Today we don't talk much. The atmosphere is strange, tense, and I feel anger and discontent hanging in the air between us. I am preparing for exams — graduation is getting closer. Just a little more, almost two months, and I will be free from the university . Before, I used to wait for this day impatiently, because after it, Vi was supposed to tell me everything; he was supposed to say where Katrin is. But now I just want to finish what I started almost four years ago. And not for my own sake. I want Rebel Girl to be there when I get my diploma, because that's what she wanted — she even left me while pregnant.
After graduation, I continue working with my father, helping my grandfather, and managing the club. It has become a part of me, and I am ready to dedicate my attention to it.
Even today, we go to the club. I want to show her what I have built, what I now own, what I am proud of. And, honestly, I want to see her surprise, to see pride in her eyes.
When I come home, Rebel Girl is standing by the door. I notice she is wearing the dress I gave her three years ago. It hits me in the heart. What is she trying to say with this? Is it a sign, an attempt to humiliate me, or something else? The evening is spoiled from the start.
When Viktor and Vera come to take care of Mary, I feel relief. The girl is happy to see them, and it pleases me that she loves them as much as they love her. These are the moments when I can leave her calmly, knowing she is in reliable hands.
Of course, I love my little star. I dedicate all my free time to her. We play, draw, sculpt figures from clay. I often lull her to sleep at night, reading fairy tales about princesses and magical worlds. I know how much she loves me and how much I love her. My daughter enjoys spending time with me — her eyes shine with joy when we are together, and a light smile seems to bloom on her face every time I enter the room.
At my request, Rebel Girl willingly sends me photos and videos of Mary when I am away from home. These little moments, captured on camera, are like a breath of fresh air amid workdays. It gives me pleasure — no, more than that: it warms my soul — to see my girls spending time together. How they laugh, play, read books, cook something in the kitchen. From the phone screen, they seem alive — Mary waves, calling my name with genuine excitement, and Katrin smiles — tired, but warmly. They ask me to come home quickly, and in those moments my heart tightens — from love, from longing, from the desire to be near.
But there is one "but": this is only a small part of life with Katrin, when our daughter is around. All other moments pass in cold silence, when we just look at each other like strangers. In Katrin's gestures, in little things — from the cup of tea she silently places in front of me to the way she tucks me in with a blanket in the evening — there is warm care, quiet attachment. And yet, when morning comes and I am getting ready for the university or work, especially on weekends, she feels sad. This sadness is quiet, soft, but palpable — as if a faint shadow of loneliness appears in her eyes, restrained but real. She doesn't ask me to stay, doesn't say extra words, but each "bye" sounds a little mournful.
The idyll exists only when our daughter connects us. When her ringing laughter fills the house, when we both look at her with the same thrill. Otherwise, an invisible wall seems to descend between us. We look at each other like strangers — not with malice, no, rather with emptiness. Without reproach, but without warmth. As if everything that could have connected us has already dissolved into the past, and only formal politeness remains. We are near, but not together. And each of us feels it, but does not say it aloud.
"Let's go," I mutter, not wanting to discuss her clothing choice any longer, which irritates me to the core.
She follows me silently. We sit in the car, and I start the ignition without saying a word. The wind outside is cool, but inside the car there is a silence that seems to reflect everything between us. We drive to the club. "Rebel Girl" — that is its name. And this word is not just the club's name, not just a sign on the facade — it is part of her. Part of her life, her character, her struggle. She is a true Rebel Girl, a person who doesn't follow rules and always goes against the current. That is why the club is named after her. Because she, like this place, is bright, daring, brave, and independent of anyone.
When we arrive at the club, I immediately see it. The sign is huge, bright, like a neon ribbon crossing the entire facade. Above it, in large letters, lit brightly, shines her name — "Rebel Girl." This word doesn't just burn on the wall, it radiates power and energy, like she does. I feel it echoing in my chest — not just pride, but some deep, personal connection with this name. It is not just the club's name, not just an advertising move. I have always believed that she deserves her name to be on the sign. This word — "Rebel Girl" — is more than just a title. For me, it means everything. It embodies her essence: Rebel Girllious, sincere, fearless. It is her nature, her life, her spirit, and I believe she deserves her name to be immortalized this way. Her inner fire is wild and beautiful at the same time, and I have burned in this flame more than once, realizing how strong a woman can be when she goes against the current.
When I look at this sign, my heart involuntarily stops. I feel her name, burning above us, echoing in my chest, flooding it with waves of memories and feelings. I know that for her, perhaps, this name is just another part of her story. But for me, it means much more. It reflects her inner strength, her independence, her incredible ability to be herself despite everything. And when I look at this sign, I feel a special feeling growing inside me — a mixture of respect, love, and pride for who she is and who she remains for me, and always will be.
The place turned out, to my surprise, to be successful. I didn't really try to find something special. I just picked a building at a reasonable price and took it. It was something like luck, and I didn't dig too much into the details. But over time, when everything fell into place, I realized that it was the right decision. I bought the building, and it became mine. I could be proud of what I had done — it was my business, my territory, and it was all connected to my efforts.
Tim and I met under unusual circumstances. His guys wanted to sell drugs in my place, but I didn't let them; I dealt with them. When he himself came to confront me as a result, we were taken to the station. Sitting in the same cell, despite our differences, we became friends. Strange, but in situations like that, people got closer, and it happened to us. After some time, we became good friends.
Less than a day later, we were released. The next day, Tim came to my club, but with a white flag — he wanted to talk. We agreed that drugs wouldn't be sold in the club. I wasn't against alcohol, but drugs didn't belong there. He agreed with my rules, and since then we had an honest alliance.
Of course, sometimes pills appeared there. People brought them, people took them, but they didn't sell them. That was each person's business, and I didn't interfere as long as it didn't disturb the general order. We were ready to live in this world, but by our rules, without unnecessary excesses.
Stepping inside, I feel the place fill with familiar comfort. The bar counter, the huge dance floor, private zones with comfortable sofas. It's the best I've seen in such places, when Katrin and I visit them. The place is stylish and functional, and despite being open, it keeps the atmosphere of something special.
Katrin looks around in obvious shock. I see her eyes darting to every corner, trying to comprehend what's in front of her. That reaction — it's exactly what I expect. I feel my mood lift because I'm sure this club is part of my life, and her reaction to it means something.
I take her hand and lead her to a table. We sit, and almost immediately a waitress comes to us. Here, everything works a little differently. We serve clients like in a restaurant, but instead of food, there's alcohol and minimal snacks on the tables. VIP clients take tables, nobody disturbs them, and there's no prostitution. I don't welcome that in my place. It's my club, and everything here follows my rules.
"Welcome, Maxim Alexandrovich. You haven't been here for a long time."
A sweet girl smiles and comes to us, offering a menu. It's just courtesy, but I notice some respect in the way she treats me.
"Busy times, I couldn't make it. Everything's good here?" I ask, showing my interest. I always care about how things go, even if I don't come here often. It's my responsibility to keep order.
"Don't worry, everything's as usual. No incidents," she smiles, and her words reassure me.
"Good. Katrin, have you decided what to order?" I turn to my girlfriend, regardless of what she thinks about our relationship status.
I feel her uncertainty, her hesitation, and it slightly worries me. She clearly doesn't know what to choose, and it's important to me that she feels comfortable here.
"I don't know. Everything is so expensive…" she answers hesitantly, clearly doubting whether to pick something too extravagant. Her words immediately put me in a bit of a dilemma. I understand her perception of the situation is a bit different from mine.
"I didn't give you the menu to look at prices, but to choose. We won't pay — it's already mine. So pick what you like, not what's cheap."
"You better do it yourself. I don't care what to drink," she shrugs, as if her opinion about this place no longer matters.
"You used to be an expert on alcohol," I remind her, hoping to spark some reaction, some memory.
"I used to be an expert at many things. I'm not like that anymore."
I don't believe her. She's the same Rebel Girl I once loved, and I'm sure she still exists. The same fire, the same character, she just hides it from herself now.
We place the order, and the waitress leaves. I sit at the table, thinking about everything and every moment that could change our relationship.
"Beautiful place," my girl compliments me, her voice soft as always, but I catch a hint of surprise. I know she probably didn't expect this level, and it feels good.
"Thanks. I put a lot of effort into this," I feel proud that I built it with my own hands. Everything I achieve is the result of my work and effort, and I don't hide it.
"You're the sole owner?" she asks, clearly feeling a little uncomfortable in this luxurious place. Katrin is careful in her question, maybe even a little apologetic for her insecurity.
"Yes. I borrowed money from my father to start, but I've already paid it off."
At that moment, the waitress comes back.
"Here you go," she skillfully lays alcohol and snacks on the table, creating an atmosphere of comfort and readiness for the evening. "Maxim Alexandrovich, Lady Alice is here today," she adds, showing respect.
"Good, I'll be glad to meet her. Tell her that," I answer, not taking my eyes off Katrin. I know meeting Alice is necessary, but I don't want it to disrupt our evening. I hope everything goes smoothly.
"As you say. Enjoy your evening," the waitress says, leaving, and I feel a slight tension in the air.
Alice is one of those people who enter my life completely unexpectedly. We meet here when she tries to flirt with me, but she does it so clumsily that the result is rather amusing. Nevertheless, we later just become friends. Now she's my deputy, and I trust her more than many others. Alice is smart, decisive, and knows exactly what to do in different situations. Yet she doesn't make decisions without me and is here to keep everything under control, and if problems arise, to solve them quickly and efficiently.
She certainly tries to approach me again, but after I tell her my story, she stops interfering in my personal matters. She remains just a friend, though sometimes you can see in her eyes she wants something more, but she doesn't cross the line herself.
"You're popular here," Katrin says quietly, almost observing. She clearly watches everything, trying to understand what I represent in this world.
"Yes, but because of university, I spend little time on it. After graduation, I plan to focus on it more," I reply calmly, not showing my concern for the future. I really plan to work more after university.
"When's your graduation?" she asks curiously, softening her tone. Curiosity returns to her eyes, as if the question matters to her, even if she doesn't admit it.
"June 25th," I don't hide the date, maybe even emphasize it a little, because it's my last step in university . I know this day is important not only to me but also to her. After all, because of university , we ended up in this situation.
"Can I come with Mary?" Katrin asks shyly. It's important to her, and her voice sounds soft, almost timid. I feel her words silently asking for permission, and it's touching.
"Of course, come. You wanted me to finish university so badly that you even left me because of it," I can't hide a bitter remark, recalling the past. It hurts how it ended back then. And even though I know she didn't do it out of malice, no matter how she tries to justify herself, I can't forget what happened.
Katrin turns away silently, and I notice her shoulders tighten slightly, as if she didn't expect that reaction. She can't respond because she knows my words are true, though painful for us.