Chapter 6: Temptation In Waiting
905 Words
The next few days passed like a fog.
Every night, I lay awake in the tiny room above the diner, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the offer the waitress had made. I hated myself for even considering it—but it lingered in the corners of my mind like a shadow. That kind of money could buy medicine, could keep my father breathing. Was it really so wrong if it was just one night?
On Monday morning, after another call from my stepmother—her voice shrill and unforgiving—I decided I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I walked back to the bakery near the motel, hoping to see her again.
But she wasn’t there.
I stood awkwardly by the counter, eyes darting around. Finally, I asked the girl working the register, “Um… there was a woman who worked here last week. She’s Russian, I think. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
The girl looked at me with mild confusion. “Ah… you mean Katya?”
I nodded, hopeful.
“She only works here some days. Part-time. But she should be in on Thursday.”
Thursday. That was three long days away.
I left the bakery feeling a familiar emptiness clawing at my chest. When I got to the diner, Lucia noticed something was off again. I told her I was fine—but the weight of everything was eating me from the inside.
The calls from my stepmother didn’t stop. Every time I saw her name flash across the screen, I hesitated. I already knew what she would say.
“Are you just going to let your father die?”
“There’s no food left. No medicine.”
“You’re useless, just like your mother.”
Her words cut deeper each time. I stopped answering.
Thursday came like a breath of stale air. I went back to the bakery as soon as my morning shift ended. And this time, Katya was there.
She looked up when she saw me, her eyes tired but knowing. She didn’t smile—but she didn’t seem surprised, either.
“I was hoping I’d see you again,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come. Sit.”
I followed her to the back of the bakery, near a small break room. We sat facing each other at a wobbly table, the air filled with the scent of warm bread and something heavier—tension.
“I’m… not saying yes,” I said quickly. “But I need to know what it really means. I need help.”
Katya studied me for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. “I can ask around. It’s not always quick. It has to be the right kind of man. Someone who’s willing to pay… and someone safe.”
I swallowed hard, ashamed of how my heart leapt at the word pay.
“We’ll exchange numbers,” she said. “I’ll call you when something comes up.”
And just like that, I was in.
A week passed.
I worked at the diner as usual, the weight in my chest growing heavier each day. Lucia tried to lift my spirits, but even her gentle voice couldn’t drown out the sound of my stepmother’s increasingly desperate voicemails.
I kept checking my phone like a guilty thief waiting to be caught.
And then, on a rainy Thursday evening, it rang.
Katya.
My hands trembled as I answered.
“There’s someone,” she said simply. “He’s rich. Clean. Generous. Says he’s looking for company—for one night only.”
I swallowed hard. “He’s seen me?”
“Yes. He saw your picture and said yes. I’ll send you his details now.”
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again. A name. A number. A picture.
Dmitry Sokolov.
He looked like something out of a dream—sharp cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, a certain elegance in the way he held himself even in a still image. I felt something twist in my stomach. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t deny it. He was handsome. Dangerous-looking. Cold.
Still, a part of me screamed—This can’t be real.
So I called Katya.
“Hey,” I said, my voice low and uncertain. “This Dmitry… do you know anything about him?”
There was a short pause on the other end. Then her voice came, softer this time.
“Not much. I’m not gonna lie to you, Adiratna. I just bagged the first deal that came up. You said it was urgent, and I thought… this could help. But it’s real. I promise you that. After the night, he goes his way and you go yours. No strings attached.”
I hesitated again. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“As sure as I can be,” she said. “And listen… he’s offering eight thousand euros. For one night. That’s more than enough for your dad’s treatment and more.”
Eight thousand. My breath caught.
No strings attached.
Her words echoed in my mind like a distant whisper.
I sat in my tiny room above the diner, staring at the picture again, the silence deafening around me. The weight of everything—my father’s failing health, my stepmother’s calls, my empty wallet—pressed down on me like a thousand bricks.
But that night, all I could do was cry.
- Writer
