"A Love That Lasts"

Mid-October – Moscow, Russia

The air in Moscow had turned sharp and silver, hinting at the long winter ahead. Trees shed the last of their golden leaves along the boulevards, while the sky, pale as polished steel, hung low above the rooftops. Smoke from distant chimneys curled lazily through the air, blending with the scent of cold stone and frost-bitten wind.

The car ride from the airport had been quiet, save for the muted hum of tires on wet asphalt. Zayra sat by the window, watching unfamiliar buildings pass by, her thoughts tangled in a haze of jet lag and apprehension. Beside her, Dr. Cecilia remained as composed as always, her eyes fixed ahead.

They arrived at a gated complex nestled in one of Moscow's more exclusive districts. The iron gates swung open silently, admitting them into a private residential enclave not far from the Bravta Arms headquarters. The driver brought the car to a gentle stop before a sleek glass-and-stone building.

"Come," Dr. Cecilia said, stepping out first and motioning toward the entrance.

Zayra followed, still taking in her surroundings. They entered through a lobby that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and marble polish. An elevator, discreetly tucked behind frosted glass doors, carried them up several floors before opening with a soft chime.

Zayra froze at the threshold.

The condo was nothing short of breathtaking. Two levels of clean, modern luxury opened before her: vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a windswept cityscape, a sculpted spiral staircase winding upward to a lofted bedroom. Everything gleamed in muted, expensive tones—pearl gray, soft ivory, and brushed gold accents.

Dr. Cecilia gave her a knowing glance, lips curving into a smile.

"This is where you'll be living," she said lightly. "I hope it suits your taste."

Zayra turned slowly, eyes wide with awe. "This is already so big for me," she said, her voice a whisper. "Thank you, Dr. Cecilia."

"I'm happy to hear that," Dr. Cecilia replied warmly. "Get some rest. I'll contact you later—we're having dinner tonight."

She left with her usual grace, and as the door clicked shut, Zayra's quiet wonder exploded into uncontainable joy. With a squeal, she darted across the room, climbed the spiral staircase two steps at a time, and dove onto the oversized bed with a bounce.

"Oh, this bed is so soft!" she cried out, flopping onto her back, arms outstretched like she was floating.

Time passed in a dreamy haze. She lay there for almost an hour, letting her new reality sink in, until the sharp buzz of her phone broke the spell.

Dr. Cecilia (Text Message):

Come downstairs. Oscar will be waiting to take you to the house.

Zayra sat up quickly. Her nerves kicked in. Dinner at the house. With Dr. Cecilia. And perhaps more.

She changed into a modest black dress and a beige wool coat, brushing her hair into place before checking her reflection one last time. With a deep breath, she stepped outside.

The city had shifted into twilight. A sleek black car waited at the curb, its headlights glowing in the misty dusk. A tall driver in a dark coat—Oscar—nodded once and opened the door for her without a word.

The ride grew quieter as they left the city center behind. Narrow roads wound through wooded estates and stretch of silent hedgerows. The fog thickened slightly, casting a silvery veil over the glowing streetlamps.

Then, just as the car turned another bend, the forest cleared—and Zayra gasped.

A towering black iron gate stood before them, slowly parting to reveal a grand estate beyond. The grounds were immaculate, blanketed in soft gold light that outlined hedges, fountains, and statues. The mansion that loomed ahead was a masterpiece of pale stone and ivy-draped elegance, with tall windows that flickered with warmth.

As the car rolled to a stop, a butler appeared at the entrance. Two maids in crisp uniforms stood nearby, hands folded.

Zayra stepped out carefully, her heart thudding. She whispered to herself, "Wow…"

A familiar voice, bright and welcoming, broke through her awe.

"You're here!"

Dr. Cecilia stood at the top of the steps; her face lit with genuine delight. Beside her, a tall man stood with a dignified air, his silver-streaked hair neatly combed, his dark suit tailored with quiet precision. His eyes were sharp, intelligent—and assessing.

Zayra straightened herself and approached, brushing her coat into place.

"Good evening, Dr. Cecilia. And… Mr.?"

"This is my husband," Dr. Cecilia said, linking her arm with his. "Vladimir."

Zayra gave a respectful nod, offering a small smile. "Mr. Vladimir, thank you for inviting me."

He returned the smile, his voice deep and calm. "Come, follow us. You're most welcome here."

As Zayra stepped past the threshold of the grand house, her senses drank in the warmth, the faint scent of jasmine and spice, and the quiet hum of something larger than herself beginning to unfold.

She didn't know yet how much her life was about to change—but winter in Moscow had a way of waking old ghosts and birthing new fates.