Chapter 2
Zoya
I’m in the middle of a clumsy TikTok dance, trying to entertain my ten regular subscribers. On the screen, they’re throwing money at me like confetti, losing their minds. It makes me happy. But for some reason, something feels wrong, off even.
As if on cue, the moment the thought settles, his username pops up.
He’s watching me. I know he is. Taking a few steps away from the screen to show off my frame fully, I continue dancing.
But this time, I make it a little more suggestive.
He’s been showing up for the past five days, never missing any of my streams. Throws money at me like the wads don’t mean anything to him.
In a way, it makes me feel kind of powerful; that somebody would like me so much they’re giving me what feels enough to retire with and disappear to a villa in Paris, sipping wine on a yacht for the rest of their lives.
And even though a feeling in my chest tells me this is the thug who kidnapped me, I don’t feel bad. That thug broke my camera so the least he could do is compensate me. So why should I complain? I’m definitely worth all the money he’s spending.
I feel the prickle run up my skin when I think back to the chair I was tied in, to the way his eyes darkened when they took in my pictures. And in that split second, a ding echoes in my room from my phone.
Strange Moscow47
Hey beautiful, can you sing something for me?
Delivered
I pause mid-spin, breathing hard and coming closer to the screen. “What song do you want?”
The chat explodes with requests. Everything from Russian pop to American classics. I pick up my phone and scroll through, looking for karaoke tracks on YouTube, when another message pops up.
Strange Moscow47
Pick Any song. It’s Your choice
Delivered
I pull up the first thing I find. “Don’t Blame Me” by Taylor Swift.
I know. Cheesy. But it’s the only song I know I can sing that I won’t fuck up.
“Alright. Here we go,” I say to my viewers, hitting play. The music starts, and I pour everything into it, belting out the first verse with full confidence. This is when I notice it – how completely silent the chat has gone. I pause mid-chorus, my eyes narrowing.
“Hello? Is everyone still there?”
A beat of silence.
Then:
Strange Moscow47
If I pay you 700,000 rubles, will you stop singing and get private lessons?
Delivered
My jaw drops. “Excuse me? You literally just asked me to sing!”
Strange Moscow47
I didn’t realize how bad it would be.
Delivered
User_Viktor87
LMAOOOOO
Delivered
User_Mila22
I’M CRYING
Delivered
I can’t believe this. My face burns in embarrassment, and I resist the urge to hurl something at him, even though I know that will only break my computer. “I don’t think I’m that bad. You don’t have to be so mean.”
Strange Moscow47
Trust me, beautiful. You are.
Delivered
I cross my arms, glaring at the camera even though I can’t see him. “You know what? Fine. No more singing on this platform since nobody appreciates my hidden talent.”
Strange Moscow47
Some talents are meant to stay hidden. Yours is one of them.
Delivered
The donation pings.But here’s a little something for your effort. And because I adore you.
A total of 1.2 million rubles.
I stare at the number, caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to throw my computer away.
“You’re the worst subscriber I’ve ever had,” I mutter.
Strange Moscow47
If being your worst subscriber means spending this amount of money in a short span of two weeks, then what does that say about the rest of the people in the chat?
Delivered
I don’t even need to do anything because immediately, the people in the chat start attacking him.
User_Viktor87
Hey, rich boy. Every time you come into the chat, you make us all feel small. Is it because you got a little money? Don’t worry. We’re also trying to sell our cars.
Delivered
User_Mila22
Yeah, I just sold my kidney. I’m waiting on the payment. But the down payment I gave to Ayame. I’m still better than you. I don’t insult her.
Delivered
After a while, StrangeMoscow47 responds again.
Strange Moscow47
Shut your mouths
Delivered
I watch, unable to do a thing, as two people leave the chat. What the hell is he doing?
“Why do you keep belittling everybody and broke-shaming people in the chat?” I start, because I just can’t let it go. “Just because you’re gifting me doesn’t mean you can act like this. You know what? I might actually block you.”
StrangeMoscow47 starts typing. It doesn’t take up to a minute before his response pops up on the screen.
Strange Moscow47
You want to block your best paying subscriber? Do you really think that is a smart decision, beautiful?
Delivered
“I don’t care if it’s smart or not. You’re chasing everyone away, and it’s not nice. Can’t you learn to play nice with the rest of your peers?”
Strange Moscow47
Do they look or feel like my peers? Stop insulting me.
Delivered
Urghhh! There’s no talking to this man. So, I scoff and turn my attention back to the others who are thankfully still on the live and seemingly putting up with the little squabble.
“Alright, guys, have a good night,” I say, smiling at the screen.
The smile drops with my next words. “StrangeMoscow47, I hope you go to hell, and I hope your pillow is always hot.”
With that, I close the laptop. Good freaking night.
It’s been two weeks since StrangeMoscow47 first appeared in my live streams. I still can’t decide if he’s a blessing or a curse.
My loyal group of twenty regulars has dwindled to five, probably because they can’t handle watching me focus all my attention on the guy showering me with expensive gifts.
I never mean to ignore them, but when someone’s tipping you hundreds of thousands of rubles, you kind of have to prioritize.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand just as I’m winding down from the night’s broadcast. I pick it up, and the gruff voice of my boss, Sergei, fills my ear.
“Dress up and meet me at the service entrance of the Rosewood Hotel in forty minutes,” he barks, going straight to the point without as much as a greeting. “I’ve already got fake IDs for both of us.”
Stifling a yawn and fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I put on the most logical tone. “I can’t make it tonight, Sergei.”
“Zoya, are you…”
“You pay me peanuts for these jobs,” I cut in. “And I’m doing perfectly fine with my other line of work lately.” It’s late. I’m ready to hang up and go to sleep.
“It’s the Morozov event, Zoya. Every major player in the city is going to be in that room tonight.” I can hear the exasperation in his voice.
But wait a minute. Did he just say the Morozov event? That’s the kind of scoop that could actually make my career. Saying no to this is going to be hard.
“Fine,” I sigh, already mentally scanning my closet for something professional enough to blend in but practical enough to run in if things go sideways.
An hour later, I meet Sergei at the hotel’s service entrance. He looks me up and down in my simple black dress and gives a single approving nod. In a second, he tosses me a white apron and a clip-on ID badge that identifies me as staff, then points at my collar.
“There’s a hidden camera in the button, and Zoya for the love of GOD and my bank account. Don’t lose it or break it.”
Sergei doesn’t give me the chance to respond before pushing me toward the double doors.
The ballroom is stunning. Massive crystal chandeliers, marble floors that reflect the light, and a soft classical piece coming from one corner of the room.
The audience is a mix of criminals and government officials who run the city’s underground.
Grabbing a tray, I start moving through the crowd, trying to stay invisible.
I’m scanning the room, looking around like a thief about to steal, when I feel warm breath against my ear.
“Naughty girl.” The voice sends a shiver down my spine. “I thought I told you not to step foot at my property, Zoya or are you that desperate for me to punish you?”
I turn around slowly, and there he is, that dangerous smile already spreading across his lips. He motions to a passing waiter without breaking eye contact with me. “Take her tray.”
The waiter obeys immediately, leaving me standing there empty-handed.
“Well, well, beautiful. It seems we meet again.” His gaze travels slowly down my uniform. “You really are quite the entrepreneur. A photographer, an adult content creator, and now a waitress. You certainly keep yourself busy.”
The way he lists my jobs like they’re character flaws makes heat crawl up my neck, but I lift my chin and stare back at him.
“So what if I am? Can’t a girl make an honest living in this city? I’m a hard worker, and I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“True.” He steps closer until his breath tickles my ear again. “But I did warn you, Zoya, not to set foot in my establishments again. Or did my threats seem harmless to you?”
His cold brown eyes pin me in place, but I refuse to let him get through to me. I’m not going to let him intimidate me. I lean back just enough to look him in the face. “Look, Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is, I’m just here to do a job. I don’t even have a camera on me.”
The lie falls off my lips easily, as I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down to stop myself from saying anything else. He catches it, staring at my mouth. A sharp breath escapes his lips before he brings his eyes back to mine.
“Mm, I hear you,” he murmurs, nodding slightly. “But if I so much as see a flash tonight, I’ll have to punish you.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I have guests to serve.”
The laugh that follows from him comes from his chest. “It’s Alexei,” he says. “Not whatever name you’ve been calling me. Though I don’t mind you calling me ‘baby’ if that’s what you want.”
I roll my eyes even harder and try to push past him, but his hand catches my wrist.
“Dance with me.”
Does this man have multiple personality disorder? Only a few seconds ago, he was telling me off for being in his establishment, and now, he wants to dance with me?
“What? No, I’m working…”