The night air hung heavy with the scent of damp concrete and cigarette smoke as Sam stood on his apartment balcony, gazing out over the glittering cityscape. The lights flickered like stars, distant and cold. He leaned his elbows on the railing, letting the breeze tousle his messy hair. His thoughts churned in endless circles, all leading back to one name — Viktor Ivanov.
His fingers tightened around the cigar in his hand, knuckles turning white. He hated this feeling. The unease. The way his heart twisted whenever he thought about that man. It made no sense.
"Sam?" Mrs. Carper's voice startled him out of his thoughts. She stepped onto the balcony with a warm but concerned look. "Why the long face? You've been sulking since morning."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Can we move out of this apartment, Mom?" he asked abruptly.
Mrs. Carper blinked. "What? Move out? Why?"
"Because..." Sam hesitated. How could he explain? The walls of this place felt like they were closing in on him. That scent, those memories — everything here reminded him of Ivanov. "It's given by some guy who's not our family. I can buy you a house myself—"
"Sam." She cut him off with a soft but exasperated sigh. "Viktor is not just 'some guy.' He is close to us. You know, your dad and I just see him as our other son. He's really nice. You shouldn't say such things."
Her words landed like a punch to his gut. Sam stared at her, speechless. What was the point? No matter what he said, his parents would never see the man the way he did. To them, Ivanov was a saint.
"Right," he muttered under his breath, walking past her. "Forget I said anything."
Once inside his room, he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. His emotions boiled — anger, confusion, and something else he couldn't name. He clenched his fists tightly.
I'll resign, he thought. That's the only way out.
---
That evening, the bar was alive with the hum of conversations and the clink of glasses. It was a corporate gathering — Ivanov's company mingling with another. Sam sat near the back, nursing a drink and glaring at the crowd of executives lounging on the plush VIP couches. Ivanov sat among them, his tie loosened, laughing and chatting as if he didn't have a care in the world.
And that was what irked Sam the most. He hadn't spoken to him since yesterday. No teasing, no snide remarks. Nothing. It shouldn't matter. He should be relieved. But the gnawing feeling in his chest told a different story.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue, downing the rest of his glass and standing abruptly. He needed air.
At the bar counter, he ordered another round. And another. The alcohol warmed his veins, dulled his thoughts, but not enough. He kept drinking, muttering to himself in a haze.
"Stupid... stupid Ivanov... What does he even want..." he slurred under his breath.
A gentle voice interrupted him. "Are you okay?"
Sam turned sluggishly to the sound. A woman stood beside him — tall, elegant, with soft eyes filled with concern.
"You're drinking a lot... Maybe you should slow down."
"M'fine," Sam mumbled, though his head was already heavy, the room tilting slightly. She smiled kindly, but before he knew it, his head lolled onto her shoulder.
---
When Sam stirred again, the lights were dim, the air still. He blinked against the haze in his vision, his head pounding as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
"Where... am I..." he murmured. He was kneeling. On the floor. His palms pressed against the cold tiles.
His breath caught when a familiar scent hit him — Ivanov's cologne. Strong. Overpowering.
"Huh...?"
Slowly, his eyes lifted. His heart stopped.
Ivanov sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread slightly, his gaze dark and intense. His elbows rested casually on his knees, but there was nothing casual about the way he was looking at Sam.
"Do you want me to gouge your eyeballs out?" Ivanov's voice was sharp. Cold. Lethal.
Sam froze. His breath hitched. "What... what are you—"
Before he could finish, Ivanov's hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head back slightly. Sam gasped, heart hammering in his chest.
"Tell me sweets... do you think it's funny?" Ivanov's voice dropped to a low murmur, dangerous and dark. "Lie to me? Spend the night drinking with strangers and playing with me?"
Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. His heart pounded so loud he could barely hear anything else.
"It's... it's you who's playing around..!" Sam muffled against, keeping his gaze firm.
Ivanov raised an eyebrow, his grip loosened, fingers brushing through Sam's hair as if to soothe the pain he caused. The contrast sent chills down Sam's spine.
"Shh." Ivanov pressed a finger against his lips, silencing him. His smile softened, but his eyes remained cold. "Let's get you settle up first, yes sweets?"
Ivanov's hands slid down to pick Sam up, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the earlier tension. As he began to lift him, a quiet mumble escaped Sam's lips.
"No... wanna resign..." Sam slurred, his voice thick with the haze of alcohol but firm in its intent.
Ivanov froze. His grip tightened slightly as if to confirm he had heard it right. His eyes darkened, the playful façade he wore moments ago slipping like a mask cracking under pressure.
"You want what...?"