Jade sat curled up on her couch, her phone resting on the armrest beside her. She stared at the screen, Milan’s latest text glaring back at her:
Milan: “This isn’t a game, Jade. You’re expected to be at work. Now.”
She rolled her eyes, frustration bubbling up inside her. The nerve of them. She couldn’t believe how they thought they could control every aspect of her life. Without giving it a second thought, she typed back a short, cutting response:
Jade: “I quit. Remember that.”
She tossed the phone onto the couch beside her and crossed her arms. For the first time in days, she felt a sense of relief. They can’t dictate my life anymore, she thought firmly.
But her phone buzzed almost immediately. Picking it up, she saw another message from Milan.
Milan: “That’s not how this works, Jade. We don’t approve.”
Her eyes widened, and she let out an incredulous laugh. We don’t approve? She couldn’t believe the arrogance.
Furious, she typed back.
Jade: “I don’t care if you approve or not. I’m done. Stop messaging me.”
She hit send, her heart pounding in defiance. She tossed her phone onto the table and leaned back, closing her eyes. But even as she tried to relax, a small part of her felt uneasy. She knew they wouldn’t take this lightly, and the thought of what they might do next sent a chill down her spine.
In Moscow, the mood was grim. The three men sat in a lavish meeting room at the top of one of the city’s tallest skyscrapers. The cold winter light filtered through the windows, casting sharp shadows across their faces.
Milan’s jaw was tight as he read Jade’s latest message, his fingers gripping the phone like he wanted to crush it.
“She doesn’t care if we approve?” Enzo said, reading over his shoulder. His tone was light, but there was an edge of annoyance in his voice. “She’s more stubborn than I thought.”
Thiago, lounging in one of the leather chairs, let out a humorless laugh. “She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. But she’s playing a dangerous game.”
Milan’s icy-blue eyes narrowed as he set his phone down on the table. “She’s testing us. She doesn’t realize the consequences of walking away.”
“She thinks she can just quit,” Enzo said, shaking his head. “Like she’s leaving a part-time job. She has no idea how deep she’s in.”
Thiago leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What do we do now? Drag her back kicking and screaming?”
“No,” Milan said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “We don’t stoop to that level. Not yet. Let her think she’s won for now. But she’ll come back to us. One way or another.”
Enzo smirked faintly. “And how do you plan to make that happen?”
Milan’s lips curved into a cold smile. “Let’s remind her that she’s still connected to us. No matter how far she runs, we’re never far behind.”
That night, Jade was curled up in bed, the events of the day still swirling in her mind. She had stood her ground against them, but the feeling of victory was bittersweet. A nagging sense of unease lingered, like a storm brewing just out of sight.
She drifted into a restless sleep, only to be jolted awake by a sharp knock at the door. Groggy and confused, she checked the time—11:45 p.m. Who could be knocking at this hour?
Sliding out of bed, she pulled on her robe and made her way to the door. Peeking through the peephole, she saw a man in a courier uniform holding a small package.
“Who is it?” she asked, her voice cautious.
“Courier service, ma’am,” the man replied politely. “Package delivery from Moscow.”
Her heart skipped a beat. From Moscow? Her thoughts immediately went to Milan, Enzo, and Thiago. What were they up to now?
Opening the door slightly, she accepted the package, a small, neatly wrapped box with her name scrawled across the top in elegant handwriting.
“Who sent this?” she asked, but the courier simply shrugged.
“It was arranged anonymously, ma’am,” he said. “Have a good night.”
Jade closed the door, clutching the box tightly as she made her way back to the kitchen. She set it down on the counter and stared at it for a moment, debating whether she should even open it.
Her curiosity won out. Carefully, she peeled back the wrapping to reveal a smaller box inside, embossed with the name of a famous Moscow confectionery. Opening it, she found a selection of pryaniki—traditional Russian gingerbread cookies—beautifully arranged and accompanied by a small card.
The card was simple, with only two words written in Milan’s sharp handwriting:
“Sweet dreams.”