MOROZ

Malayia's Pov

Wednesday Evening

The plane hadn't even rolled to a stop before the cold reached me. Sharp and merciless, it pierced through the cabin walls as if it had been waiting.

My lungs ached with the first breath I drew outside, and my fingers stiffened instantly against the straps of my bag. The slavic winter wasn't the kind of chill you escaped with a thicker coat it was the kind that seeped into bone and stayed there.

I tugged my zipper all the way up, but the wind still found its way in, cutting across the tarmac like invisible blades. My boss was already striding ahead, scarf snapping dramatically in the gusts, shaking hands with men whose names I didn't know. I trailed behind, clutching my laptop bag to my chest, less for warmth and more as a shield.

The hotel loomed like a relic. Its stone façade was cracked and weathered, the kind of gray that had given up trying to look welcoming. Inside, the lobby greeted us with sagging chandeliers, rust creeping across their golden frames.

Only half the bulbs still glowed. Velvet chairs had been worn down to a dull ash color, and the carpet swallowed my heels with a muffled groan. The air was thick with the faint smell of cigarettes and old alcohol, and dust collected in the corners like it had grown roots.

I perched on the edge of one of the stiff chairs, knees together, trying to look like I belonged here. Nobody smiled at us. Nobody cared that we'd flown private or that my boss had money. Here, we were just more faces in the gray.

And then the doors opened

He entered like gravity itself bent for him. Tall, broad-shouldered, deliberate. His steps echoed on the marble floor as though even the building recognized his weight. The conversation around us quieted not completely, but enough to notice. People adjusted themselves in their chairs. A waiter carrying a tray slowed mid-step.

I felt him before I fully saw him. The kind of presence that snatched your attention whether you wanted to give it or not. When my eyes finally lifted, his gaze was already on me.

Cold. Calculating.

It wasn't a stare meant to intimidate, not outright. It was worse it was assessment. Ownership. A flicker of something dangerous lived there, a warning disguised as curiosity. I wanted to look away. My body didn't listen.

A sharp tapping on the receptionist's desk snapped me back. She slid an envelope across the counter without expression. My hands moved automatically, breaking the seal and pulling out a small brass key and a slip of paper:

Room 304.

The air in my lungs felt heavy. I managed a tight smile, tucked the envelope into my coat, and made for the exit.

The cold outside hit like salvation. Brisk and sharp, but at least it wasn't suffocating. Still, his gaze lingered on my skin like fingerprints, as if I'd walked out of the lobby naked. I rubbed my arms through my coat, trying to shake it.

My phone buzzed. The screen lit up: Pain in my ass. My boss.

"Hello, I just got my hotel keys—"

"He agreed," my boss cuts me off. His voice was sharp with triumph. "He'll be our trading partner. We can leave this hole by Saturday after a few events events hosted by them to welcome our partnership."

Click

I stared at the screen. Typical. Relief washed over me anyway, just a few days in this forgotten city and then I could go home. To warmth. To my pets, at least.

My thumb flicked over my photo gallery as I walked. The little faces of my babies filled the screen. My bearded dragon perched on his rock, my gerbil halfway buried in bedding. Their tiny, expectant eyes made me smile despite myself.

By the time I reached Room 304, my mood had softened. The key slid in with a reluctant click, the door creaking open to a space that smelled faintly of concrete and bleach. Old wallpaper clung to the walls in faded patterns. A bed. A table. A nightstand. A bathroom that looked clean, if sterile.

"Well," I said aloud to no one, "this is... something." A small laugh escaped me. Cancun it wasn't.

But I decided not to complain. I kicked off my shoes, peeled out of my blouse and trousers, and tossed them into a heap. My skin prickled from the stale air. The bathroom light flickered on overhead, buzzing faintly. I twisted the shower knob.

Water roared out instantly, hot and hard against the tub floor. "Shit," I hissed, ducking back from the spray.

Steam filled the bleach scented space as I stepped under the stream. The heat worked its way into my shoulders, loosening the knots of travel and irritation. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back, letting the water drown out everything.

Except his eyes.

They pushed through the steam, sharp and cold as when I'd first met them. That look, it hadn't just seen me, it had claimed me. Not desire, not intimidation. Possession. My skin crawled beneath the memory. I wrapped my arms across my chest under the water, as if to cover myself from a gaze that wasn't even there.

By the time I shut off the water and stepped out, I told myself I was being dramatic. A towel clung to my skin as I rubbed down, shaking off the unease.

A knock startled me. Soft. Deliberate.

I froze in the bathroom doorway, towel tucked around me. Who the hell?

Peeking through the crack, I spotted a familiar face. One of my interns. She was balancing a large basket in her arms, flowers poking out from the top.

"Are you gonna let me in or not?" she teased, rolling her eyes.

I exhaled and opened the door wider, gesturing her inside. "What's all this?"

Her grin widened. "It's for you. Snacks. Flowers. Even a note."

I took the slip of paper she offered, eyebrows raising. The handwriting was jagged, foreign. Russian.

Confusion prickled through me as I held it under the lamplight. My phone came out instinctively, translation app scanning the uneven scrawl. The words appeared slowly, fractured. Disjointed.

But clear enough.

A confession of love.

A hollow laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. "Someone's got too much time on their hands." I crumpled the note and tossed it into the wastebasket by the door.

My intern tilted her head, watching me. Amusement on her face, but something sharper flickered beneath.

"Anyway," I said, forcing a smile, "what brings you here besides snacks and flowers?"

She shrugged, still watching. "Was bored. Plus, you're the only one I like here."

"Well, I'm glad," I replied, easing back onto the bed, trying to ignore the way my heart was still beating faster than it should've. "At least now I have company to share this weird day with."

She laughed, dropping onto the chair by the desk. But when she leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, her eyes caught mine with a strange intensity.

"You shouldn't have thrown that note away so fast," she said softly.

The room seemed to shrink around me.

I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but the hallway outside groaned with footsteps heavy, deliberate, moving past my door.

The scent of smoke drifted in under the crack.

And beneath it, faint but unmistakable cologne.

His

The footsteps faded down the hall, slow and deliberate, until silence reclaimed the space. My intern leaned back in her chair, smirking like she hadn't noticed the shift in the air.

"You always attract attention," she said lightly, peeling open one of the snack bags from the basket. "Even here."

I forced a laugh. "Hardly."

But my stomach twisted. That scent cigarettes and smoke mingled with something sharper, darker still lingered in the room. Cologne, yes, but not the kind you bought at an airport duty-free. It was expensive. Heavy. The kind you remembered even if you didn't want to.

"Maybe I should've kept the note," I muttered, mostly to myself.

Her eyes flicked up at me then, too quick, too sharp for comfort. But she only shrugged and stuffed a chip into her mouth.

We chatted idly for another half hour. She complained about the other interns, about the suffocating grayness of the city, about how she hated the food here.

I nodded at all the right moments, laughed when she cracked jokes, but my attention kept slipping back to the wastebasket. The crumpled note sat there like it hadn't finished speaking.

Eventually, she stretched and stood. "I should go before anyone thinks I'm slacking off."

"Thanks for coming by," I said, walking her to the door.

She lingered for just a moment too long, her hand resting on the knob. "If you get another note," she said, her voice oddly careful, "don't throw it away this time."

Before I could reply, she slipped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

I stared at the wood grain for several seconds, pulse ticking in my throat.

Don't throw it away this time.

I shook my head hard, retreating into the room. "Weird," I muttered to myself. "She's just weird."

But the reassurance didn't hold. Not when the air still smelled faintly of smoke. Not when I kept catching shadows shifting beneath the crack in the door.

I crawled into bed earlier than I expected, exhaustion pressing down on me, but sleep didn't come easily. Every creak of the floorboards outside made me jolt awake. Every gust of wind against the window reminded me of his stare.

I rolled onto my side, pulling the thin blanket tighter, but my thoughts refused to quiet. My boss's deal. The hotel lobby. The cold way his eyes had pierced mine as if I had no choice in the matter.

At some point, I must have drifted off, because when my phone buzzed on the nightstand, the digital clock glowed 2:47 a.m.

The vibration rattled against the wood.

I blinked the blur from my eyes and reached for it, heart pounding before I even saw the screen.

Unknown Number

My thumb hesitated.

One message. Just one.

"Don't throw things I give you away Моя любовь"

The words sliced through the haze of sleep like a knife.

My throat went dry. My gaze shot toward the wastebasket. The note I'd crumpled earlier sat on top, its edges softer, as though someone had smoothed it open and folded it again.

No breeze. No open window. I hadn't moved from the bed.

But it wasn't lying where I'd thrown it.

A chill slithered down my spine.

My first thought was my intern maybe she'd come back, maybe she was playing some kind of twisted prank. But deep down, I knew. That handwriting hadn't been hers. That scent in the hallway hadn't been hers.

I forced myself to check the message again, half-hoping I'd imagined it.

The typing dots appeared.

Three dots. Pausing. Disappearing. Reappearing. Like whoever was on the other side was enjoying my panic.

Finally, a second message dropped in.

"Sleep. Tomorrow will be colder."

My hand tightened around the phone until my knuckles ached. I wanted to delete it, block the number, throw the phone across the room. But I didn't. I sat frozen in the dark, screen glowing in my palm, the words burrowing under my skin.

I glanced again at the note in the trash. Its ink seemed darker in the moonlight, as though the letters themselves were watching me.

And for the first time since landing here, I wondered if Saturday would come soon enough.