Lada Shirokova dreamed of a real fairy tale. But her innocence was taken by a man she felt nothing for except disgust. And he didn’t stop there—he decided that now Lada belonged to him. Not as a person, but as a thing. Like someone else’s property.
Only Lada isn’t going to give up. Let him try first to find her. Let him go to hell and marry his “bog swamp bogey.” And let him cross out from his head that mysterious stranger in a mask.
***
— Don’t twitch! Lift your T-shirt! — iron hands squeezed the girl’s shoulders.
— Get away from me, Arkhipov! — Lada spat at him in anger.
— Lada, don’t push me. You’ll regret it. My girlfriend has a scar on her back. If you don’t have it, I’ll leave.
— Are you even normal, Arkhipov?! I don’t have any scars!
But his heavy body already pressed Lada into the wall, and his insistent fingers slid under the fabric.
— You’re lying, girl, — a breath against her nape burned the skin, — you’re mine. Do you understand? Mine!
***