Page 7 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

“I’ve never seen it before,” I say, looking out of the window at people walking along the beachfront. San Francisco is such a beautiful place. I wish I had time to enjoy the beaches like other people do. Maybe, after today, I will have more time. If Anton really has the money, I can live a normal life. I can have some free time. I might even start studying again. When Mom got sick, I left college and focused on her, being there for her as much as I could.

After she passed, I took some short courses, just to get the jobs I have now.

My life will be completely different if I can clear those debts.

“We’re here,” the driver says.

“Oh, that was even quicker than I expected.” I tap my phone against the payment tab on the console in his cab. On the app, I add a ten percent tip.

“Thanks, young lady, you have a wonderful afternoon.”

“You too,” I say, already climbing out of the car.

My stomach is knotting at the idea of seeing my father.

I just want to get this over and done with.

Outside the building, I look up. It’s big. And it’s really sharp.

There are slick, glossed black letters on the front of the mirrored glass walls—ROSTOV.

With one last deep breath to try and ease my nerves, I walk into the foyer.

There is a black marble desk with a pretty blonde girl sitting behind it. I walk over to her. “Hi, I’m here to meet with my father. Um, Anton Abakumov.”

“Hi, you must be Lara, you can go right on up to the top floor. This is your temporary key code for the elevator. It will only work once.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” I say, taking a very crisp piece of white paper from her that she’s printed five numbers onto.

“Instead of selecting a floor number, just type this into the keypad,” she nods when I look up at her, confused.

“Okay, thank you.”

The elevator is like a sensory deprivation chamber. Its black mirrored walls and black marble floor are ominous and sleek. It matches the foyer.

I punch the code into the keypad as she instructed, and the doors slide closed. A smooth, but robotic voice says, “Thank you. Top floor.”

I wonder what in the world my father is doing in a place like this.

For a moment, I wonder what it would be like to actually have a dad again.

When I was much younger, he was my favorite person in the entire world. When Mom got sick, he changed, and when we lost her, he changed even more. Now he’s not someone I want to be around. He uses people and manipulates everyone around him.

He’s selfish.

I wish I could just have that dad back, the one I knew when I was young. But then again, maybe I was too young to see who he really was back then. Maybe he was always this selfish asshole that he is now.

The elevator doors slide quietly open, and I step out into a massive open-plan space.

Whoever designed this building loves power and black.

But despite the very masculine decor, clean and minimalist, the long wall of windows floods the entire place with bright, natural light.

As soon as I step into the place, I feel a sense of openness. Like I can breathe for a moment.

In the distance, there are three men talking.

One of them is my father.

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