Sinful Games (Sinful #2) | 18+

CHAPTER FIFTHTEEN

"If you build the guts to do something, anything, then you better save enough to face the consequences."

― Criss Jami

Caia

I packed my bags in a frenzy, throwing in whatever I could grab without a second thought.

Rushing through my studio, I snatched my wallet, deliberately leaving my phone behind, unwilling for anyone to track my movements.

I was resolute—I wouldn't marry a man I despised, a man whose life was entangled in violence.

A man who behaves like my father.

And I refused to be my father's puppet any longer; it was time for me to escape.

I entrusted Valeria with the care of my grandmother, asking her to keep her safe on the secluded fifth floor that only she could access.

I needed assurance that my grandmother would be shielded, even in my absence.

Before finally packing my belongings, I spent precious hours by her side, planting tender kisses on her hands and cheeks, whispering words meant only for her ears.

Goodbyes were excruciating, but I held onto the belief that she'd be proud of my decision to take control of my life.

One last glance at my place flooded me with nostalgia, tears streaming down my cheeks as I hurriedly exited the room.

I dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie, attempting to blend into the shadows, hoping not to be recognized.

With each step in my black sneakers, I left behind a silent farewell to a life I was leaving behind.

It was the dead of night, and I had a bus to catch for Saint-Petersburg, eager to book any flight out of this country by morning.

As I finally made it to the bus stop, relief washed over me, tinged with a hint of weariness.

But my momentary respite was interrupted by an unexpected sight—a disheveled, one-shoed man, clearly inebriated, sprawled on the bench, mumbling about Lenin and the Red Army.

In his intoxicated haze, he lunged toward me, seizing my arm roughly. His grip was tight, and I recoiled, startled by the sudden aggression.

"Anastasia!" he slurred, his voice growing louder. "I found you, my princess!"

His drunken eyes fixated on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. Despite my attempts to pull away, his grasp remained firm, convinced I was someone I couldn't possibly be.

Panic surged through me as I struggled to free myself, pushing against him with all my strength.

"Anastasia is dead! I'm no princess! Let me go!" I shouted, desperation lacing my voice.

But his grip on my bag remained unyielding, and in our tussle, the bag slipped from my grasp.

In that chaotic moment, the bag tumbled to the ground, bursting open, and my clothes spilled out, scattering in the snow around us.

I threw my hands up in frustration, feeling utterly exasperated by the absurdity of the situation.

Seriously? Attacked by a homeless dude now, of all times?

I looked around for help, but the streets were completely deserted, with just the streetlights casting their glow.

The man let out a drunken laugh, taking a swig of his rum before stumbling back to the bus bench.