Anya didn't know how to move forward. The past few days had been a blur of fear and shame. She had spent the last twenty-four hours in her room, the curtains drawn, the world outside a distant, blurry noise. The memory of that night, of the man with the stormy eyes and the terrifying strength, was a constant replay in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, heard the ripping of her dress, and felt the crushing weight of his body. The money on her nightstand felt like a curse, a dirty secret she couldn't get rid of.
Zara, her best friend, had been worried sick. She had found Anya in bed, still in the clothes from the club, crying. Anya had lied, of course. She'd told Zara she had a bad panic attack and ran away, that she'd spent the night walking the streets to calm down. The lie was clumsy, but Zara had hugged her tightly and didn't press for more details. She thought Anya was just having a hard time with her family issues again.
Now, Anya was trying to be normal. She had a morning class, and skipping it would mean falling behind. It was a class with Professor Davies, a kind old man who knew she was a top student. She couldn't let him down. She couldn't let herself down. She put on a simple white shirt and black pants, clothes that felt like a shield. She looked in the mirror, but the person looking back at her was still a stranger, a girl with hollow eyes and a haunted look.
She went to class, but the words of the professor were just noise. She couldn't focus. Her mind kept going back to the man with the scar above his eyebrow. He was a rich CEO, the bodyguard had said. A powerful man. A mafia boss. The words felt too big, too dark for her small, simple life. She felt like she had stumbled into a movie, a world that couldn't be real. But the ache in her body was very real. The fear in her heart was very real.
After class, she went to the campus library. It was her safe place, a quiet space full of old books and the smell of paper. She pulled out her laptop, planning to study, but her fingers found themselves typing. She typed "Volkov Group" into the search bar. The name had been mentioned in passing by the bodyguard, and for some reason, it had stuck with her.
The results came up immediately. Volkov Group, a huge company with its hands in everything: real estate, tech, and finance. The CEO's face was on every article. Her breath caught in her throat. It was him. The same sharp cheekbones, the same dark hair. But in these photos, his eyes were clear and sharp, not stormy and wild. He looked powerful, in control, a man who owned the world. And there, above his left eyebrow, was the small scar.
His name was Alexander Volkov. The articles called him "Lex." They spoke of his business genius, his cold demeanor, and his power. There was nothing about him being a mafia boss, nothing about bodyguards or strange drugs. It was all a polished, professional lie.
Anya closed her laptop, her hands shaking. He was real. The nightmare was real. He was not just a shadowy figure in a dark room; he was a CEO with a face on every business magazine. A person with immense power. She was a nobody, a university student with a scholarship and a terrible past. She was nothing to him. A brief, terrible moment he had probably forgotten already.
But Anya couldn't forget. She felt a burning need for something, a mix of anger and a strange, confusing pull. She wanted to know more. She wanted to see him again, not in that dark room, but in the light. She wanted to understand who he was. Why had his bodyguard done that to her? Why did he need "intimacy" to "cure" him? She felt a terrible need for answers, even though she knew that seeking them could be a dangerous game.
She went back to her small apartment and took a long, hot shower, trying to scrub away the memory of his touch. But it was no use. The memory was in her bones now, a part of her.
The next day, a package arrived at their apartment door. It was a large box, wrapped in expensive paper. Zara was excited. "Maybe it's a gift from a secret admirer!" she teased.
Anya felt a cold dread in her stomach. She opened the box. Inside was a beautiful, elegant dress, the same color as her favorite shade of blue. There were also a pair of expensive heels and a small, white envelope. She knew, with a terrible certainty, who it was from.
She opened the envelope. Inside was a small, blank card. No words, no signature. But a small, folded check was tucked inside. Anya unfolded it, and her eyes went wide. It was a sum of money so large it made the money from the night before look like pocket change. It was enough to pay for her entire university tuition, her rent for the rest of the year, and then some. It was a massive amount of money.
Zara gasped when she saw the check. "Who sent this? Anya, this is a fortune!"
Anya just stared at the check, her mind spinning. It wasn't a gift. It was a payment. It was a way to make her forget, to keep her quiet. It was a way for him to clean up his mess.
She looked at the elegant blue dress. It was a beautiful dress, something a princess might wear. But to her, it felt like a cage, a gilded prison. He had marked her with his touch, and now he was trying to buy her silence, to buy her compliance.
But something inside Anya, a spark of fire that had been buried under years of fear, began to stir. She thought of her family, of her father's constant anger, of being told she was nothing. She thought of the cold, ruthless power of Alexander Volkov.
He thought she was just a simple girl, a student who would take the money and be quiet. He thought she was someone who could be bought.
Anya ripped the check in half. She looked at Zara, her face pale but her eyes burning with a new kind of fire. "I'm going to find him," she said, her voice shaking but firm. "I'm going to make him see me. I'm not just a person he can use and throw away."
Zara looked at her with a mix of fear and confusion. "Anya, what are you talking about? Who are you going to find?"
Anya didn't answer. She just walked to her laptop, her fingers moving with a new purpose. She was no longer a victim. She was no longer a ghost. She was going to find Alexander Volkov, the man with the stormy eyes and the scar, and she was going to make him pay for what he had done to her.