Vadim
I arrived at my apartment in the Federation Tower. Contrary to various assumptions, I bought it only after I left home. I didn't have any "man caves," backup airfields, or secret hookup spots. My wife knew about all my real estate. In that, at least, I had been honest with her. Hopefully, that counts for something.
I tossed the keys onto the table, took off my jacket, and started unbuttoning my shirt — a quick shower and then I'd head out again. Moscow stretched below, bright and shimmering. Floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows were the apartment's main feature — and, frankly, the only one. I bought it fully furnished, a proper city loft, but it was hard to call it a home. A brutal, empty den. Completely different from our place on Malaya Bronnaya. Katya could have built a career in interior design — she was that good. An innate sense of taste combined with a talent for creating. Our home had always been cozy, soft, warm. Those qualities never disappeared, even when she changed the interior every three years.
Vika's apartment was nice too — modern and stylish — but it wasn't home to me. I didn't feel drawn there. De jure, we didn't live together because of Nika. But de facto, it was because of me too. I didn't want to. Or not yet. Or maybe not at all.
After the meeting at "Uhvat," I couldn't stop thinking about Katya. She had become so bold with me… and more beautiful too — though where could she even improve? Could there really be someone else? No. She couldn't. Katya couldn't. My Malvina.
Don't call me Malvina anymore!
And just like that, I listened. I fell in love with Malvina — with her blue hair and burning gaze. I fell for Malvina, and got a queen in return. And I ruined it. First I thought with my dick, then I gave in to anger, and now it's too late to back down. Admitting mistakes and raising a white flag first — that's hard for me. But half the battle is admitting there's a problem. So at least I was moving in the right direction. Because after I left Katya, I really convinced myself it was for the best. That she was the one who lost me, who failed to keep me. That she wasn't enough for me. I fed myself that bullshit so the guilt wouldn't eat me alive. And the longing… I missed my wife, my family, our home. If it weren't for Nika, it would've been unbearable. She was the bridge to that other life — the one where I had been happy.
"That's how it goes," I muttered bitterly. You don't value what you have until it's gone. I hadn't forgotten my wife — and honestly, I hadn't tried that hard to. Sure, I enjoyed the freedom thrown in my face. It felt like a vacation from everything that had become routine in marriage: you can leave socks all over the empty loft, skip putting dishes in the dishwasher — that's what the housekeeper's for — drink beer in your underwear, sit in the bathroom for half an hour without anyone getting annoyed, because you're alone. I got some variety in sex too, yeah… I admit it. But all of that is fun for a week or two. Then you want to go back. The stallion's had his run — now it's time to return to the stable. Though my mare… she's got a temper.
I dropped onto the couch and stared at the glass wall, but instead of Moscow's lights, I saw her — that frightened but defiant girl.
An oversized jacket. Blue hair. Huge velvet-dark eyes with a piercing gaze…
March 2011, Moscow
"Chris, I'm on my way, there's a jam on Kutuzovsky," I tried to keep my voice calm, though she was seriously pissing me off. Sure, she was hot, but was one night really worth this kind of headache? "There's accident after accident here! Anyway, I'll be there soon."
"Damn idiot," I muttered, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. Saturday, ten in the evening — I should've flown through like a breeze, but the navigator showed five accidents ahead. Typical. Just put a divider between the lanes and that's it — cars would stop crashing. But no… how else would deputies skip traffic in the mornings? I should tell my father to deal with it.
Suddenly I was jerked forward — nearly smashed my head into the steering wheel. What the hell! Another accident on top of accidents! I unbuckled and looked in the mirror. Probably some clueless chick behind the wheel. You're screwed, sweetheart. Better start thinking about selling that piece of junk.
I stepped out, shivering in the icy wind, grimacing at the cold drizzle. Walked around my brand-new Porsche — the bumper was lying on the asphalt. Fantastic. Just perfect. What a great Saturday night! I looked at the guilty car — a Kia Rio stood there quietly, headlights blinding, and the driver wasn't even getting out to assess the damage. Fine. I'll go myself.
I was about to politely knock on the window (I wouldn't drag her out by the hair — not my style, though I really wanted to) when the glass slid down. I shot an intimidating look into the dim interior — and froze. The first thing I saw was a pair of large dark eyes framed by black lashes. Piercing as hell.
"Damn," I muttered in surprise, shaking my head. The owner of those doe eyes lifted her chin arrogantly and pressed the door handle. The light inside came on, and I saw it — blue hair. Like Malvina. Now that's something. I burst out laughing, and she stepped out, looking at me like I was an idiot.
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," she said calmly, and went to inspect the damage she'd done. My laughter died instantly, and something shifted inside me. I wasn't angry anymore. Didn't feel like mocking her either. I just watched her.
The headlights illuminated a tall, slender girl in an oversized jacket, short shorts, and thick waist-length hair the color of a pale sky. In cold Moscow spring, with icy drizzle falling from the sky — she looked surreal. And her legs… insanely long and beautiful, even without heels. I'd only seen legs like that on models. In the mirror — when you throw them over your shoulders and take them — looks spectacular. Cover-worthy. Damn, my thoughts were going in the wrong direction. This Malvina just wrecked my car. My brand-new damn car.
The girl had already taken out her phone to call someone. I instinctively grabbed it from her and looked at her closely. Very young — if she was eighteen, that would already be something. And incredibly beautiful. Shockingly so.
— What are you doing?! — Malvina snapped, outraged.
— Your insurance won't cover this, kid. Do you even have a license? — I asked, trying to figure out her age and decide how to proceed. No way she could afford repairs beyond basic coverage. She didn't look like a rich daddy's girl.
— I do, — she frowned, pulling it out of her purse and shoving it in my face. I caught the birth year. Nineteen. Perfect.
— So how are you planning to pay, Malvina?
— I'll call the police, Pinocchio.
— Why am I Pinocchio? — I genuinely didn't get it.
— Because you're just as cocky, and your nose isn't exactly small.
I couldn't help laughing again. My car was wrecked, and I was actually enjoying myself. This was going to be interesting. A girl with attitude, long legs, and blue hair. Never had one like this before. Wonder what her chest looks like? The jacket hid everything.
— Show me your insurance.
And then Malvina hesitated. Oh? What's this?
— It's a car-share. I need to call them.
— Do you even know how much the repair will cost? — I nodded at my Porsche's smashed rear. The damn Kia, by the way, was almost untouched.
She glanced at my car, then looked me straight in the eyes. She understood. She didn't have the money, and the insurance wouldn't cover it. Something flared inside me. The night wasn't wasted after all. Not for me. Not for us. I wouldn't get money out of her — not unless I dragged her through court for pennies — but I could get something else.
— Listen carefully, Malvina: we're calling the police now…
— Police, — she corrected coolly. — Since March first, it's police, not militia.
— And since when did you become this annoying?
— I was born this way.
Alright. Breathe. Stay calm.
— Fine. We'll call the cops, okay?
— Works for me, — she nodded seriously. — Are you some kind of gangster? A relic from the '90s?
— And where were you raised? Didn't they teach you to address strangers formally?
— They did. Probably the same place you were taught. You were the first to switch to "you."
Damn. I needed to count to ten. What a sharp little pain in the ass. If it weren't for those legs…
— Okay, let's start over. My name is Vadim Polonsky. I was on my way to an important meeting, and you, Malvina, crashed into my rear bumper. We'll call the police, file a report, but your insurance won't cover the damage, so we need to figure something out.
— Okay, — she said. — My name is Ekaterina Rumyantseva. I was driving home in a rented car, I'm exhausted after a long flight, and yes, I didn't keep proper distance. I'm really sorry, and I'm ready to wait for the police as long as it takes. And in my case, that's not a metaphor, — she nodded at her legs, which I'd been staring at for the past ten minutes anyway. — You can take me to court, and I'll pay you back from my scholarship, because I don't have the money to settle this on the spot.
Now that I liked. Straightforward, a bit sarcastic, but clearly not stupid. And she gave me useful info: university student, had just flown somewhere (those legs had a nice tan), probably lived within the Third Ring Road, ordinary family. That worked for me.
— You won't freeze, Katya, — I opened my car door invitingly. — And you won't have to wait long either.
She glanced at me cautiously, but apparently she wasn't the type to show fear, so she got in. I'd already called the cops. We had about ten minutes.
In the soft interior light, Malvina looked even better. Sharp, sculpted cheekbones, full lips — natural, not filled. A neat, delicate nose, a small pointed chin… but the real highlight was her eyes. Velvet-black, strikingly contrasting with her light hair. Katya was a blonde — this blue nonsense would probably wash out soon. What I had in front of me was rare, young beauty. Very nice. Hopefully, it would get even more mind-blowing later.
— Where do you study, Katya?
— MGIMO, — she answered shortly. Not impressed with me? Strange. Usually they'd be squealing.
— Got in on your own?
— Yes.
— And where were you vacationing?
— Want my blood type too? — Malvina raised a thin eyebrow.
— Are you always this bold? Or only with people whose cars you crash?
— Sorry, I just don't like you.
Well, that was honest.
— Why? — I was genuinely curious.
— You're too arrogant. Flashy car, expensive watch, police show up at a snap of your fingers, — she nodded toward the flashing lights cutting through the darkness behind us. They did arrive fast. — Daddy's rich boy?
Right, where's my whip? This girl clearly needed a lesson. I didn't get to answer — the officer approached. The report took about thirty minutes, which was actually fast. Ekaterina Rumyantseva should've been grateful, but she kept turning up that perfect little nose. Mine, by the way, was perfectly fine too — not some huge snout.
— Why did you do that?! — Malvina blinked in shock when her car was hauled away on a tow truck along with the keys.
— Don't worry. It'll be delivered to your address, and you won't have any issues. I'll handle it.
— Who asked you to?! — she snapped, not at all grateful. The police had left too early — now I was alone with an angry little hellcat. Honestly, she was getting on my nerves with that attitude, but throwing her out in the middle of the night? No. Now it was a matter of principle to keep her around. And those legs…
— How am I supposed to get home like this?
Yeah, she looked… interesting. Sports bag, travel outfit — Malvina the Stubborn had just come back from vacation. I swallowed the urge to laugh out loud again. In less than an hour, Katya had managed to run me through a whole range of эмоции: she annoyed me, amused me, intrigued me… and I wanted her. Badly. And that piercing gaze of hers went straight through me, down to the spine.
At this point, I didn't even care how much the repairs would cost. And Kristina? Completely gone from my radar.
— You're coming with me, Malvina.
She snorted like I was a complete idiot and crossed her arms defiantly. Damn… girls had never behaved like that with me before.
— Katya, — I decided to start gently — no need to provoke a hedgehog, — I've got a business proposal for you: you owe me money, and I suggest you work it off.
Malvina dropped her arms and clenched her fists. Was she about to fight me? Did she know I was a Russian and European youth boxing champion? Funny little thing, honestly.
— It's Saturday, and I was planning to go to a club, — I stayed calm despite her tension. — I need a sober driver. Around five in the morning, — I estimated, — you'll take me to Tverskaya, and we'll call it even, — I glanced critically over her figure in that oversized jacket. — What else can I even take from you?
Malvina frowned, but the tension eased a little.
— Why should I trust you? Maybe you're a maniac — you'll rape me, cut me into pieces, and bury me in the Meshchersky forest. Is that the plan? — she shot me a sharp look with those eyes of hers.
— Katya, are you completely insane? Ever had that checked?
She suddenly burst into bright laughter, smiling in a completely disarming way. Under the dim streetlights, on the noisy night avenue, with icy drizzle clinging to her hair, Malvina glowed like the sexiest angel. Unreal girl.
— Fine, Vadim Polonsky. At five in the morning I walk away owing you nothing, right? — she held out her slender hand.
I took it, gently wrapping my fingers around hers — cool, delicate fingers that practically disappeared in my large, rough hand — and warmth spread through me. I had the sudden urge to pull her close: naked, long-legged, wrapped in that blue hair.
— Right, — I said hoarsely. My fantasies were already slipping into reality, and the blood had rushed from my head to somewhere else entirely.
— But you'll give me your driver's license, — Malvina squeezed my hand and lifted her chin stubbornly. Fine. Anything — just come with me.
— Aren't you afraid? — she asked when I handed over the keys and settled into the passenger seat, after tossing the broken bumper into the trunk. — I'm not a very experienced driver.
You don't need to be, Malvina. As long as you're good at other things.
But out loud I just said:
— Know Moscow well?
— Yeah, I'm local.
— Then head to Soho Rooms.
Malvina glanced at me and pulled away smoothly. She gripped the wheel tightly — nervous. Probably had never been to a place like that. At this club, the face control could assess your entire wardrobe at a glance, down to the dollar. I looked sideways at Katya. She was dressed… not great. Definitely not for a place like this. But I had money. I'd get her in.
— Here, — I handed her my Gucci blazer to replace her ill-fitting jacket. My clothes looked just as oversized on her slim figure, but the price tag alone would shut down any questions.
— Hey, Vadim, — I greeted Lyokha, the security guy. I was a regular here — I could probably get a homeless guy inside if I wanted.
— Maybe I should wait in the car? — Malvina frowned, taking in the luxurious interior.
I just smiled and slipped the blazer off her shoulders. Time to see Katya in full… well, as much as clothes allowed.
She wore a simple white tank top, short denim shorts, and white Converse sneakers. And honestly, Malvina looked good. Not as flashy as the local escorts, but very… appealing. The shorts hugged a firm, round ass, her legs were long and straight, narrow back, slim waist. Katya shook her head, hiding behind her thick blue hair, clearly embarrassed. Places like this weren't her natural habitat — and unexpectedly, I liked that. Good. Not just another easy girl.
— What now? — Katya turned to me, and I couldn't hide my reaction when I noticed her chest. A solid, confident C-cup — but that wasn't even the point. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her nipples pressed through the thin white fabric in a way that was seriously distracting. My body reacted instantly. I definitely hadn't miscalculated.
I forced my eyes away from her chest and slowly raised them to her face. I don't know what she saw there, but she swallowed and crossed her arms again, shielding herself from me.
— Let's go, — I nodded and headed toward the Disco Room. My guys were already there.
I didn't turn around, but I could feel she was following. Looks like Katya kept her word — if she owed something, she'd work it off, just like agreed, until five in the morning. I smirked to myself: maybe longer, if she turned out to be good in bed.
— Oh, you're here, — the guys cheered as I approached the VIP table with the big round couches. There were some girls there too, but I didn't even look at them. Tonight, I wanted Malvina. — And who's this little thing with you? — Kostya eyed her up hungrily. Yeah, he appreciated her looks. But no — not sharing tonight. She's mine. Tomorrow he can have a turn.
— This is Ekaterina Rumyantseva, my sober driver, — I announced theatrically. — An hour ago, she crashed into my rear, and now she's working it off.
— Wait, she actually wrecked your Porsche? — Seryoga nearly choked on his whiskey. I nodded. He looked Katya over carefully and shook his head. — Doll, you better be really good to pay for that.
She just shrugged and pressed her lips together — like a snow queen in a valley of idiots.
I dropped into a free seat and motioned her closer, patting the armrest. Sit, Malvina.
— Excuse me, — she stopped a passing waitress, — could I get a chair or something?
— Uh… yes, of course, we'll find one.
Three minutes later, Katya sat down on a velvet-upholstered chair slightly away from our table, closer to the dance floor.
— She looks more like security than a driver, — Kostya laughed.
I frowned. God, she was stubborn. I got up, walked over, grabbed the legs of her chair, lifted it. Malvina gasped and clutched the seat, and I simply set it down right next to me. I wanted her close. Really wanted her close.
An hour later, my mind was slightly hazy from alcohol and hookah, and I felt like getting physical. I tried placing my hand on her sharp knee, but no chance. Katya sat like a statue: didn't drink, didn't eat, didn't dance, didn't even talk. She just watched us with those eyes of hers — with contempt, like she was above all of this. Strangely, it didn't annoy me. It pulled me in.
— Russia needs a firm hand, — Seryoga rambled, already quite drunk. — Like in the USSR! When Putin comes back, there'll be order.
— I'm fine with Medvedev, — Kostya replied. — Putin builds vertical power structures, and that's never great when everything depends on one person.
— Hey, Dym, — Seryoga called out, while I was hypnotized by Malvina's profile, — what does your dad think? Better under Putin or Medvedev?
— I don't give a damn, — I waved it off, but Katya suddenly turned and said calmly:
— God doesn't like dictatorships.
Then she turned away again, becoming a statue once more. Damn… I could come just watching her lips move. That was it. I couldn't take it anymore. It was already two in the morning, and I still hadn't had her in my arms.
— Let's go, — I whispered. — I want a bed.
She glanced at me, frightened, but stood up. We walked toward the exit in silence, weaving through the crowd lost in alcohol and music. I watched her hips sway… and to the right were the private rooms… Maybe we could take the edge off here first, then continue at the hotel?
I caught her warm hand and pulled her toward one of the rooms. Not roughly — I didn't force her — and she didn't really resist, just widened her eyes in shock.
— Katya… — I wrapped my arms around her from behind, so fragile, so slender. Pressed my hips against her firm curves. She smelled incredible — something like tropical sweetness. — I want you so badly, Malvina…
I brushed her hair aside, pressing my lips to her neck, pulling her shirt free from her shorts, sliding my hand beneath. My fingers hooked her underwear, moving lower — she was warm…
I turned her around, wanting her lips, wanting more —
And then I saw her eyes.
Glossy with tears. Silent tears running down her cheeks.
I didn't even have time to process it — a sharp pain exploded through my groin.
— Fuck—! — I groaned, clutching myself. It hurt like hell.
Malvina, with those innocent eyes, had just kneed me with full force.
— You little vicious— — I hissed, and she jumped back toward the exit. The tears were gone. Only burning hatred remained in her eyes.
— We're even, Vadim Polonsky, — she said coldly, dropping my license and keys to the floor. — I hate you.
And then she was gone. Like she had never been there.
The pain faded, but I didn't chase her. I just smiled, already anticipating the game. The pleasure of breaking a wild, untamed mare.
She would be mine. I decided it then. And I don't lose.
Present day
I even instinctively grabbed myself — the memory was that vivid. Katya had always been… something else. Unique. I fell for her at first sight, just didn't realize it right away. I chased her, conquered her, tried to buy her, tried to break her… everything, just to make her look at me with warmth.
But it was simpler than that. She just needed to be loved — sincerely, openly. And I did love her. I still do.
We just needed time. To cool off. To understand what really mattered. What was real — and what was empty.
I want my Malvina. In my life, my heart, my bed. I'm ready to reset everything. Start over.
She'll agree. I can feel it. She still loves me. I've always been able to feel her.
Our court hearing is on the twenty-ninth. A week from now. That's where we'll talk. Decide everything.
— Good evening, Marat Rudolfovich, — I called our lawyer. — You know why I'm calling.
— I assure you, Vadim Aleksandrovich, our meeting with Ekaterina was not a conspiracy behind your back, — he replied, clearly smiling. — She was asking about the legal aspects of managing her trust account.
— And why does she need that now? — I wondered aloud.
Lantartov briefly explained, and I grew interested. So that's it. My wife decided to start a business. Independent as always.
— Marat Rudolfovich, could you send me the business plan? — I asked. — Don't tell Katya.
Just to take a look. Make sure it's not nonsense. Maybe even help.
Ten minutes later, I was going through the documents — and honestly, I was impressed. I always knew Katya wasn't just beautiful — she was a diamond. But she was also smart. A good idea, well structured. Not perfect, but solid. Viable. Profitable. She wouldn't become a millionaire overnight, but if she developed it further…
I kept reviewing it, making small adjustments, correcting numbers, refining details. I wanted it to work. And I'd approve the use of the trust funds. Let her build something of her own.
Nika was growing up. Katya had given her everything she needed. Now it was time for Katya to find herself too. I was all for it.
— Yeah? — I answered a call without looking.
— Vadim, where are you?! I've been waiting for half an hour! — Vika snapped.
Damn. I completely forgot. Dinner with her parents.
— Sorry, got caught up with work. I'll be there soon, — I said.
But I was thinking about my wife.
I missed her. A lot.