SoHo was already buzzing with life by the time Elara stepped out of the cab. The sidewalks were full of stylish people—tourists, influencers, artists, and brunch-lovers mingling in a chaotic harmony. The air was thick with the scent of roasted espresso, fresh pastries, and something vaguely floral wafting from the boutique florist on the corner.
Elara adjusted the strap of her black dress, suddenly all too aware of the slit brushing against her thigh with every step. Maya had texted her five times already asking where she was, but Elara had stopped responding after the third dramatic GIF.
She spotted Maya outside their usual café, Lune et Miel, seated at a wrought iron table with a mimosa already in hand, oversized sunglasses shielding half her face. She looked like she belonged in a French film.
Maya looked up and gasped. "Oh my God. Is that Elara Dawson?"
Elara smirked as she approached. "You're insufferable."
Maya stood up and air-kissed both her cheeks. "Insufferably fabulous. Look at you! I was right, wasn't I? That dress is criminal. You look like heartbreak in heels."
"You should be charged for your metaphors."
They sat down, and almost immediately, a waiter approached. Elara ordered a vanilla latte and avocado toast. Maya added a second mimosa to her tab without hesitation.
Soon, the table was filled with clinking glasses and laughter as the two women caught up on everything from work to petty gossip. Maya recounted how one of her coworkers had tried to flirt with their boss and ended up getting transferred to a satellite office in New Jersey.
"Serves her right. You can't flirt with a man who wears socks with loafers and expect to get promoted," Maya declared.
Elara chuckled, sipping her latte. "Some people play checkers while the rest of us are playing chess."
"Girl, you're not even playing. You're sitting on the sidelines with no boyfriend, no dates, nothing. You're going to die single at this rate."
Elara rolled her eyes. "I have standards."
"You have walls. There's a difference."
Elara opened her mouth to retort but ended up laughing instead. Maya always knew how to tease her, and as annoying as it could be, she appreciated the honesty. Their brunch went on with that same rhythm—sarcastic jabs, heartfelt confessions, and carefree laughter. It was the kind of morning Elara lived for.
After splitting a strawberry tart for dessert, they hugged goodbye outside the café.
"Text me when you get home, okay?" Maya said, adjusting her sunglasses.
"Yes, mother."
"I'm serious. The last thing I need is to find out you were kidnapped by a man with too much cologne."
"If he has good credit, I might go willingly."
They both laughed before parting ways.
Elara decided to walk. It was still early afternoon, the sun warm on her shoulders, and the breeze was gentle enough to keep her comfortable. She took the longer route through SoHo's cobblestone streets, enjoying the scenery—art galleries, bookshops, musicians performing on the sidewalk.
It wasn't until she was about four blocks from her apartment that she noticed him.
The man had been loitering near a bus stop, but the moment she passed, he peeled away and began walking beside her.
"Hey, gorgeous," he said, voice slick like oil. "You got a name?"
Elara didn't break her stride. "Not interested."
"Come on, don't be like that. I just wanna talk."
She quickened her pace, eyes fixed on the next corner.
But he followed.
"I said no," she said firmly, stopping in her tracks. "Back off."
His hand darted forward, brushing her elbow, and Elara recoiled instinctively.
Before she could shout, before she could even react—
A blur of movement came from behind.
A fist collided with the man's jaw with a sickening crunch. He stumbled, fell backward, and collapsed onto the sidewalk with a groan. People nearby gasped, some pulling out their phones, but the man who'd thrown the punch stood tall, unfazed.
Elara turned in stunned silence.
He was tall—at least 6'3—with broad shoulders and a powerful build wrapped in a black coat over a dark shirt and trousers. Sharp jawline, pale skin, and piercing icy eyes that stared down at the man as if debating whether he should strike again.
He looked like he'd stepped out of a gothic painting. And yet, the moment his gaze softened and met hers, Elara felt her pulse skip.
"Are you all right?" he asked, voice low and smooth, like velvet over steel.
Elara nodded slowly. "I think so."
The man on the ground scrambled to his feet and ran off without another word. Elara's rescuer didn't even glance back at him.
He turned to her fully now. "I'm Nikolai. Nikolai Volkov."
Volkov? The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it.
She blinked. "Elara. Thank you... for stepping in. He was persistent."
Nikolai's lips curled into a faint smile. "Creep like that doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you."
Elara's face flushed at the intensity of his tone.
He stepped back slightly, as if trying not to overwhelm her. "Would you like me to walk you home? Just in case he circles back."
She hesitated.
Every rational thought told her to say no. But her instincts—the ones that had screamed at her during the encounter—were quiet now. Completely still.
Something about him made her feel safe.
She nodded. "Sure. It's just a few blocks."
They walked side by side in silence. He didn't push her to talk. Didn't try to make small talk or fish for her number. He just stayed close, eyes scanning the street ahead.
Despite the quiet, there was a strange… energy between them. Not the uncomfortable kind. It was just charged. Like the air before a thunderstorm.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His profile was sharp, almost too beautiful to be real. But there was something in his eyes—something dark. Not cruel. Just... heavy.
When they reached her apartment building, she turned to him.
"Thank you again. For everything."
He nodded once. "Of course. I'm just glad I was nearby."
She pressed the elevator button.
He didn't leave. He stayed rooted in place, watching her.
As the elevator doors opened, she stepped inside and turned to face him.
Nikolai gave a small nod. "Get inside safe."
The doors started to close, and their eyes locked in that final second.
Then he was gone.
Elara leaned back against the elevator wall, heart pounding.
What the hell just happened?
Elara closed the door behind her and let out a deep breath, leaning back against the wood as the quiet of her apartment wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. For a moment, she just stood there, heart still thudding with residual adrenaline. The scent of home—vanilla candles and lavender fabric softener—slowly grounded her again.
She slipped off her sneakers, wiggled her toes with relief, and padded across the wooden floor into her living room. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the windows, catching the faint sheen of her sweat. She reached for her phone on the coffee table, her mind still replaying what had happened just minutes ago.
With slightly trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone and typed out a message to Maya.
Elara: You will not believe what just happened.
The typing bubbles appeared almost immediately.
Maya: Spill.
Elara: Some creep followed me after brunch. He kept trying to talk to me and then tried to touch me.
Maya: WHAT?! Are you okay?
Elara: I'm fine. Some guy showed up out of nowhere and hit him. Like actually hit him in the face.
Maya: WHO? Wait—did he ask for your number??
Elara: No.
Maya: Did YOU ask for HIS number?!
Elara: No… why would I? That'd be weird. He just saved me from a creep, not exactly first-date material.
Maya: ELARA. Oh my God, you're such a grandma. Grandmas flirt more than you do. You're going to die single.
Elara rolled her eyes so hard she felt it in her temples. Her fingers flew across the screen.
Elara: He was just being nice. That doesn't mean I throw myself at him.
Maya: He had hero energy and you wasted it. What if another creep shows up tomorrow? Huh? Who's gonna save you then? The building manager??
Elara huffed a soft laugh and shook her head, tossing her phone onto the bed.
"Dramatic," she mumbled to herself as she made her way into her bedroom. She peeled off her jeans and shirt and changed into an oversized t-shirt, her body grateful for the comfort. As she sat on the edge of the bed, her mind wandered.
Nikolai Volkov.
His name echoed in her thoughts, sharp and distinct like a dagger dipped in honey. There was something about the way he said it, each syllable crisp and commanding. Russian. That accent wasn't subtle—not in the least. It laced every word with a velvet growl, deep and smooth, like an old violin. It made her shiver. Not in fear. No. In something far more dangerous.
She remembered the way he'd looked at her—not just glanced, but looked. Like he'd seen something in her worth protecting. His eyes had been cold when he hit the creep, but they'd softened, just barely, when he turned to her. Like she mattered in that moment. Like she was something to be guarded.
Elara buried her face in her pillow and groaned. "You're being ridiculous," she whispered into the fabric. "You're never going to see him again."
Still, she couldn't stop picturing him. Tall. Broad shoulders. That jet-black coat that fluttered slightly as he walked. The way he'd kept pace with her silently, his hands tucked in his pockets, eyes alert like a shadow watching over her. And then… how he waited until the elevator doors closed before leaving. He hadn't said much, hadn't asked anything of her, and yet his presence lingered.
Her pillow muffled another groan.
God, what would have happened if he hadn't shown up? The thought made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
Elara reached for her phone again, thinking maybe she'd write something down in her notes just to get him out of her head, maybe a character sketch—Mysterious Russian Stranger saves girl in distress—but stopped when she saw another text from Maya.
Maya: At least describe him for me so I can dream on your behalf.
Elara smiled faintly, her thumbs dancing across the screen.
Elara: Tall. Dark. Russian. Mysterious. Looks like he walks through fire and doesn't flinch. Quiet, but not in a weird way. Just… still. Eyes like frozen steel. He didn't smile, but I think he could, and it would probably destroy someone.
Maya: STOP. I'm ovulating.
Elara burst out laughing, clutching the pillow to her chest. For all her dramatics, Maya knew how to make her feel safe, seen, and a little silly.
She let the laughter fade, sinking into the quiet again. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she whispered his name one more time.
"Nikolai Volkov."
A name like a warning.
A man like a storm.
And yet somehow, she felt like the ground had just begun to tremble beneath her feet.