"I think I might have dropped it somewhere by mistake."
Niamph froze, the color draining from her face. Her heart began to pound, each thud echoing in her ears like a warning bell. No... no no no. Her breath caught.
"Wh-what?" she whispered, voice trembling, fear lacing each syllable. "How?"
"I don't know... I kept it in my clutch. Maybe it slipped out without me realizing. But Niamph-don't panic," Aiofi rushed to say, her voice tight with guilt yet full of determination. "Tomorrow I'll go to the same organization office and look for it. Every corner. I promise I'll find it."
Niamph slowly sat down on the edge of her bed, her mind spinning with all the worst-case scenarios. Her belly dance ID wasn't just a card-it was her identity in a world she kept hidden. If the wrong hands found it...
She ran a shaky hand through her hair and forced herself to take a breath. Stay calm. Think positive. No one's found it yet. It could still be there.
"Okay..." she exhaled, her voice low and strained. "Fine. Just... just find it, Aiofi. Please. I-I can't afford this."
Aiofi softer her tone more to calm her down.
"I will niamph.. I will.. don't overthink okay."
Niamph cut the call and drew in a shaky breath, but it did little to steady the uneasy churning in her stomach. Her eyes drifted around the room, searching for anything to anchor her spiraling thoughts-until they landed on the peace lily sitting quietly on the windowsill. She frowned.
The flowers had withered.
That had never happened before. Especially not in spring.
A sharp pang shot through her chest as she stepped closer. This plant wasn't just a plant-it was a living memory. Her mother had given it to her when she was just seven. The image was still vivid in her mind: she had leapt into the lake to rescue a drowning kitten, and when she returned home soaked and shivering, her mother's eyes had brimmed with pride and love. That evening, she had handed her the delicate lily in a small clay pot.
"My sweet pea," her mother had whispered, brushing back her dripping hair, "this plant represents purity and innocence. Someone very special gave it to me. And now, it's yours. Keep it close, always. Hmm?"
Niamph could still hear her voice, feel the warmth of her palm cupping her cheek.
She had cared for the plant ever since-through storms, travels, and time. Even now, despite the chaotic rush of coming to Russia, she hadn't left it behind. But seeing it now, its petals curled and fading, a deep ache gripped her.
What if it meant something?
Her fingers brushed the brittle white blossom with reverence, as if trying to revive it with love alone. Then, slowly, she pressed her hand over her heart, trying to silence the dread whispering inside her. Don't think the worst. It's just a flower. It might be due to the climate of an changed country...
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"Conor, are you even trying to search for our daughter? She's not answering any of our calls!" Aira screamed, her voice sharp with panic.
Conor sat on the living room couch, rubbing his temples. He understood one thing clearly--cara is relentless she must have left on her own.He had clearly forbidden her from going to Russia, but she never listened.
"What if something happens to her, Conor? My delicate child!" Aira sobbed, sinking beside him in despair.
Conor sighed, frustration threading through his voice. "I tried filing a complaint with the police, but they said she probably left on her own. Since she's an adult and isn't responding, there's nothing they can do."
In the kitchen, Jenny stood frozen, her blood boiling. Unbelievable. Not once have they mentioned about Niamph. Niamph is absent too-it's been four days now-and not a single word from anyone. But she shouldn't be surprised. Aira never cared, and Conor... well, he was proving himself no better.
And Jenny knew in her gut-Cara must've taken Niamph with her.
She couldn't hold it in any longer. She marched into the living room.
"Ma'am, sir," she said, her voice tight with restrained anger, "Niamph baby has been missing too. It's been four days. Please, you have to look for her as well."
Aira gasped as if suddenly remembering a forgotten grocery item. "Oh my God, Conor! That girl must be behind this! My baby would never leave without telling me. It must be that little leech! She must've pestered Cara into taking her along, just to escape!"
Conor fell silent, shame flickering briefly across his face. He hadn't even noticed his own daughter was gone. The thought stung-but Aira's words were already spinning webs of disappointment in his mind. If Niamph wanted to go somewhere, why wouldn't she tell him? Why go to such lengths?
Jenny stared at them in disbelief. How could they be so blind and heartless?
"No, ma'am," Jenny said firmly, voice cracking from the weight of suppressed emotions. "Niamph would never do that. She's never stepped outside this house without your permission. She's not the type to just disappear."
Aira turned sharply toward her. "Oh, really? Now the maid is lecturing me? What are you saying is that--it's Cara, who is at fault?"
Jenny's fists clenched. "Cara ma'am has left this house many times in the middle of the night. Sir, you know it too. Once, she left to go clubbing without telling anyone!"
"Shut up!" Aira exploded. "One more word and you're out of this house! Stay in your place!"
Jenny clenched her fist tightly but didn't retort back because her silence isn't out of fear-it is for Niamph. She couldn't leave that girl to fend for herself in the middle of these heartless people.
Conor stood up abruptly, "Enough. We'll deal with this when they come back."
Jenny stared at him in disappointment, hurt blooming deep in her chest for that sweet child.
"Such a dissapoinnted in the name of a father"
Jenny thought bitterly.
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Cara struck a sizzling, borderline scandalous pose for the camera. Her body arched with practiced seduction, lips parted just enough to tease. The director, Roman, clapped excitedly from the side, hooting with enthusiasm.
"Amazing, dorogoy, amazing! Just like that-yeahhh!"
Even the photographer was starting to shift uncomfortably behind the lens. But Cara didn't care. She knew exactly what she was doing-and who was watching.
After a few more shots, the shoot finally wrapped. The crew began to pack up.
Cara sauntered over to Roman with a coy smile. "Was that enough, sir?"
Roman, a rotund man with a crooked smile and greed glinting in his eyes, let out a pleasant laugh. "More than enough, darling. You were a fire today. Come-give me a hug."
A flicker of disgust passed through Cara's eyes, but she quickly masked it with a sugary smile. She had a goal-fame-and she would do whatever it took. So, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, pretending not to notice his lingering touch.
Just then, Roman's assistant approached and handed him an envelope. His eyes lit up instantly, and he snatched it eagerly as if a child snatching his favourite candy.
Cara, watching his reaction with curiosity, tilted her head and asked in a sweet tone, "What's that, sir?"
Roman beamed, holding the envelope like it was gold. "An invitation, dorogoy. The invitation. I've been waiting for it all year."
She raised a brow. "Must be some party."
Roman chuckled knowingly. "This isn't just some party. It's an elite event. Only the crème de la crème-billionaires and powerhouses-get in. And you know who the chief guest is every year?"
He paused for effect.
"Mikhail Cozlov. The Czar himself."
Cara's breath caught. Her eyes widened.
Him. The very name sent a thrill down her spine. She have imagine so many ways she would meet him---may be this time fate has given her this opportunity. After all if you want something from your heart then the whole universe helps you to reach it.
She took a step closer to Roman, her smile turning sultry, fingers trailing across his fat stomach.
"Sir," she purred, "can I come too? You wouldn't mind, would you?"
Roman looked at her, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard under her touch. She was intoxicating-and he was already lost.
"Uh... of course," he stammered. "I... I need a partner, after all."
Cara's smile deepened. Perfect.
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Mikhail leaned his head against the high back of the rocking chair, the room cloaked in darkness. Only the faint creak of the chair and the occasional flicker of candlelight disturbed the silence. His eyes were closed-but peace was a luxury he no longer possessed.
Lately, even the act of blinking felt like a curse. Every time his lids shut, she invaded his mind.
That nymph.
The memory of her swaying hips and fluid grace haunted him like a fever dream. Her navel, the hypnotic arc of her waist...
His eyes flew open with a jerk. A shiver ghosted down his spine, goosebumps rippling across his skin.
Him.
The Czar. The man who watched the blood spill without so much as a blink. The man whose hands had ended lives with merciless precision. And yet-she had reduced him to this trembling shell.
He growled under his breath and snatched his phone from the side table. With a swipe, he dialed.
Leonid answered on the second ring. "Yes, Czar?"
"Find the belly dancer," Mikhail said, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath. "Within days. I want everything."
He didn't wait for a reply-just hung up.
A sharp breath left him, chest rising and falling. His steps echoed across the marbled floor as he strode toward the far room.
He opened the door.
The sculpture stood in the center, veiled in silk and shadows. Her likeness. Her form. Frozen in time.
He approached slowly, like a predator nearing its prey.
His fingers brushed the stone lips beneath the veil-cold and lifeless, yet too close to the heat she made him feel.
"You dared to make me lose control," he whispered, his voice rough with something between reverence and rage.
"And now..." his hand curled around the sculpted waist, "...you will pay for it."
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Niamph stood at the gates of the convent, her eyes wide with awe. The ancient stone walls bathed in sunlight, the soft chime of bells in the distance, and the gentle laughter of children created an atmosphere that felt untouched by the harshness of the outside world.
She raised her phone and clicked a picture, hoping to capture even a fraction of the peace she felt in this moment.
Inhaling deeply, the fresh scent of blooming flowers and old wood filled her lungs, grounding her. A soft smile curved her lips.
This feels like a dream.
She glanced toward the courtyard where a group of nuns were gathered, teaching children with warm smiles and open hands. They spoke of Jesus-his life, his sacrifices, his boundless compassion. The serenity in their voices felt like a balm to her weary heart.
I could spend my whole life here, she thought.
Drawn by an unseen force, she walked toward one of the nuns standing nearby and greeted her with a gentle smile. "This is really beautiful."
The nun returned the smile with quiet warmth, her eyes kind. "Indeed it is. You may go inside, child. There are many paintings and stories within those walls. I think you'll find them comforting."
Niamph nodded softly, her heart swelling.
The nun led Niamph through the arched doorway into the silent, sun-drenched interior of the convent.
As they walked deeper, Niamph's eyes widened at the sight around her-walls adorned with mythological paintings, each one like a portal into another realm.
Each stroke of color carried weight-some heavy with pain, others glowing with grace. These weren't mere artworks. They were truths wrapped in brushstrokes, each whispering its own message to the soul brave enough to listen.
But one painting drew Niamph in like a silent scream.
She stood frozen in front of it.
A devil-a creature of shadows with eyes like dying stars-was shown holding a glowing angel in a cage of blackened thorns. The angel's wings were torn, yet her face glowed with sorrow, not fear. It was a brutal image... yet hauntingly tender.
There was something about it. Her fingers itched to reach out, to touch the meaning buried behind those colors.
The nun quietly observed her.
"That one..." the nun said gently, stepping closer. "That is the painting of Lucifer Finding the Lost Angel."
Niamph turned to her slowly, eyes still clouded with confusion and awe. "I've never heard of that story," she whispered.
The nun's eyes glimmered with something ancient.
"It's a forgotten tale. They say even the Devil was once capable of love. He found an angel-pure and radiant-lost on earth. But instead of setting her free... he caged her. Not out of cruelty, but out of fear. Fear that the moment he let her go, she'd vanish. And with her... the only light that had ever touched him."
The nun continued, her voice soft like a hymn echoing through a forgotten chapel.
"This painting shows that love is not always filled with roses... sometimes it comes in the form of thorns too. Painful. Possessive. Twisted. But still... love."
Niamph remained silent, her gaze locked on the caged angel.
The way the devil held her-not with anger, but desperation. As if she were the last fragment of beauty he could still claim. As if letting her go meant losing himself completely.
A strange ache settled in Niamph's chest.
The nun tilted her head slightly, observing the shift in her expression. "Did the painting remind you of something, child?"
She snapped out of her thoughts, swallowing the lump rising in her throat.
Niamph forced a smile, but her eyes betrayed her. "No, just... it's beautiful. That's all."
As they walked away, Niamph glanced over her shoulder once more at the painting.

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