight out of a Hollywood thriller. Should I pull a Britney Spears and shave my head for a new identity? Maybe hide out in a quiet village in Portugal? Or go for the ultimate plot twist and fake my own death? It sounds crazy, but weirdly, it didn’t seem as far-fetched as it should have.

After what felt like forever, I got out, dried off, and got ready. If this was going to be my last night on earth, I might as well look fabulous.

I went all out with a Givenchy sparkly gold dress, long sleeves, and a slit up to my thigh. Backless, bold, and just a touch of revenge. Paired it with golden hoops and my YSL heels—because why not wear the shoes I bought to celebrate finishing uni on a night I might not live to see?

I grabbed my black fur coat and braced myself for the snow, ready to face whatever twisted fate awaited me.

Chapter

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