Page 115 of Beautiful Agony

Three hours later,the lights of Los Angeles stretch beneath us as we begin our descent. Larina's tiny kicks continue fluttering in my belly.

Almost as if she can sense just how nervous I am.

The drive from LAX to our hotel passes in a blur of palm trees and neon signs. I grip Vadim's hand tightly, drawing strength from his steady presence. Just as we pull up to the hotel entrance, his phone rings.

"Understood," he answers, his voice dropping into that dangerous timbre that means business. His expression shifts as he listens, and I catch fragments of Russian mixed with English. "How many?... Good... Keep them safe."

My breath catches.

The rescue operations have already begun.

And the week's events haven't even started yet.

"Twenty-three women rescued from near Long Beach," he tells me after hanging up. "Some as young as fifteen." His jaw clenches. "They were in the midst of being prepared for sale when my men found them."

Bile rises in my throat, but I force it down. This is why we're here. This is what makes it worth the risk.

"I want to see the venue," I say, my voice steadier than I expect. "We should check it before tomorrow, make sure everything's exactly how we need it."

Vadim studies my face. "Are you certain? You should rest first..."

"I'm sure." I squeeze his hand. "The more prepared we are, the better chance we have of pulling this off."

I don't add that I probably couldn't sleep anyway, not with the upcoming week looming over us.

He nods slowly. "I'll have the car take us there now."

As we drive toward the venue, I think about those twenty-three women.

No, not women. Girls.

They're safe because of what we started. Whatever happens next, we've already made a difference. That thought steadies me more than anything else could.

"I used to dream about this," I whisper, watching the bright lights of downtown L.A. blur past our window. "Every year when Fashion Week came around, I'd spend hours watching the livestreams, imagining what it would be like to be here."

Vadim's hand finds mine in the darkness of the car. "And now?"

"Now..." I trail off, trying to find the right words. "Now I realize how naïve those dreams were. But I'm still grateful." I turn to face him. "Thank you for making this possible, even if it meant showing me the darker side of the industry I loved."

His thumb traces circles on my palm. "I should be thanking you,zvyozdochka. You never gave up on me, even when I gave you every reason to."

"I couldn't," I admit softly. "Not when I saw the good in you fighting to get out."

The venue appears ahead of us, its modernist glass façade gleaming under spotlights. Something tightens in my chest as I look at it.

"I can't shake this feeling," I say, my voice barely audible. "Like we're approaching the end of something."

Vadim's hand tightens on mine as the car rolls to a stop. His eyes search my face with concern, but before he can respond, the driver opens our door.

The warm Los Angeles air hits my face as we step out onto the curb and head inside.

Inside the venue, the catwalk stretches before me like a gleaming sword—beautiful but deadly. My heart pounds as I take in the stark white runway, imagining what will unfold here soon.

"Come," Vadim says softly, his hand steady at the small of my back as he guides me through the backstage area.

The space behind the runway is a maze of temporary walls and clothing racks. Even empty, I can feel the electric energy that will soon fill this space. Vadim shows me the exact spots where his men will be positioned, hidden among the chaos of the show.

"I'll be right there," he tells me, pointing to a spot in the front row. "Close enough to reach you in seconds if needed." His voice drops lower. "Close enough to protect you both."

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