Angel from Hell

The night cast its heavy shadows over the streets of Moscow, as if the city itself held its breath, anticipating something beyond the reach of the senses. Irina stood before Dmitri's old house once more, but she was no longer the same woman who had first set foot on this ground.

Months of mystery, attraction, pain, and love had torn her heart apart, only to piece it back together in ways she couldn't comprehend. But now she knew the truth—or at least enough of it to realize Dmitri was far more than a man with a dark past.

Irina (thinking): "This is the end… or maybe the beginning. I don't know if my heart can bear this."

She pushed the door open cautiously, finding the interior illuminated by the familiar glow of candlelight. The atmosphere hadn't changed: the same scent of old wood and the same silence tinged with fear. Yet she felt something different—perhaps because she no longer feared the unknown. She had become part of it.

There he was, seated in the middle of the room on a simple wooden chair, clad in his usual dark coat, his eyes fixed on the flickering flame before him. He didn't turn when she entered, but he spoke as if he'd sensed her presence all along.