"I didn't expect the Bratva's tech queen to be quite so... captivating," Lorenzo's voice dripped with irony as he observed Galina, who was absorbed in deciphering a web of encrypted data.
Galina's gaze remained fixed on her screens, her expression a...
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I am not a monster.
I am not a monster.
I am not a monster.
I am not a monster.
I am not a mon-
"Yeah, right," that little voice sneers in my head, cutting through my mantra like the smug, uninvited guest she always is. "Keep telling yourself that. Not gonna make it true. That's what they all think you are-what they know you are. Face it, there's no changing their minds."
"I don't care what they think," I retort, mustering every scrap of confidence I can find. But she's relentless, laughing in my face like I'm a bad joke at a dinner party.
"Could've fooled a corpse!" she jeers, and I swear, if I could see her, she'd be perched on some high chair, legs crossed, holding a wine glass in her manicured hand, dripping with designer disdain. A picture-perfect snob in a designer dress, a living embodiment of my worst fears with the sass to match. Dear Lord, please help me exorcise this woman from my head.
Anyway, back to reality. The sassy lady is always there, popping up at the worst possible moments. It's not like I invited her; she just came with the package. Three days of solitude can do that to a person, I guess. But it's not like I've been lounging around on some spa vacation. No, this is the reward for my latest job well done: a forced break in my own company.
I drag myself out of bed, trudging towards the bathroom, then the kitchen in search of breakfast. Water drips from my still-wet hair, soaking my shirt when my phone goes off, the sound cutting through the quiet. I halt mid-step, sighing before making my way to the living room where my phone sits on charge. The name on the screen makes my blood run cold.
Not now. Not again. I just want to rest.
Trying to keep my spiraling mood in check, I answer, "Hello?"
"Hey there, sweetie! I've been trying to reach you since yesterday! Your phone was off-I was so worried! I swear, if you hadn't picked up, I would've gone to the police," a voice rattled off at lightning speed, not even pausing for breath.
I can't help but smile. "I'm fine, Stacy. My phone died, that's all. Nothing to worry about."
"Oh my God, you have no idea how hard it's been dealing with the boys. They're all moody and acting like you've been kidnapped by some gang in a dark alley. You know how childish they get," she says, exasperated but fond.
I can picture it so clearly, her frustration and their overblown dramatics. "Yeah, I know them."
That's Anastasia Knight, my best friend. Well, one of my four best friends. We've been attached at the hip since college, both preferring nights in over wild parties, though you wouldn't guess that from her polished exterior. She's the perfect blend of health-conscious homebody and effortlessly charming introvert, 5'6" of poised grace and determination. Standing next to her, my 5'4" frame looks almost childlike. Not that I mind; I've been told I stopped growing a long time ago.
