Page 10 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

Somewhere I lived inside.

It also helped that Sharon stocked old books. The kind most people forget exist. The kind with worn spines and heavy pages and histories that feel like they were written before the world learned to rush.

I never thought I would find them again.

But I did.

And somehow, they felt like home.

Old books are my bias, because they feel familiar in a way I can’t explain.

Like something my father once shared with me before everything broke.

Ashley Kang is the reason I didn’t disappear completely into that silence.

We met here, in this same bookstore. She walked in like she owned the air around her—stylish, loud, confident without raising her voice, effortlessly pulling attention even when she wasn’t trying to. Korean-American. Striking. Outspoken. She makes introductions feel unnecessary because she simply inserts herself into your life and stays.

We became inseparable quickly.

She’s a breath of fresh air in a way I sometimes don’t know how to describe.

She carries conversation.

She carries energy.

She carries the parts of the world I tend to forget about.

And with her, I’m allowed to stay in my head for as long as I want.

Which is always.

“Sof, you found a book?” Ashley calls from a few steps away, her arms already stacked with four books. “We have to leave so I can stop by the mall and grab dinner.”

Right.

Dinner.

And the sleepover tonight at her place.

I hum without looking up. “Hmm.”

My fingers turn each page slowly, absorbing the lines, the rhythm, the structure. Something about it feels so familiar that it tightens quietly in my chest.

I pause. Frown slightly.

I know this feeling.

I’ve read this before.

Not recently.

Long ago.

Back when Moscow still felt like a place I belonged to.

Before I left.

Before everything shifted.