While I silently packed my things, keeping my eyes down, Maxim explained with his fists to the guy and his friend that that was not how one should behave. I heard hits, muffled groans, the sounds of someone falling. And I stood, pressed against the wall, a lump in my throat. I was amazed, stunned, disarmed by how one guy, smaller than them in build, calmly, precisely, silently defeated two big, drunk men so quickly. It was something more than just a fight. It was a silent promise — no one would ever dare behave like that with me again.
Later, I learned that he occasionally participated in no-rules fights. That explained a lot: his precise movements, cold restraint, the look in his eyes — full of tension and inner silence, like the surface of water before a storm.
Then I started a new life at the club. I lived and worked there until early autumn. It became my refuge, my fortress, my island in an ocean of pain. They assigned me my own room from those available. It locked, and I didn't have to fear being disturbed. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe. Sometimes drunk clients tried to open my door instead of the neighboring ones — idiots who got the doors wrong. But it happened rarely, and no one harassed me. After all, Maxim was behind me. And that was enough.
After a conversation with the owner, I realized I needed to go back and study properly. I was even afraid to think about it — how to go to institute again, look the professors in the eyes, prove that I was not lost, not zero, not a mistake. But he helped me. Believed in me. Spoke calmly, reasonably. He didn't persuade me — he just supported me. And I managed. That autumn, I returned to my studies and started living in the dormitory again. A new chapter. A blank page. And for the first time, I wrote it myself.
Until that time, I worked for him. At first, I was given the job of a regular dishwasher — hands in soapy water, slippery ceramics, fatigue, but honest work, without fear, without pain. But after a while, I was promoted to bartender's assistant. It was completely different — interaction, movement, the evening hustle, the living rhythm in which I began to come alive. I didn't like how everything was arranged, and I told Maxim directly. I thought it was the end. That he would fire me. Throw me out. I prepared myself internally, my heart tightened, my throat dried.
But he said: "Share your ideas." And I, my voice trembling, told him everything. And he listened. Seeing my organizational skills, he gave me a trial period as manager. I was amazed by the trust he placed in me. As if he saw in me what I hadn't even noticed in myself. And I didn't let him down. Not in anything. Since then, every evening or on weekends, I held that position. I was the manager. In this club, his club. In the place where my new life once began. The place where I first realized: I was not broken. I was worth something.
Of course, after my rescue, I tried to win over my savior again. A silly, naive hope — maybe he would respond at least a little, seeing my loyalty, my effort? A spark of hope arose in my soul, fragile, yet so necessary. I clung to every glance, every word, trying to convince myself that anything was possible. But he immediately said, cutting it off, and I understood I didn't have a single chance:
"For me, in my world, there is only one woman. And even though she is not with me now, it does not mean anyone else has a chance."
His words hit like a sentence. Cold, firm, emotionless, like an icy stream crashing on my broken heart. As if he closed the door, leaving not even a crack for a glimmer of hope or any chance of warmth. The smile on my face faded slowly, and inside everything tightened into a lump, like a bitter knot of uncertainty and disappointment. For the first time, I realized: his heart was not a battlefield to conquer. It was already someone else's territory, sacred and unreachable for me.
Later, I learned his sad story. The story of a love that did not save him but destroyed him. The woman he once loved — truly, wholeheartedly, without reservation — shattered his world. A world he had built not on sand, but solidly, slowly, carefully, from bricks of trust, care, loyalty. He poured his soul into their relationship, as if creating a temple of love. And she… destroyed it all in an instant, like an earthquake toppling the strongest building.
Every memory of her was like a wound. Not a scratch, no — a deep cut that did not heal but hurt with every movement. And the worst part was she did not disappear. No. She continued to live somewhere in the back of his memory, like a ghost — painful, intrusive, surfacing at the worst possible moment.
And then she returned. Simply returned, as if she had never broken his heart. Smiling, as if it was all a misunderstanding. As if everything that happened — not pain, but a silly mistake. And she did not come alone. She brought her daughter, looking him in the eyes and boldly claiming that she had remained faithful all this time… and that Mary was his.
I did not believe her. Not a word. She seemed not only a traitor but a master of lies — brazen, cold-blooded, insanely confident. Her smile was too sweet, cloying — like a dessert hiding poison. Too perfect to be real. And in her eyes — no remorse, no pain, no love. Only a cold game. She handled emotions as a skilled card cheat handled cards — skillfully, quickly, always for victory. Not for love. For gain.
When she came again — now as a couple with Maxim — I was overtaken by hatred and rage, wild, bitter, burning like molten metal inside. It was a feeling that seemed to consume me from within, making every cell vibrate with tension and anger. We quarreled, despite Maxim's requests to treat her like his queen. To me, it sounded like mockery, a joke. A queen? After everything? After betrayal, deceit, and pain?
When she abruptly left, I thought she was going to complain. Especially when she started theatrically, as if on purpose, shouting his name. Once she got him to appear, I was sure — now there would be a scandal, a storm of emotions, and mutual accusations. But the girl suddenly collapsed on the spot, like a marionette with cut strings, and fainted.
Could it really have been because of me? Had I driven her to lose consciousness? For the first time in a long while, my conscience awakened fully. Perhaps I should not have quarreled with her? These thoughts tore me apart, causing heavy guilt and regret. They did not leave me. They burned like acid, eating away at my peace and giving not a moment of rest.
"Maxim is here, he's calling you," says one of the staff, giving me a look of uncertainty… and a little pity. In his eyes, I see a reflection of my confusion and fear.
I stay silent. Stand up and go to him as if to the scaffold. Step by step, like under the guillotine. I don't know what to expect. Most importantly — I don't know if Katrin has told him about our conversation. My heart races wildly, as if trying to break free, while my thoughts wander in a labyrinth of anxiety and doubt.
I knock on the door. Hearing that I may enter, I step into the office. The air feels thick, tense, like before a storm. As if every word said here could change everything forever.
"Sit," the man orders roughly. His voice is cold, commanding, without a hint of softness or understanding.
I have no choice but to obey. I sit, lowering my eyes like a schoolgirl before an angry teacher, feeling the weight of his gaze and my own vulnerability.
"What happened then?" he asks, looking straight at me. His gaze — a blade. No right to lie. His words are not merely a question but a challenge, a demand for the truth.
"That day I approached her and first began insulting her," I admit quietly, meeting his eyes. "She started responding the same way…"
My voice trembles, betraying the knot of anxiety in my throat. It is not easy. My heart beats rapidly, tightening into an unpleasant lump — I feel a thin thread of fear stretched to the limit. But I cannot lie. I have no right. If she has already told him everything, any attempt to evade the truth will make me, in his eyes, not just guilty but a liar. And that is the worst.
"I asked you not to touch Katrin!" he yells so sharply that the air in the room seems to shake.
His palm slams onto the table with a crash, and the sound makes everything inside me jump. The muffled hit echoes in the silence, and I flinch instinctively, as if the blow landed not on the tabletop but on my nerves.
My heart… it seems to stop. Pauses for a moment, skipping a beat — heavy, muffled, alarming. I feel a cold wave of fear run down my spine, leaving goosebumps behind.
Maxim hardly looks at me — only tension, anger, disappointment in his eyes. And something else, which makes me especially uneasy. As if I crossed a boundary he silently requested, but I did not hear.
I sit, not knowing what to say, how to breathe, how to restore the calm that existed between us just a minute ago. If it even existed…
"What did she tell you?" I ask, afraid to meet his eyes. Shame, pain, fear. In every word — hope and fear of being misunderstood.
"Essentially — nothing. She said you mentioned the past, me and her, without specifics. Nothing more," he answers, calming slightly. His voice is still tense, but a faint shadow of relief appears. As if with his words, it becomes slightly easier in my chest, like a tight spring inside releases even for a moment, allowing a deeper breath. Although the anxiety does not leave — it hides somewhere low in my stomach, persistently reminding me: it is not over.
So, she didn't betray me. Did not expose me.
I am stunned. My heart seems to freeze for a second before thudding again in my chest. This girl, who had every reason to unleash her anger on me, could have accused me of everything at the first opportunity. She had every right to portray me as a monster… but she remains silent.
It is unexpected. Shocking. I feel something inside tremble, like a crack in the familiar picture of the world. I am overcome with a strange feeling — a mix of relief, guilt, and embarrassment. Unfairly forgotten warmth breaks through distrust, awakening a poignant longing.
Why did she do this? Out of pity? Nobility? Or is it much more complicated?
Her silence does not just save me — it throws me off balance, forcing me to rethink many things. The world suddenly becomes a little less black-and-white. And that makes it scarier.