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“Almost crushed you beneath my feet.” He mutters with a chuckle, his gaze lingers on my face before drifting to the coffee in my hand. His expression twisting into something between confusion and disgust.

“Is it burning?” He asks, leaning closer.

My silence only seems to confuse him more. Because when mighty Roman says jump, everyone asks, how high?

Aleksandr snickers behind him, stepping forward until he slips into my periphery. Beside him stands Sergei, his gaze fixed on me with a look I can’t quite name, wonder perhaps… or is it awe? Fascination?

He is the quietest of the three. There’s something unsettling about people who never seem to need words and Sergei Zaytsev rarely speaks.

Sometimes I catch him staring, not in the uncomfortable way, and oddly enough, I don’t mind when I catch his gaze lingering on me.

He never looks at me the way everyone else does. “Dollface, you’re insufferably boring.” Roman’s grating

voice cuts through the air, dragging my attention away from Sergei.

My eyes lock with his icy blue ones, and he smirks, clearly savouring whatever expression flickers across my face.

“Come on, why don’t you slam my head against the table?” he taunts, nudging his shoulder into mine again. “I know you’ve been practising.” His casual tone is nothing but a façade, barely contained irritation simmering beneath it.

“Ask your sister, not me. My reaction was a response to hers.” I glance up, fuck him for being so tall that I have to crane my neck just to meet his eyes. “Now, move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he simply watches me.

Behind the cold demeanour, he’s burning with fury. The tightness in his jaw and the fist clenched at his side are telltale signs as he takes a tiny step forward and my heart beat picks up.

“Step back.” I mumble. Whether he doesn’t hear me or simply chooses not to, I can’t tell.

“What did you just say to me?” He leans in closer—too close—and my mind spirals, convinced my body is under attack.

Everything unravels in a heartbeat; my ears ring, my pulse racing at a maddening pace. Still, I’ll be damned if I let him see my vulnerability.

Men like him thrive on weakness, feeding off it like predators. Yet that knowledge doesn’t stop my breath from growing heavier, each inhale harder than the last, until I’m forced to take a step back.

Roman’s smile only widens at my retreat, and he advances again, closing the distance.

Back off. Back off.

Only I cannot speak. My voice is gone. My vision blurs, and everything fogs up, my fingers clutch harder on my bag as I try and fail to calm my fraying nerves.

“You’re fucking weak.” “It’s your fault. “

“Your fault, Elara.”

I want to say move, but the word won’t come. My mouth opens, yet all that escapes is another panicked gasp that makes Roman chuckle.

“You’re not very bold for someone who hurt my sister, huh?” he drawls.

His crooked smile wavering at the edges, forcing himself to act calm when all I see behind his icy blue gaze is madness.

“Hey everybody!” He shouts. “We’ve spotted a loser.” He looks around, and for the first time I notice how fucking fascinated dimwits are by somebody else’s misery.

But I don’t care, because he’s too fucking close.

“Eww.” He sneers, mocking me. “You’re lucky I don’t kill women.” His laugh is unhinged, ringing in my ears like static.

My fists clench around the strap of my bag as I force myself to wear a mask, to pretend I’m unaffected.

I’m so fucking pathetic.