Angel from Hell

The sun had set over Saint Petersburg, leaving the sky painted in hues of orange and gold, hesitating before surrendering to the dark. The city exhaled into the night, its antique streetlights casting ghostly shadows across the quiet streets.

Inside Dmitri's apartment, silence enveloped the space, punctuated only by Irina's uneven breaths. She sat on the leather sofa, clutching a blanket around her slender frame, her eyes darting to every corner of the room as if searching for an escape.

The room was expansive yet suffocating. The dark wallpaper and heavy, classic furniture asserted their dominance over the space. A fireplace flickered in the corner, radiating a soft warmth, though Irina felt a chill deep within her that no fire could thaw. The table before her bore the remnants of an untouched dinner: a half-filled wine glass and an empty bottle beside it.

Her mind raced, retracing the steps that had led her here, to this man. "How did I get here? How did I become a prisoner of his words and his gaze?"

Irina (to herself):

"Every word he says feels like a promise, but behind it hides a threat. How do I confront someone who makes me feel like I'm breathing and suffocating at the same time?"

The silence was broken by the heavy sound of Dmitri's footsteps as he entered the room. He wore a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and dark trousers that emphasized his tall frame. His piercing eyes gleamed with an unplaceable intensity as he poured himself a glass of wine, never breaking eye contact with her.