Dearest Devil

Episode 4

Elena’s POV

“Then you’d better hope you chose the right kind of danger.”

The words hung between us like something heavy that refused to fall.

I swallowed and looked away first.

“I just don’t want to marry a man old enough to be my father,” I said quietly.

For a fraction of a second, his gaze held mine.

Then he looked away.

“There’s a card on the table,” he said. “Pick it up.”

“A card?” I frowned, but walked over anyway.

The black card felt cold in my fingers.

“What is this?”

“The towing company I called. Your car has been retrieved.”

I blinked.

Right. My car.

I had almost forgotten it existed.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He leaned back against the counter, glass in hand.

“Pay up,” he said.

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh before I could stop myself.

His brow lifted slightly.

I stopped laughing immediately.

“You’re serious?”

He didn’t respond.

Silence stretched.

I cleared my throat awkwardly.

“I’m not trying to be ungrateful,” I said, slower now. “It’s just… you live in a place like this alone, and you don’t look like you need money.”

His eyes stayed on me.

I shifted slightly closer, then stopped myself.

“And you also don’t look like someone who entertains a lot of people…” My eyes darted toward the dirty dishes sitting in the sink. “I’m a very good cleaner.”

Nothing.

Not even a reaction.

“Say something,” I muttered.

He took another sip.

Then his gaze flicked—briefly—past me, toward the space behind my shoulder.

Something about it made my skin tighten.

My fingers curled around the card.

“I just need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” I blurted suddenly. “Show up at my house. Tell them I can move in with you. That’s it. I'll find my way from there.”

The words came too fast.

Too messy.

I winced internally.

“I’ll pay you,” I added quickly. “Name your price.”

He set his glass down.

And walked toward me.

Slow.

Controlled.

“Pay for your car first,” he said.

“Yeah…” I muttered.

I had only twelve rubles to my name.

My chest tightened in frustration.

And then—

Something hit the wall behind me.

Glass exploded outward.

I screamed.

The sound of the impact followed a second later.

A gunshot.

My body froze before I even understood it.

His hand was already on my arm.

He yanked me down hard.

My knees slammed into the floor.

Another shot tore through the kitchen.

“Stay down.”

His voice cut through everything.

Controlled.

Not panicked.

Just absolute.

Another bullet shattered the window above us.

Glass rained down.

I covered my head, shaking instantly.

“What is happening?” I whispered.

No answer.

He moved.

Fast.

A weapon appeared in his hand—drawn from somewhere beneath the counter.

Not the one I’d seen before.

This one was bigger.

Worse.

Then he was gone.

A crash echoed deeper in the house.

Footsteps followed immediately after.

Not one pair.

Too many.

My throat tightened.

Voices followed.

“Spread out!”

My breath broke.

They weren’t random intruders.

They were searching for him.

A shot rang out upstairs.

Then another.

A body fell somewhere I couldn’t see.

The sound made my stomach twist violently.

I pressed myself tighter into the cabinet, trying not to make a sound at all.

Another shot—closer this time.

Then silence.

A beat.

Then chaos again.

Gunfire snapped through the house in bursts now, not rhythm. Not pattern. Just movement cutting through walls.

I couldn’t tell what was happening anymore.

Only that people kept coming in…

And not all of them were leaving.

A man appeared at the kitchen entrance.

Tall.

Armed.

His eyes locked on me.

“There’s—”

The shot cut him off.

He dropped instantly.

My breath left my body.

“No—” I choked.

The Stranger stepped into view behind him.

Gun steady.

Face unchanged.

Blood splattered across his sleeve.

Not his.

Another man rushed from the hallway.

He didn’t even fully turn.

One shot.

The man fell mid-step.

My stomach lurched hard.

This wasn’t a fight.

It was cleanup.

Fast footsteps entered from the front.

Three of them.

They moved in together.

Coordinated.

Professional.

Not random attackers.

My pulse spiked.

Gunfire cracked through the room again.

He shifted the kitchen island slightly with one hand, shielding my side more fully without looking at me.

Then fired twice.

One dropped.

Another staggered and fell.

The third ducked behind the wall.

“Chyort!” he shouted.

The word froze something in my chest.

The Stranger paused.

Just for half a second.

Then moved again.

The man screamed.

Then silence followed.

Not immediate relief.

Just absence.

Heavy.

Wrong.

My breathing turned uneven.

Minutes blurred.

Shots upstairs. Movement downstairs. Glass breaking somewhere near the entrance.

I stopped counting.

At some point, tears started falling without permission.

I didn’t wipe them.

I couldn’t tell when the noise slowed.

Only that it did.

One shot.

Silence.

Another.

Then nothing.

The quiet that followed felt worse than the gunfire.

Because now I could hear breathing.

Mine.

And someone else’s.

He moved faster than the others.

This one didn't hesitate.

And he was aiming right at me.

The moment our eyes met, everything changed in his expression.

In one motion, he lunged.

His hand grabbed my arm and yanked me forward.

I screamed as cold metal pressed against the side of my head.

“Don’t move!” he shouted, dragging me backward. “Drop the gun or I swear I’ll blow her head off!”

My breath stopped completely.

The room tilted.

I couldn’t process it fast enough.

My fingers went numb.

The Stranger didn’t even flinch.

He looked at me.

A beat of silence stretched too long.

The man pressed the gun harder into my skin.

“Drop it or I'll blow her head out.”

The Stranger tilted his head slightly.

Something unreadable crossed his face.

Then he spoke.

Calm.

Flat.

Almost bored.

“Go ahead,” he said.

My entire body froze.

The man blinked.

For a second, even he didn’t understand.

The Stranger stepped forward slightly.

“It changes nothing for you.”

My chest tightened violently.

No panic in his voice.

No hesitation.

Just certainty.

The man’s grip on me trembled.

“You're indeed the devil!” he snapped.

The Stranger’s eyes flicked briefly to the man’s hand.

Then back to his face.

A pause.

A breath.

That was all it took.

The man’s finger tightened—

The shot cracked through the room.

Not from him.

From the Stranger.

The bullet hit his hand.

The gun dropped instantly.

The man screamed, collapsing sideways as his grip on me broke.

I stumbled back, gasping, air finally returning to my lungs in broken pieces.

My legs nearly gave out.

Before I could even fall properly, the Stranger moved.

“Chyort…” the man held his injured hand, barely conscious.

“I know you won’t spare me…” he coughed. “Just… give me the mercy of a quick death.”

My stomach tightened.

The Stranger stood over him.

“What gave you the right to enter my space?” he asked calmly.

Too calmly.

“We got information,” the man rasped. “Last night… you were vulnerable.”

My breath caught.

Asleep?

The Stranger went still.

“From who?”

“I don’t know,” the man said quickly. “I swear—”

The shot ended it.

Final.

Immediate.

My body jerked violently.

Silence dropped like a weight.

Then he turned.

Slowly.

And started walking toward me.

My body refused to move.

Every step he took made my chest tighten harder.

The gun slipped from his hand.

It hit the floor softly.

Almost casually.

He stopped in front of me.

Close enough that I could see everything clearly now.

The blood.

The exhaustion.

The emptiness behind his eyes.

My throat tightened painfully.

“Chyort?” I whispered.

A low sound left him.

Almost a laugh.

Not warm.

Not amused.

Just… recognition.

He crouched.

One hand closed around my arm.

Firm.

Controlled.

My breath broke.

“Why do they call you Chyort?” I whispered.

His eyes stayed on mine.

“Because I am.” he said quietly.

A pause.

“What did you do to me?”