PVC panels

Two months and three days

Sex is the only state close to immortality. Maxim denies shame. For only outside it can one experience all shades of pleasure. For Arina Krylova, the body is a vessel for the soul. Sex is the highest point of manifestation of love. Shame is the category of morality that protects a girl, a provincial student who can barely make ends meet, from debauchery, vulgarity and meanness.

There is nothing in common between Maxim and Arina. They are from different worlds, but the feeling that flared up between them sweeps away differences and deprives them of the ability to make the right decisions.

Four directions and one woman

In pursuit of pleasure, Maxim Korshunov almost lost Arina, an innocent, sweet girl in love with him. She ran away from him, not wanting to descend into the abyss of depravity.

Now Maxim has changed, he is ready to do anything to return his beloved, without whom he cannot live. However, the passionate love of Maxim and Arina interferes with his father's plans.

And if the cruel, despotic oligarch Korshunov decided to separate the lovers, nothing can stop him.

Fifteenth Paradise

There is no more harmonious couple than Arina and Maxim! And apparently, they will never get tired of sex, they will never get bored of being together, because their feelings are true, and their fantasy is rich in inventions.

And everything would be fine with them if it weren’t for the envy, meanness and fears of the people around them. It’s hard not to envy such love! Maxim's father, a rich man who has never known refusal and is accustomed to manipulating people, kidnaps Arina through deception and cunning. Maxim is terrified.

But those whom he did not expect come to his aid. Arina and Maxim are revealed secrets that have kept more than one soul in suspense.

Midnight Paris time

Midnight Paris time. Amazon

Instead of vacationing with her lover, Dasha Sinitsa is forced to go to Paris - her mother, the famous actress Olga Sinitsa, requires another plastic surgery.

Dasha, who speaks excellent French, should help in this delicate matter. Surgeon Andre Robin strikes the imagination of a withdrawn and insecure girl. This is “a real Rolls-Royce of men.”

To Dasha's surprise, Andre invites her to dinner. Communicating with Andre, the girl understands: what she previously considered passion cannot be compared with what she feels for this man. They are attracted to each other like a magnet. Their bodies are struck by lightning, and their sparks can set the Champs Elysees on fire.

Midnight Paris time. Closed book

“I don’t know anything, I don’t know myself at all. Tonight showed that I have no idea what to expect from myself. It turns out that I am capable of a lot.

This thought - strange, new - scares me and makes me happy at the same time. I am much worse than who I thought I was.

I am capable of lies, betrayal, and spontaneous actions. I, who grew up in the shadow of my mother, a liar by profession and by nature, I, who deeply condemned any lie, believed in the power of reason and the irresponsibility of feelings, and was not afraid of their irresponsibility...”

Midnight Paris time. Pie in the sky

“I don’t believe in fate, but it overtakes me regardless of my faith.

She had already drawn out the field, white cells and black ones, placed the pieces and even moved them a few moves forward, while I continued to laugh carefree, enjoying the moment - naive, naive.

What can you not believe in?! What dare you discount?!.”

Killer beauty. the Forbidden fruit

Dasha, staying in Paris with her mother, actress Olga Sinitsa, is torn between the incredibly attractive Andre, Olga's plastic surgeon, and her mother herself, who needs support.

Having agreed to the proposal of the man of her dreams, Dasha experiences an exciting adventure in racing through Paris at night, and the exciting continuation in the arms of the jealous and passionate Andre gives her no less intense sensations and hitherto unknown pleasure.

But over all this shadow hangs a light cloud of an unusual incident: Dasha’s ex-boyfriend Seryozha, having appeared at the clinic where Andre Robin works, scares Dasha’s mother until she faints with his strange appearance...

Killer beauty. 69

Passion can sometimes be unbearable. Hoping to get rid of her obsession, Dasha Sinitsa decides to fly home from Paris to Moscow, although the thought that she will never see Andre Robin again is painful.

Return to a boring but familiar life or give in to an abnormal but delightful passion - Dasha does not suspect that in reality the choice is much more complicated.

A call from Dasha's mother opens Pandora's box. Nobody knows what Andre is really capable of.

Killer beauty. Jellyfish

Dasha understands that sooner or later she will be asked a question about where her ex-boyfriend Seryozha disappeared to. It's no joke - getting lost in a multimillion-dollar unfamiliar city, without even knowing the language!

The French commissioner Trenu gets involved in the case of the disappearance of a Russian tourist. However, Dasha cannot even imagine how her visit to the Parisian police will turn out!

Her new chosen one, Andre, has doubts about the sincerity of her feelings, which greatly hurts Dasha, because trust is one of the facets of love. Misunderstanding becomes a test for both.

Woman for one morning. Magic Mountain

Caught in the pouring rain, Dasha, of course, caught a cold. But high fever and nightmares are not the worst things that have happened to her recently in Paris.

In the middle of the night, she received a call from the Avignon hospital with terrible news: her mother, the famous actress Olga Sinitsa, was in a coma. Only Dasha's chosen one Andre Robin and his influential brother Marco can organize emergency transportation of her mother to Moscow.

But it’s not easy for Andre to part with Dasha, and she herself still doesn’t know that a woman with eyes burning with hatred has already stood in their way...

Woman for one morning. Dancer

Dasha Sinitsa was going to fly to Moscow, home, due to serious family circumstances.

But her plans were not destined to come true: a certain woman tried to set Dasha on fire in the car. Now the girl will have to stay in Paris with her lover Andre Robin until it becomes clear who wanted to kill her in such a sophisticated way.

From now on, Dasha suspects everyone, because she, like Andre, is still in danger. But who is this mysterious hater? The answer to this question comes as a complete surprise to Dasha.

Woman for one morning. A pirate's generosity

Dasha Sinitsa could not even imagine that she would become the bride of the seductive handsome Andre Robin.

But her lover’s former carefree lifestyle turned into terrible consequences for the people close to him.

Andre's long-standing fleeting relationship with Audrey, who soon became his brother's chosen one, turned out to be a time bomb for all of them...

Gentle flames. Chaise lounge

Finally, for Dasha Sinitsa, all the horror was a thing of the past.

Now she can easily fly from Paris to Moscow with her fiancé Andre Robin to visit her mother, who is in the hospital. It would seem that the girl can only plan the wedding and think about a future together with her beloved.

But Dasha has to think about something else. The loud political scandal and subsequent events that unfolded in France clearly have something to do with it. But so far Dasha can’t find the missing puzzles to assemble the whole picture...

Alice Clover

Sleeping angel

All events described in the book are fictitious.

Any similarity between characters, their names, and biographies with real people is accidental and unintentional.

You try to make you believe in all of his lies

It"s been a long, long, long, long, long, long time

Long time life

Depeche Mode

The inevitability of the end, the instantaneous transition from being to non-existence, the gaping entrance to the crucible of trials, the possibility of sliding into the abyss every minute - such is human existence.

Victor Hugo "The Man Who Laughs"

You can't escape the darkness. She always follows you.

Fable Master of Shadows

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people .

Carl Gustav Jung

He was very close - perhaps he was sitting motionless in a deep leather chair opposite the bed and looking at me, wondering how best to deal with me now. Calmly, without rushing and not succumbing to panic or a momentary impulse to strangle me right there, he looked like at a rare forest animal that had accidentally fallen into his snare. He could keep me captive, but that was not enough for him. I could imagine his confusion and frustration, his attempts calculate me, searching for the best options. They were not there, and that is why nothing happened - hour after hour Andre remained for me only a rustle, a breath of wind in the still air of the room, a quiet sigh that made me break out in a cold sweat.

How much time do I still have?

At first it was scary that I couldn’t think calmly. Andre grabbed me, twisted my arms behind my back and covered my mouth with his hand to stop me from screaming. A few hours ago all this would have been a game, but now it was happening for real. I was lying on the bed as I was - in checkered home pants and a T-shirt. The tied hands hurt unbearably, the legs were less strained. There was no way I could change my body position - spread out, blindfolded, I lost orientation in time and space. There was no gag, but it wasn't needed. Who would hear us here? Only my cat, but Andre didn’t have to be afraid of him.

How much time has passed? Few hours? For the first hour, I was just shaking feverishly with fear, and I couldn’t do anything about it, but it turns out that even fear can get tired. It seemed to me that I felt warmth from Andre’s body, but then I was suddenly afraid that he had left long ago, and I was lying here alone, and I would lie like that until... until... No, I forbade myself to think about it “for now.” Sometimes I would inhale noisily through my nose and then I would smell the subtle smell of Chinese menthol oil, which Andre used to lubricate my hand with so that the tattoo would heal faster. The tattoo had been in order for a long time, but Andre clearly liked to take care of me, and I liked it too, so I did not stop these impulses in any way, only sometimes I was angry that my fiancé treated my body as a fetish. I said that I was still a person, and not his doll, and then Andre began to laugh. I was offended, but he kissed me on the nose and assured me that he would not forget for a minute that my body is a vessel with a soul and mind.

Now I understood that he was telling the truth. He always remembered this, and now he was more interested in what was in my head: my thoughts, my memory and everything I know. The body lay tired, empty, unnecessary. I was both afraid and hoping that Andre hadn’t left and left me here alone.

I no longer screamed, did not fight and did not ask to untie my hands or open my eyes, I knew that he would not do this. Andre caught me red-handed, I crossed the line, and everything changed. He suddenly became so calm, thoughtful and quiet, like a warlock before a sacrifice. He didn’t ask me what exactly I was looking for on the Internet and why the recently deceased hacker, Dick White, became so interesting to me. Andre asked me why I didn't believe him. He was not interested in the fact that my ex-boyfriend Seryozha was dead. Andre asked if I loved him for at least one day? I was silent and crying, tears flowing from under the dark fabric of the bandage that Andre used to blindfold me. The dense, anatomically curved mask prevented me from peeking, and finally, after all our games and foreplay, my helplessness and despair became real, authentic. I was scared to death, I was afraid of death, I was afraid of Andre.

At some point, when I lost track of time and almost dozed off - monstrously, but fatigue took its toll - Andre sat down with me on the bed to which I was tied and stroked my hair. I jerked with my whole body, but only to cry out from the pain in my tied hands. Then we were silent for a long time. I gave up first.

“Let me go,” I asked in a broken whisper, and then Andre made a sound as if he was choking on air. Nothing else. Perhaps he really left.

Beauty and the beast rolled into one. My Andre, my handsome prince - he acted on me like a drug, bewitching me with his serious face, amazing magnetic gaze, the relaxed gait of a man who does not know what pain is. A tall, young man with excellent posture, radiant with health, full of thirst for life, he always looked in a way that seemed to burn right through you. He knew what he wanted - he wanted me, and I melted at the thought. Who wouldn't melt?! He embodied everything that one could look for in a man, he had everything that I had ever dreamed of. Even now, there was a part of me that desperately clung to the plot of the old fairy tale, and I told myself that maybe if I kissed him just one more time... Maybe I should have let him explain...

My beautiful killer. Now I understood: he killed Seryozha. Maybe he killed Dick White too. If not himself, then at least he knew about this murder, had something to do with it, and perhaps ordered it. How it's done? How can you sit like this at some small table in a small Parisian cafe and place an order - first for a cup of coffee, then for a person. Oh yeah, Andre doesn't drink coffee.

He will kill me too. He just needs time. He needs to decide how...

I had no doubt about one thing - he really loved me. Otherwise it was impossible to explain how long he thought and did nothing. All that endless night Andre just sat, looked at me and thought. About what? Maybe about letting me live after all? He loved me. Moreover, he wanted to own me, and therefore now it was difficult for him to simply erase me from his life and from his memory. It was much easier with Seryozha, he hated him. I suddenly remembered that evening when we stood in the library at his mother’s house, and Andre’s eyes burned with undisguised hatred.

“The very thought that someone was with you other than me kills me.”

He wanted to kill him, it wasn't just a wish, it became a plan of action. I couldn’t say exactly how it all happened or what happened, but I could guess. Theories were all I could afford. Seryozha saw Dick Whiter. When? How? I tried to reconstruct that day minute by minute. My hands were unbearably raw, making it difficult to think, but I pushed the pain into the background, pushed it into the top drawer of the chest of drawers, closed the room with pain, and threw the key into the water of a huge lake. This kind of meditation gave me a little respite.

Gentle flames. Sleeping anel

Midnight Paris time – 12

All events described in the book are fictitious.

Any similarity between characters, their names, and biographies with real people is accidental and unintentional.

You try to make you believe in all of his lies

It's been a long, long, long, long, long, long time

Long time life

Depeche Mode

The inevitability of the end, the instantaneous transition from being to non-existence, the gaping entrance to the crucible of trials, the possibility of sliding into the abyss every minute - such is human existence.

Victor Hugo "The Man Who Laughs"

You can't escape the darkness. She always follows you.

Fable Master of Shadows

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.

Carl Gustav Jung

* * *

He was very close - perhaps he was sitting motionless in a deep leather chair opposite the bed and looking at me, wondering how best to deal with me now. Calmly, without rushing and not succumbing to panic or a momentary impulse to strangle me right there, he looked like at a rare forest animal that had accidentally fallen into his snare. He could keep me captive, but that was not enough for him. I could imagine his confusion and frustration, his attempts calculate me, searching for the best options. They were not there, and that is why nothing happened - hour after hour Andre remained for me only a rustle, a breath of wind in the still air of the room, a quiet sigh that made me break out in a cold sweat.

How much time do I still have?

At first it was scary that I couldn’t think calmly. Andre grabbed me, twisted my arms behind my back and covered my mouth with his hand to stop me from screaming. A few hours ago all this would have been a game, but now it was happening for real. I was lying on the bed as I was - in checkered home pants and a T-shirt. The tied hands hurt unbearably, the legs were less strained. There was no way I could change my body position - spread out, blindfolded, I lost orientation in time and space. There was no gag, but it wasn't needed. Who would hear us here? Only my cat, but Andre didn’t have to be afraid of him.

All events described in the book are fictitious.

Any similarity between characters, their names, and biographies with real people is accidental and unintentional.

You try to make you believe in all of his lies
It"s been a long, long, long, long, long, long time
Long time life1
And you've been trying to force yourself to believe all his lies, For a long, very long, very long time. A lifetime of time. Depeche Mode (English), (translated by author)

Depeche Mode

The inevitability of the end, the instantaneous transition from being to non-existence, the gaping entrance to the crucible of trials, the possibility of sliding into the abyss every minute - such is human existence.

Victor Hugo "The Man Who Laughs"

You can't escape the darkness. She always follows you.

Fable Master of Shadows

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people2
Only by recognizing your own darkness can you cope with the darkness in the souls of other people.
Carl Gustav Jung (English), (translated by author)

Carl Gustav Jung

* * *

He was very close - perhaps he was sitting motionless in a deep leather chair opposite the bed and looking at me, wondering how best to deal with me now. Calmly, without rushing and not succumbing to panic or a momentary impulse to strangle me right there, he looked like at a rare forest animal that had accidentally fallen into his snare. He could keep me captive, but that was not enough for him. I could imagine his confusion and frustration, his attempts calculate me, searching for the best options. They were not there, and that is why nothing happened - hour after hour Andre remained for me only a rustle, a breath of wind in the still air of the room, a quiet sigh that made me break out in a cold sweat.

How much time do I still have?

At first it was scary that I couldn’t think calmly.

Andre grabbed me, twisted my arms behind my back and covered my mouth with his hand to stop me from screaming. A few hours ago all this would have been a game, but now it was happening for real. I was lying on the bed as I was - in checkered home pants and a T-shirt. The tied hands hurt unbearably, the legs were less strained. There was no way I could change my body position - spread out, blindfolded, I lost orientation in time and space. There was no gag, but it wasn't needed. Who would hear us here? Only my cat, but Andre didn’t have to be afraid of him.

How much time has passed? Few hours? For the first hour, I was just shaking feverishly with fear, and I couldn’t do anything about it, but it turns out that even fear can get tired. It seemed to me that I felt warmth from Andre’s body, but then I was suddenly afraid that he had left long ago, and I was lying here alone, and I would lie like that until... until... No, I forbade myself to think about it “for now.” Sometimes I would inhale noisily through my nose and then I would smell the subtle smell of Chinese menthol oil, which Andre used to lubricate my hand with so that the tattoo would heal faster. The tattoo had been in order for a long time, but Andre clearly liked to take care of me, and I liked it too, so I did not stop these impulses in any way, only sometimes I was angry that my fiancé treated my body as a fetish. I said that I was still a person, and not his doll, and then Andre began to laugh. I was offended, but he kissed me on the nose and assured me that he would not forget for a minute that my body is a vessel with a soul and mind.

Now I understood that he was telling the truth. He always remembered this, and now he was more interested in what was in my head: my thoughts, my memory and everything I know. The body lay tired, empty, unnecessary. I was both afraid and hoping that Andre hadn’t left and left me here alone.

I no longer screamed, did not fight and did not ask to untie my hands or open my eyes, I knew that he would not do this. Andre caught me red-handed, I crossed the line, and everything changed. He suddenly became so calm, thoughtful and quiet, like a warlock before a sacrifice. He didn’t ask me what exactly I was looking for on the Internet and why the recently deceased hacker, Dick White, became so interesting to me. Andre asked me why I didn't believe him. He was not interested in the fact that my ex-boyfriend Seryozha was dead. Andre asked if I loved him for at least one day? I was silent and crying, tears flowing from under the dark fabric of the bandage that Andre used to blindfold me. The dense, anatomically curved mask prevented me from peeking, and finally, after all our games and foreplay, my helplessness and despair became real, authentic. I was scared to death, I was afraid of death, I was afraid of Andre.

At some point, when I lost track of time and almost dozed off - monstrously, but fatigue took its toll - Andre sat down with me on the bed to which I was tied and stroked my hair. I jerked with my whole body, but only to cry out from the pain in my tied hands. Then we were silent for a long time. I gave up first.

“Let me go,” I asked in a broken whisper, and then Andre made a sound as if he was choking on air. Nothing else. Perhaps he really left.

Beauty and the beast rolled into one. My Andre, my handsome prince - he acted on me like a drug, bewitching me with his serious face, amazing magnetic gaze, the relaxed gait of a man who does not know what pain is. A tall, young man with excellent posture, radiant with health, full of thirst for life, he always looked in a way that seemed to burn right through you. He knew what he wanted - he wanted me, and I melted at the thought. Who wouldn't melt?! He embodied everything that one could look for in a man, he had everything that I had ever dreamed of. Even now, there was a part of me that desperately clung to the plot of the old fairy tale, and I told myself that maybe if I kissed him just one more time... Maybe I should have let him explain...

My beautiful killer. Now I understood: he killed Seryozha. Maybe he killed Dick White too. If not himself, then at least he knew about this murder, had something to do with it, and perhaps ordered it. How it's done? How can you sit like this at some small table in a small Parisian cafe and place an order - first for a cup of coffee, then for a person. Oh yeah, Andre doesn't drink coffee.

He will kill me too. He just needs time. He needs to decide how...

I had no doubt about one thing - he really loved me. Otherwise it was impossible to explain how long he thought and did nothing. All that endless night Andre just sat, looked at me and thought. About what? Maybe about letting me live after all? He loved me. Moreover, he wanted to own me, and therefore now it was difficult for him to simply erase me from his life and from his memory. It was much easier with Seryozha, he hated him. I suddenly remembered that evening when we stood in the library at his mother’s house, and Andre’s eyes burned with undisguised hatred.

“The very thought that someone was with you other than me kills me.”

He wanted to kill him, it wasn't just a wish, it became a plan of action. I couldn’t say exactly how it all happened or what happened, but I could guess. Theories were all I could afford. Seryozha saw Dick Whiter. When? How? I tried to reconstruct that day minute by minute. My hands were unbearably raw, making it difficult to think, but I pushed the pain into the background, pushed it into the top drawer of the chest of drawers, closed the room with pain, and threw the key into the water of a huge lake. This kind of meditation gave me a little respite.

I was standing downstairs in the hall when Seryozha came running. “It will be a surprise,” he said. - Come with me!" Before that he was absent. Looks like he was going out to get some napkins. How long was he gone? Seems like quite a long time. During this time, he not only found napkins, but also a gallery located in a completely different, non-guest part of the house. The gallery in Gabrielle’s house is so far away that you can’t just wander into it by chance on the way to the kitchen. Andre wasn't there either, and I had no idea where he was. I was next to my mother, at least most of the time.

So, everything happened right then. Seryozha saw Dick Whiter, and Andre immediately signed his death warrant. Why? Only because of this! Seryozha saw that a hacker, a criminal wanted all over the world - Dick White - was living comfortably in the house of a noble French family.

So, this is why Andre provoked this whole farewell scene. He probably decided that it would be the easiest way to separate us. First he took me away, and later, near the hospital, Andre met Seryozha. Perhaps this happened by accident. May be. I was just making guesses based on bits of facts. Taking into account the video recording that was shown to me at the police station. Drunk Seryozha, full of questions and the desire to fight. This is an ideal opportunity. How easy it must be to deal with a drunk. And yet... Andre left, practically without laying a finger on Seryozha. And then Seryozha simply disappeared.

No, it's not missing. My mother saw him. This thought pierced me like an electric shock. My mom. Andre is probably not only thinking about me right now. My mom. So he tried to kill her in Avignon? This is impossible, he would not have had enough time, because he was with me. I twisted and moaned, trying to get rid of the ropes on my hands, expecting a blow every second. But it didn't come. But I understood everything. A simple thought, so clear and obvious that it had simply never occurred to me before, made me freeze in place. I tried to calm down, and then raised my head first, then my shoulders. She pulled her hands, tied at the wrists, upward. Oh, it was unbearably painful. I once saw yogis do this trick: they twist their clasped hands over their heads without unclenching their fingers.

- Damn it! – I moaned, regretting that I had never done yoga, only ran and ran. The joints in my shoulders signaled, demanding to stop immediately, but I no longer just locked the pain in a dresser drawer, I buried it in the entire ruins of a destroyed city, my pain lay somewhere in the ruins. I screamed and tried not to think about the fact that I might be causing irreparable harm to my health, but I did it - eventually. With a loud scream, I twisted my bound hands over my head and tore the mask off my face.

Andre was not in the room.

* * *

Of course, he was not there alone, he was never alone. It was stupid to think that a man like Andre could be alone. No, that's not the point. The question is not how many women Andre had before me and together with me, the main thing is that there was always one woman next to him, devoted to him with all her beautiful body and sick soul. Audrey. They knew each other for many years. She was always ready to do anything and more for Andre. More than even he himself wanted - otherwise how to explain where this video came from. Audrey made it, and it’s unlikely that Andre gave her such an order. Photos from the hotel, videos near the hospital, God knows how much more unpublished material. Audrey was obsessed, she constantly played spy, she was sick, and it was difficult to control her. But that doesn't mean she couldn't help Andre. In order to be close to him, Audrey pretended to be a loving bride for his brother. She was entering Gabrielle's house.

Gabriel!

Thoughts poured in one after another, and as I untied the knots with which Andre had tied me and tied me to the bed, the knots of the past also unraveled - in my head. Of course, Gabrielle knew everything, Dick White lived in her house, and Audrey was there often. If you really look at it, Audrey was there much more often alone, without Marco. She had lunch with Gabrielle, bought things, came for tea...

Andre - Audrey - Gabriel. Magnificent, looking like a celestial goddess from Olympus, Gabriel. Rich and noble descendants of an ancient French family. I had no idea what kind of dark things were going on in their house, but I had no doubt that Audrey was always devoted to Andre and served him.

I had already managed to untie one leg and was diligently working on the other when this sound made me freeze in place. I heard a quiet rustling and froze with horror. I knew that my loneliness was temporary and Andre could return at any moment.

But it was only my cat Konstantin. He entered the room, stopped almost at the door and looked at me with a long, cat-like gaze.

- Lord, Kostya! – I whispered. - Hush, hush, darling... Just don’t bring him to me!

The cat seemed to understand me, he jumped onto the bed, sat down at the other end and just froze while I dealt with the second knot. My fingers almost didn’t obey me, my shoulders hurt unbearably, my overstretched joints were numb, but I didn’t care. I forgot about the pain, at least for a while. The wounds will heal if I survive. In the end, the ropes gave way, and I found myself free, albeit with my hands tied.

“Kostya, come here,” I quietly beckoned to the cat. He sat motionless and watched my actions. - Come on, sit down, you cat brute.

I tried to reach the cat, but he stood up and jumped away in the other direction.

“Idiot,” I hissed. -Have you decided to stay? I’ll leave and never come back, do you understand, Konstantin? Come on, come here!

I said the last part louder than I had intended, and then froze, trying to understand what the consequences would be. The house was as quiet as a tomb. Perhaps Andre really left, leaving me, in his opinion, securely tied up, to... say, talk to my father. I had no doubt that their entire family was involved in a strange business that I did not fully understand, one of the stages of which was the death of Seryozha, and the other was Dick Whiter looking into the sky with his fake blue eyes.

"Why you do not believe me?!"

How could he even ask me that? The cat seemed to realize the depth of the threat to leave him alone in Vladimir Rubin’s house, because he suddenly came up to me and allowed me to pick him up. I looked around. It was so difficult to make decisions, especially with a cat in your hands. I never managed to untie my hands. In the movies, heroes unwind knots with such ease just by pulling one end of the rope with their teeth. I almost broke my teeth, but my hands remained tangled. And I stood, looking first at the door, which was slightly opened by the cat, then at the window. The bedroom was on the second floor. With a cat and my hands tied, I won’t be able to climb out the window. I’ll just crash onto the stone path that’s laid out in a circle around the house. Andre will be glad that I committed suicide myself without forcing him to solve another problem. No matter how risky it was, I made up my mind and went to the door. The cat was pulling his hands away, and besides, he suddenly decided to change his mind and began trying to break free. I held him as best I could, moving along the second floor corridor towards the stairs. The plan was to run to the door that led from the kitchen to the garden - it did not have a lock, it was locked from the inside, as if it were a balcony. The problem was what to do with Andre sitting there.

“Be quiet, Kostya,” I muttered, trying to walk down the stairs as silently as possible. It turned out badly, the stairs were wooden, made of some expensive dark wood, and the steps periodically made a creaking sound, and this happened to them at the most unpredictable moment. However, I made it to the living room. It was no longer so quiet below. The TV was muttering something, then I heard the beeping of some electronic device. Every sound made my heart freeze in place, and then start galloping like a maddened wild horse. Andre was here, somewhere in the house. I heard a vague, unintelligible echo of his voice. He is in the kitchen? Crap! I suddenly saw on the sofa in the living room my backpack and phone with a wallet lying nearby. So Andre was going through my things. What could he find there? Never mind.

Why, I wonder, did Audrey try to set me on fire? Was it Andre's will? No, I can't believe it. I remembered how he pulled me out of the car, how he put out the fire in my hands. No, he didn't know about it. She seriously hated Audrey, I became her mortal enemy, and this is impossible to manage, this is impossible to control. Audrey hated me because Andre loved me.

I tiptoed to the sofa and let go of Kostya for a second to grab my backpack and phone. Then she picked up the cat again, and he meowed loudly. The voice in the distance suddenly fell silent, and I went cold. Like a bullet, I ran behind the sofa and squatted down. I did this just in time, because almost immediately Andre’s steps were heard - somewhere from the direction of the kitchen.

– Can you just answer a direct question or not? You say words that don't make any sense to me. – Andre spoke French, therefore, with Gabrielle. - Yes, I don’t care what the consequences will be.

I didn’t breathe, realizing that if he looked at the sofa now and missed the backpack with the phone, everything would be over. Fear deprived me of the ability to control my movements, and at some point my bare leg slid across the parquet.

“Wait a second,” Andre continued in French. I closed my eyes, not having the slightest idea what to do or how to protect myself. Now he will look behind the sofa... I held my breath, when suddenly Kostya escaped from my hands, meowed and jumped from the floor onto the back of the sofa. Andre swore softly, and then his voice began to grow distant again.

- There is nothing. It's just a cat. No, I'm not leaving here.

That was the last thing I heard. As soon as the voice died down, I looked out from behind the sofa and, making sure that Andre had left, rushed to the front door. There was no way to catch Kostya now, and I cried as I ran, thinking that my smart cat had run away to lead his pursuer away from me in the other direction. I grabbed my sneakers and ran out into the street without putting on my shoes. The gate opened from the inside at the touch of a button. I knew that if the house was armed, a signal would immediately ring in it, and therefore I ran along the cold asphalt, not sparing my legs.

I must have been a terrible, frightening sight. A too lightly dressed woman with a frightened, tear-stained face, with tied hands, with sneakers and a backpack in her hands. I probably looked like a rape victim, like in some cheap movie, but real Moscow calmly rushed past, not paying any attention to me. Passers-by turned away, cars didn’t even slow down. And I didn’t meet many people until I managed to get to some big street. Suddenly a yellow taxi with checkered signs and some kind of advertising stopped next to me. I instantly dived into the car and fell into the back seat, as if they were shooting at me, and I was hoping to dodge the heavy fire.

- Problems? – the taxi driver asked after a pause. His voice sounded calm and somehow surprisingly everyday. It seemed like nothing could surprise him. - Call the police?

“No, you don’t need to go to the police,” I answered after some thought. And this answer of mine also did not surprise the taxi driver. He drove a little further and then parked on the side of the road and turned to me. A knife blade flashed in his hands. I screamed, even though the knife wasn’t big. More like a pocket one, one with many blades and even a fork and a nail file.

– Why are you yelling? Help with the rope? – the driver was offended, but not much. My behavior was quite understandable, given the condition in which I got into his car. I nodded and extended my bound hands forward. It took him a few minutes to use his almost dull blade to cut the good, high-quality rope with which Andre had tied me. Once free, I rubbed my wrists and clenched and unclenched my fists several times. Then I pulled my sneakers onto my bare feet and dialed my mother's number. I was afraid of only one thing - that my mother would not answer. She could be busy, she could be free, but she turned off the phone so that she would not be bothered while filming or rehearsal was going on. But she answered.

- Are you okay? – I asked before she could tell me anything. - Where are you?

“I’m in St. Petersburg,” my mother answered in a calm voice. - And what?

“I... I really need to talk to you.” But even more than that, I need you to be as careful as possible. We... are in danger. I can not explain.

“If you can’t explain, don’t explain,” my mother answered, and I got furious because I wasn’t sure at all that she was listening to me.

“Mom, I’ll come to you, but can you promise me that you’ll be with Shura all this time, that you’ll cancel what you’ve planned and lock yourself in the hotel, and wait for me?”

- Lord, what happened again? – she was indignant.

“I’ll come as soon as I can,” I said. - Just promise.

She didn't promise me anything. Who would doubt that. She said that she had a performance in the evening and she simply could not cancel it. But even if I could, I wouldn't. The viewer is waiting! Her only love, whose devotion her mother was ready to maintain throughout her life. She did not cheat on her viewer either with my father or with any of her many lovers. She did not cheat on her viewer even with me. Mom adored the viewer with the same painful passion with which Audrey adored Andre. I zoned out and only then noticed the way the taxi driver was looking at me in the rearview mirror.

- Are you sure you don’t need to go to the police? – he asked again. I shook my head.

“Take me to Bibirevo,” I asked.

* * *

I had little time and almost no energy left, but, strangely enough, my head worked clearer and better than ever. Already in Bibirevo, I asked the taxi driver to stop near an ATM, I took out the credit card from my wallet that Andre gave me. I wasn’t sure that I would be able to get at least some money; after all, the card was French, and I wanted to get cash from a Russian ATM. But I knew the PIN code, they periodically asked for it in stores, and I remembered it. I stood thoughtfully for several moments, trying to answer the question: “How much do you want to take?” I took a thousand euros. The machine thought, then buzzed with something inside and gave me what I required. I smiled and repeated the operation, doubling the amount. Happened. I managed to withdraw seven thousand euros, but problems started on the eighth. The gold card had restrictions, and the screen gave me a message that I had exceeded the daily cash withdrawal limit. I reduced the amount, asked for five hundred - the indifferent ATM spit out another stack of fifty euro bills for me. He stopped there.

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