Page 55 of Ruthless Bratva King

He hangs up the same instant there’s a knock at the door. Peeking through the peephole, I see a deliveryman holding a slim box.

I open the door once he’s gone. The box is plain and unassuming, but the weight of it feels significant. Inside, I find a sleek silver laptop, shiny and new.

Setting it on the kitchen table, I open it and press the power button. The screen lights up instantly, and I’m greeted with a desktop that’s already customized—no setup, no delays. There’s a folder labeledArchitecture Toolsand icons for several advanced design programs. I smile as I spot Sims 4 amongst the other icons.

I sit down, running my fingers over the smooth keyboard. Of course Dmitri would think of this. He’s always two steps ahead.

For a while, I lose myself in the software, sketching rough designs of buildings and spaces I’ll probably never see built. The act of creation soothes me, the clean lines and symmetry giving me a sense of control I haven’t felt in days.

But soon, my attention drifts. My thoughts circle back to Dmitri, to the storm of emotions he’s stirred in me. My fingers hover over the keyboard, restless.

Before I know it, I’ve started Sims 4.

It’s absurd, really, but there’s something comforting about the simplicity of it. I dive into building mode, crafting a house I might want to live in—a sprawling, sunlit space with high ceilings, a cozy fireplace, and a garden overflowing with flowers.

When it’s time to name the occupants, I hesitate for a moment. Then I type:DmitriandElena.

The avatars look a lot like us. I dress them in clothes I imagine we’d wear if life were normal. Dmitri in casual jeans and a sweater, me in something light and carefree, a sundress.

I watch as they move through their pixelated lives, cooking dinner together, dancing in the living room, laughing by the fireplace.

It’s a fantasy, sweet and ridiculous, but it fills the ache in my chest for a little while.

As Dmitri and Elena sit on their simulated couch, holding hands and watching the virtual sunset, I feel a pang of longing so sharp it nearly takes my breath away.

This isn’t real.

And it never will be.

39

ELENA

Istop at five in the evening. Still no sign of Dmitri. I end up scrolling through the streaming options on the TV with the remote, searching for something—anything—that might lift the heavy weight pressing on my chest.

My finger pauses overPlanes, Trains, and Automobiles,and a small, nostalgic smile tugs at my lips.

It’s been my favorite movie for years, a comfort I return to every time I need to escape reality. Tonight, I need it more than ever. Dmitri’s been gone for too long. I can’t help worrying.

The opening scenes bring the usual chuckles. Neal Page’s exasperation as he attempts to outrun Kevin Bacon to the cab, it’s all so familiar, like slipping into a warm blanket.

For a little while, I forget about the swirling mess of my own life and get lost in theirs.

But as the movie unfolds, a bittersweet ache creeps in. Watching Del’s loneliness and Neal’s growing realization of what he has waiting for him back home stirs something deep inside me.

By the time the final scene plays—the joyful reunion, Neal’s family embracing him at the door, and Del standing there quietly, his longing so palpable—I’m a wreck.

Tears stream down my face as I hug my knees to my chest.

The happy family on the screen feels like a cruel reminder of what I never had. My parents were distant at best, more interested in their own lives than in creating a warm, loving home.

My childhood was spent on the periphery of affection, always yearning for what my sister had, warmth from my parents.

And now there’s Dmitri, pulling me into a world I barely understand, offering something equally thrilling and terrifying. What would I do if he died?

I shouldn’t let myself get too close. I’ll only end up getting hurt. That’s the way the world is.

The intensity of my feelings for him frightens me. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, exhilarated by the view but terrified of the fall.

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