Chapter 5 – Sasha
Two months.
That’s how long it’s been since I last saw Lev Rusnak.
In that time, I’ve flown more miles than I can count.
London, Paris, S?o Paulo, Tokyo—the endless carousel of airports and faces blurring together until my body no longer remembers what it feels like to stop.
That’s what I wanted. To keep moving. To let the sting of him fade somewhere between takeoffs and landings.
But it hasn’t.
I still remember the exact moment he told me to leave. His voice cool, detached, as if I were just another passenger on his endless list of fleeting indulgences. It was sharp enough to slice through me cleanly, and yet I’ve been bleeding ever since.
I tell myself I shouldn’t care. I barely knew him.
One night—two nights—doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of my life.
But my chest still tightens at the memory of waking up to him leaning against the doorway, coffee in his hand, looking at me like I was…
more. And then tearing it all away with a few simple words.
So I’ve buried myself in work. In polished smiles and crisp uniforms. In professionalism so airtight that no one—not Maya, not Tom, not any of the passengers who try to charm me—could ever guess how raw I still feel underneath.
And still…at night, when the world quiets, I see him.
Lev Rusnak. The man I can’t seem to fly far enough to forget.
It wasn’t just that he took my virginity and sent me away. That part, brutal as it was, I could have eventually understood. Men leave. People leave. My whole life has been a string of exits.
No, the wound came from the words.
Mine.
You’re mine now, Sasha.
No one else. No man touches you. No man even looks at you again.
He said it like a vow, over and over while he was inside me, while his hands held me down and his eyes pinned me in place. He said it like he meant it—like I was his, not just for that night but for always.
And then, the next morning, he sent me away without a backward glance.
How do you reconcile that? How do you hear a man whisper you’re mine against your skin and then watch him cut you loose as if you were nothing at all?
I told myself I’d file it away as a mistake, a lesson. But here I am, months later, still stuck on him, still hearing his voice in my head when the cabin lights dim and I’m alone in the galley.
And God help me, a part of me still wants him, even though I know I’ll never see him again.
Damn it. I snap my book shut so hard it echoes in the quiet, then fling it onto the couch beside me. The words blur together anyway, no matter how many pages I force myself through. They don’t drown out the memory of him. Nothing does.
With a huff, I grab the remote and jab the power button. The TV flickers to life, filling my apartment with noise and movement—something, anything more interesting than the carousel of thoughts circling my brain.
Maybe if I lose myself in someone else’s story, I can stop replaying mine.
The late afternoon light filters through the blinds, striping the walls in gold.
My Chicago apartment is exactly what I wanted when I signed the lease years ago—clean lines, uncluttered, anonymous.
A place to crash between flights, nothing more.
But today, it feels too still. Too quiet.
Especially since my housemate, Noelle, isn’t here anymore.
She got married, moved out, and left me to sulk here all alone.
I sink back into the sofa, pulling the throw blanket tighter around me, trying to pretend that the buzzing under my skin is just jet lag. As if on cue, my phone buzzes across the coffee table. I snatch it up and see her name.
“Noelle!” I grin as I swipe to answer.
“Finally!” her bright voice spills through the speaker. “I haven’t seen your face in forever. Come have lunch with me, please? I’m dying for some girl time.”
I grin like a fool. “I miss you so much. Honestly, I’ve been craving some friend time too. Say no more—I’ll come right over.”
By the time we hang up, I’m already tearing through my closet. I slip into a girly yellow sundress, light and summery, the kind that makes me feel like myself again. My mood lifts with every step as I head out the door.
Noelle’s home is a mansion that sits in one of Chicago’s deserted neighborhoods, a gleaming white stone beauty that screams power and money.
The gatehouse is swarming with security—men in dark suits, radios clipped to their belts—but after a tense moment of checking names and IDs, they wave me through.
The front doors swing open before I can knock. Noelle stands there glowing, all curves and sparkle, her hair perfect as ever.
“Sasha!” she squeals, flinging her arms around me.
I laugh and squeeze her tight. “Oh my God, look at you, Mrs. Rich-and-Married!”
We both squeal again, grinning like idiots, and for the first time in weeks, I feel light. We pull apart, still laughing, but Noelle’s smile softens the moment she really looks at me. Her eyes narrow, sharp and knowing in that way I’ve always hated—and loved—about her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks immediately.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly, stepping inside as if the marble floors and grand staircase might distract her.
But Noelle has never been one for distractions.
She follows me into the living room, her gaze sweeping over me like she’s reading lines of text no one else can see.
“You’ve lost weight,” she says flatly. “And don’t try to deny it.
You’ve got this…sadness on your face. Like something’s eating you alive. ”
I let out a short laugh, brittle at the edges. “You should’ve been a detective.”
She tilts her head, not amused. “Is it a boy?”
The air feels heavier, pressing down on me. My throat tightens as I try to keep my walls up, but I’ve been carrying this weight for too long, and it’s exhausting.
I finally meet her eyes, my voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. It’s a boy.”
Noelle doesn’t give me time to sink further into my thoughts. She loops her arm through mine, tugging me toward the back of the house. “All right, spill. Who do we have to kill?”
I let out a startled laugh, the heaviness in my chest easing just a little. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“That’s not an answer,” she sing-songs, giving me a sly glance. “But don’t worry—we’ll strategize over food. I’m cooking today.”
That makes me laugh harder. “You? In the kitchen? That’s new.”
She grins, pushing open the swinging door. “Believe it or not, yes. Though I do have help. Niko’s here, and one of his cousins too.”
I pause for half a beat at the threshold, the smell of garlic and fresh herbs hitting me first, then the sight of two tall figures moving around the island like they actually belong there.
I step into Noelle’s kitchen, already smiling at the prospect of seeing Niko, who is an amazing husband to Noelle—until the air leaves my lungs in a violent rush.
It’s not Niko that stops me dead.
It’s the man leaning against the counter.
Lev.
For one wild second, I think I’ve gone mad—that I’ve conjured him from memory, from want. But no. He’s here. Real. Solid. A knife glints in his hand, his head tilted toward Niko as he listens, hair falling across his forehead like I remember too well.
My entire body seizes. I can’t move, can’t breathe. The sound of my heels on the tile must give me away, because he turns.
Our eyes lock.
The world narrows until there’s only him.
Oblivious to the tension, Noelle breezes in. “Niko, Sasha is here.”
Niko looks up from the cutting board, grins wide, and pulls me into a quick side hug, apron and all. “It’s been too long, Sasha.”
I smile back. “It’s good to see you, Niko.”
“Same here.” He turns to Lev. “This is Lev. A brother.”
Lev turns fully toward me, and the shock in his eyes mirrors my own. For a heartbeat, we just stare, two statues carved out of disbelief. Then he speaks, his voice smooth, controlled, almost too polite.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand.
The same hand that once gave me immense pleasure. So this was the game he wanted to play? Good.
My chest twists, but I keep my smile in place. I don’t take his hand. “Nice to meet you too,” I answer, my voice steady even as my pulse pounds. I turn to Noelle, searching for her familiar warmth, and find her frowning.
She says nothing, though I catch the way her eyes flick between us. She knows something’s off. She just doesn’t know what.
I clear my throat. “How can I help?”
Before she can answer, Niko waves his knife in the air like a conductor. “Absolutely nothing. The ladies should relax. Lev and I have this under control.”
I force a smile. “Well, aren’t you two generous?”
“Always,” Niko grins.
Lev doesn’t smile. He’s back to chopping vegetables, blade sliding cleanly through the herbs.
But I feel it—his eyes. They keep straying, tracing the hem of my sundress where it skims my thighs, catching on my hands as I toy with the edge of the counter, lingering on my face when he thinks I won’t notice.
I notice.
“So, Sasha…” Lev says, finally, his voice smooth but threaded with something darker. I almost drop the napkin I’ve been pretending to fold. I’m shocked he’s even speaking to me. “How long are you staying in Chicago?”
I flash him a saccharine smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Not long enough to meet assholes.”
The silence in the kitchen curdles. Noelle’s head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “Sasha!” she gasps, her voice torn between horror and disbelief.
I shrug, pretending not to care, even though my chest is tight.
Noelle doesn’t buy it. She slips her arm through mine like she’s saving me from myself and turns to Lev. “Easy on her. Some asshole clearly broke her heart. That’s why she’s lost so much weight. She’s usually the sweetest, I promise.”
Heat flares up my neck, humiliation crawling under my skin. “Noelle—” I hiss under my breath, but it’s too late.