𝚮𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 | 18+

28 || RULE BREAKERS

𝕚 𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕦– 𝕤𝕫𝕒
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | RULE BREAKERS
𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪

Sophia refused to talk with Storm despite his glares. She was angry. Why? She didn't have a single clue. There was something about him fucking her, forcing his brand on her skin and then clasping a collar to her throat before going off to fuck another girl that rubbed Sophia the wrong way.

She didn't like it. And she certainly didn't like the vodka bottle he kept by his bed. Did he think she wouldn't have noticed?

If he wasn't gonna follow the rules they'd made together, neither would she then.

Sophia poured herself another bowl of Froot Loops despite his glare, munching angrily as she scooped up the sugary goodness. It was one of the few things that reminded her of the good times in her life. It was a nostalgic flavour, one that reminded her of when she was young and innocent—before her family's death, before the death of Konstantin, before Sophia Kuznetsov died.

Froot Loops were her sweet getaway.

And vodka was Storm's bitter hideaway.

Storm brought the bottle of vodka to his lips, the two silently arguing through their eyes. It's gonna be like that, huh?

Sophia took another bite. Yes. You chose this.

He roughly placed the bottle down, making the neck shatter and spear his hand, his blood oozing down into the shards of glass that remained. I didn't do shit. You started.

Sophia threw the bowl down on the floor, making it shatter. No. You did.

The two wanted to tear each other's limbs apart.

Storm glanced at the broken bowl before glaring at Sophia, gripping the edge of the marble, his knuckles cracking from the pressure. Pick it up.

Sophia glanced at what was left of the broken bottle of vodka. No. You pick it up.

His eyes turned into slits as he continued glaring at her. If you start.

Sophia snorted, getting up and ripping their rule list off the fridge before grabbing his lighter off the countertop and burning it before him as she stared into his eyes. As if I'd ever give into the likes of you. You started it and I'm ending it.

Storm decided to retreat before he killed Sophia.

He'd already gotten rid of what's-her-name's corpse and had been ignoring over seventy calls from both Andrej, Dima and various unknown numbers. Presumably, all originating back to the murder of the blonde prostitute he fucked. All of which he had to take responsibility for.

Fuck. He really should just let Sophia take the fall for her own misdeeds yet he couldn't, knowing that it meant her head on a platter before she could shout 'Paleo!'. He wouldn't let that happen. Not when he needed her to retake his position in the Bratva.

Despite it all, it wasn't Sophia's unexpected murder that had made him angry. In fact, he was proud that she'd killed so cold-heartedly without an ounce of remorse for the prostitute, proud of her marksmanship, her perfect aim. No, what made him angry was how his heart squeezed in guilt as though Storm had done something wrong, as though he shouldn't have fucked the blonde.

Storm was especially angry upon seeing Sophia twirl her black locks around her finger in discretion, glaring at the colour like she didn't know that even perfection was jealous of her existence.

Sophia spoke Russian. Sophia was Russian. Sophia was blue-blooded. Sophia was royalty. Sophia was his little stalker. Sophia was a hacker. Sophia was Selarom. Sophia was gorgeous. Sophia was a dream. Sophia was a goddess and she was his.