Chapter 7: The Arrangement
912 Words
The message came in the middle of her afternoon shift.
Adiratna stood behind the counter at the diner, wiping down a tray, when her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. She pulled it out and read the name on the screen—Dmitry Sokolov.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Can we meet in two weeks?”
Just six words, and her world spun again.
She stared at the message for a long time before her trembling fingers typed back a simple, reluctant: “Okay.”
Her hands felt cold after sending it, like she had touched something dangerous. Something she couldn’t take back.
That evening, she called Katya from the tiny room above the diner. The fluorescent light flickered as she sat on the bed with her knees to her chest.
“He messaged me and he asked to meet up in two weeks,” she said.
Katya was quiet for a moment. “Are you okay with it?”
“I don’t know,” Adiratna confessed. “But I agreed. I had to. Eight thousand euros… it’s enough to start the payment for my father’s treatment.”
“You still have time to back out if you can't do it,” Katya said gently. “You don’t owe anyone anything.”
But Adiratna knew it wasn’t true. She owed her father everything because she promised her mother she would take care of him, he was the only real family she had left.
After the call, she turned toward the small shelf beside her bed, where a photo of her father stood in an old, cracked frame. His face smiled back at her—frail, but proud. She picked it up and cradled it in her hands.
“I’ll get the money, Papa,” she whispered. “I’ll save you. I promise.”
Her voice trembled as she pressed the photo to her chest. “Just hold on.”
The two weeks passed like a blur of routine and anxiety. She worked at the diner, she tried to sleep, she ignored the calls from her stepmother. Every day felt like walking on a tightrope above a sea of guilt.
Then the day arrived.
Her hands shook as she made her way to Katya’s apartment that morning. It was cold, the kind of cold that sank into your skin and stayed there, no matter how many layers you wore. Her coat was thin, her shoes worn, and her heart thundered.
Katya opened the door with a curious expression. “You’re really doing this?”
Adiratna nodded. “I don’t have a choice.”
As she stepped into the apartment, the older woman eyed her from head to toe and raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you planning to wear tonight?” she asked, arms crossed. Adiratna shifted awkwardly, clutching the strap of her bag. “I don’t really have anything... nothing pretty, at least.” Her voice was quiet, almost ashamed.
Katya led her inside and gestured to a small rack of dresses by the wall. “Pick one. Something that makes you feel powerful.”
She helped her pick a sleek, navy-blue dress. It clung in all the right places and shimmered under the light. Adiratna barely recognized herself in the mirror after slipping it on. She looked… elegant. Older. Like someone else entirely. She didn't look like a girl that was barely holding on, rather for the first time since her father got admitted into the hospital she looked beautiful and not tired.
Katya curled her hair with gentle fingers and dabbed a touch of makeup on her cheeks and lips. “There. You’re ready.”
But Adiratna didn’t feel ready. Not at all.
Still, hours later, she found herself walking through the tall glass doors of the Lotte Hotel Moscow—a five-star hotel that looked like something from a movie. The chandeliers gleamed, the marble floors sparkled, and everyone looked like they belonged to a world she had only seen from the outside.
She approached the front desk and swallowed her nerves.
“Reservation under Dmitry Sokolov,” she said.
The concierge gave a polite nod and made a call. Then, with a practiced smile, he led her down a plush hallway to a private room on one of the upper floors.
Her heart pounded harder with every step.
When the door opened, she saw him.
Dmitry.
He was seated near the window, speaking on the phone. Tall, poised, and devastatingly handsome, he looked like a god sculpted in marble—flawless and intimidating. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his suit tailored to perfection. Even from across the room, his icy blue eyes seemed to pierce right through her.
She froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He hadn’t seen her yet, still locked in a conversation on his phone, his voice low and furious in Russian. The tension in his posture, the way his hand clenched the armrest of his chair—it sent shivers down her spine.
She remained standing by the door, unsure if she should step in or run.
Then, finally, he ended the call.
His eyes shifted to her.
He didn’t smile.
Instead, his voice came smooth and sharp. “Are you going to stand there all night, or will you sit down?”
Adiratna’s legs moved on their own, bringing her slowly into the room, unsure of what would come next—only that there was no turning back now.
- Writer
