This afternoon we were lying on her massive bed, joints in hand, legs tangled like bored heiresses playing pretend. Sunlight streamed through the curtains like it didn’t know we’d been skipping lectures all week.
“You know your father’s gonna explode if he ever finds out you’ve been spending your ‘study hours’ over here,” Valeria said, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke.
“Yeah, well, no one really cares what I do during school,” I muttered, blowing my own smoke toward the ceiling.
People always assume I have guards trailing me like I’m some princess in a bad mafia movie.
I don’t.
Not in school.
Father would never admit it out loud, but he considers the campus neutral ground. Half the students are children of ministers, oligarchs, judges, or men just as dangerous as him. No one is stupid enough to start a war in broad daylight over lecture notes and overpriced coffee.
The university has its own security—discreet, well-paid, and loyal to the families who fund the place. Including mine.
My driver drops me at the gate in the morning. Picks me up from the same gate in the afternoon.
What I do between those hours?
Technically my business.
As long as I’m back where I’m supposed to be when the car pulls up.
Father doesn’t worry about me getting kidnapped on campus.
He worries about me embarrassing him.
And that’s a very different kind of cage.
Valeria rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin in her hands with a grin. “Okay, enough about school. I want details about that shameless little dance you had with Ruslan.”
I groaned. “Oh god, him?”
“What? He’s cute. And he’s coming over.”
I sat up. “Lera! Are you serious?”
She shrugged. “He asked if you were here. What was I supposed to say—no? I thought you liked him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Flirting with him when I’m drunk doesn’t mean I want to date the guy. Or even screw him. Especially not after meeting...”
“Ah yes,” she said, leaning in with a wicked smile. “Murder Daddy.”
I nearly choked on my joint. “Can you not call him that?”
“What? It fits. He’s what—twenty-eight? So, in his prime. Peak dick era. You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of him, would you?”
I gave her a look. “You’re actually stupid. You mean to tell me you missed the six-foot-three walking felony throwing me over his shoulder? And no, I don’t have a photo, andhe’s not on social—too busy making bodies disappear, probably.”
She blinked, then snorted. “Girl, I did so many drugs that night I barely remember getting to the club. Let alone your tall, tattooed, terrifying, annoyingly hot babysitter.”
I flopped back against the pillows. “You need to stop doing so much shit. It’s going to kill you.”
“At least I’ll die having fun.”
“You’re insane.”
“And you’re into him.”
