All week, I pushed myself to the limit just to land this job. The line of applicants stretched for miles, yet somehow, they picked me. I did everything in my power to prove I deserved their trust, even though this role wasn’t really me. But money was tight, debts were piling up, and I had to find a way to make it work.
I bought a pair of painfully uncomfortable high heels and a tight pencil skirt because that’s what the boss demanded. I dragged myself out of bed at the crack of dawn to get to the office before he arrived. I gritted my teeth through his sleazy jokes, fetched his coffee while twisting my ankles in those ridiculous shoes, and forced a fake, strained smile—even though smiling was the last thing I felt like doing.
Friday evening couldn’t come soon enough; I waited for it like a dying person waits for release from a crushing burden. All that was left was to file some printed documents…
- Zlata, come to my office for a minute!
What happened next, as I stepped into the boss’s office, was a nightmare. He grabbed me by the hair and slammed me onto the desk with the brutal force of a deranged predator. As I fell, I gashed my left cheek on a marble pen holder, but I didn’t feel the pain. The only thought pounding in my head was to protect myself. I reached for a heavy ashtray as a weapon, but it slipped from my grasp when a dazed Paul Mazur pressed a letter opener to my throat:
- Don’t do anything stupid, sweetheart. I wouldn’t recommend it, or I’ll have my fun with your bleeding, still-warm corpse, - he hissed through gritted teeth, drool escaping his mouth. Seizing the moment, he yanked up my skirt, tore at my underwear with savage force, and thrust himself into me with unbridled rage…
Shock and searing pain, amplified by terror, paralyzed me, stripping away any chance to fight back. With one hand, he held the blade, scraping my neck; with the other, he gripped my hair, slamming my head into the desk with every brutal thrust…
- Go to the cops, and my people will gut your little boy, - he snarled into my ear when he was done. - I’ve got connections everywhere, remember that, you little tramp. By the way, you didn’t pass the probation period—your ass is too skinny.
…I don’t remember how he left. Sliding under the desk, I broke down into hysterics. My body shook uncontrollably, nausea and disgust mixing with helplessness and rage. These weren’t tears of hurt or anger—despair howled inside me. I couldn’t force myself to stand; I just curled up, whimpering, losing all sense of time.
- What the hell?! - a sharp exclamation nearby snapped me out of my daze. I saw a man’s eyes widen in horror, his hand briefly covering his mouth before he ran both hands through his hair, trying to compose himself. Then it hit me—standing over me in my pitiful state was none other than the head of the company, the older brother of my boss. My thoughts spun wildly, knotting so tightly that every word felt like a struggle to form. His office was in downtown Kyiv, and from what I’d heard, he rarely showed up here. I recognized him from a magazine photo, and I’d also read about the tough reputation of the elder Mazur.
- Who did this?! - he growled, each syllable laced with a steely edge that seemed to reverberate around me, striking like a thousand icy shards.
All I could manage was a shake of my head.
- Listen, dear, - he softened his tone, crouching down beside me. - I’ll take you to a hospital, and a DNA test will show who did this. So, to spare us both the unpleasantness, I’ll ask again—who raped you?
- He… he threatened my child’s life. …Said his people would hunt us down, even from under the earth, if I told anyone, - I stammered, my voice trembling. - No matter how much I hate that monster, my son’s life means more to me. I can’t tell you…
- No matter how long his reach is, mine is longer. As a mother, you can’t set an example of cowardice. I don’t want to imagine what you’ve endured—it’s written all over you—but you owe it to yourself to turn this animal in, - his gray, ice-cold eyes held no pity, only unyielding resolve. I could tell he’d get the truth out of me, one way or another. - What’s your name?
- Zlata. … I’ve only worked here a week, as a secretary for… Paul Mazur. But today… my probation ended. My boss fired me, right after he… raped me, holding a knife to my throat…
In the first few seconds, a storm of emotions flickered across his face, but as my bitter words sank in, not a single muscle twitched in response.
- How are you women so naive? Couldn’t you tell just by looking at a guy like Paul that you should steer clear of creeps like him?
- Screw you! You’re just as bad! - I struggled to my feet, clumsily tugging at my torn, hiked-up skirt with shaky, irritated hands, and stumbled toward the door.
- Unless you’re heading to the police, I wouldn’t advise stepping outside looking like that.
His attempt to grab my elbow proved to be a grave mistake.
- Don’t you dare touch me!!! - I screamed, shoving him away with a feral strength I didn’t know I had. If not for the chair he crashed into, his muscular frame might’ve gone straight through the wall.
- I know how to make Paul pay! - he shouted after me, freezing me in my tracks. - The legal route won’t work. His lawyers will twist the case, drag your name through the mud, and you’ll end up looking like the guilty one. But there are other ways. I give you my word, Zlata—no one will hurt you again!
- And what’s your word worth, Mr. Mazur? What’s stopping your security from making someone disappear? Who am I to deserve even a shred of your so-called humanity? - I spat, wincing as if the humiliation burned like physical pain.
- So, you know who I am? - he said casually, slipping his hands into his pockets.
- You’re Zakhar Mazur, the older brother of that worthless pig, - the bitterness inside me weighed me down, threatening to crush me. I wanted to collapse, curl into a ball, close my eyes, and never open them again. - Don’t worry, I won’t go to the police. Only because I need to stay alive for my son. You won’t hear from me again, but someday, your family will choke on its own filth.
- Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up as best you can. We should probably see a doctor, - his commanding tone paralyzed me. It wasn’t just authority—it was the icy, detached threat in his voice. But I didn’t budge.
- I need to get out of here as soon as possible. Home, - I insisted stubbornly, swallowing my words, my gaze fixed on the door.
- Seems like you don’t get it, Zlata. What you’ve been through is clouding your judgment. You’ll do as I say. Need help washing up?
The thought made me shudder. I staggered toward the bathroom with an unsteady gait. In the mirror, I saw a horrifying sight—hair a tangled mess, mascara mixed with blood smeared across my face, my blouse stained with blood in places.
Clean myself up? … How do you scrub away the filth that’s seeped back into your soul?
After splashing water on my face and smoothing my hair as best I could, I stepped out to find Zakhar waiting. With a single look, he compelled me to take the jacket he held out.
Nausea hit me in the elevator, but I didn’t make a sound. …This wasn’t the first time I’d felt this way. It was my body’s delayed reaction, a response to the violence.
Oddly enough, Zakhar was alone that evening—no driver, no security. We didn’t encounter a single soul on the way. When he opened the car door for me, I slumped into the back seat. We drove off in silence, but as we crossed the bridge, I barely managed to yell for him to stop. I vomited, wracked by painful spasms. Gasping for fresh air, I stumbled out, clutching the railing. My whole body trembled. …Far across the river, the evening city glittered with lights. A million people with their joys and sorrows. But in that moment, I felt like no one out there could possibly feel as wretched as I did. A small plastic bottle of water was quietly offered to me. Zakhar. He said nothing, as if knowing words wouldn’t help. I couldn’t fathom why this man, of all people, was here with me in this moment. Not a janitor, not a guard, but the head and owner of Unistroy himself. Had that beast Paul confessed to him and asked him to smooth things over?
The two brothers couldn’t have been more different. Stocky Paul resembled a boar, with his tiny, piggish eyes and straw-colored hair. He always reeked of something foul. …The memory twisted my stomach into knots, and I retched again, breaking into a cold sweat.
Standing just a step away, Zakhar waited patiently. He had no idea that his presence made me sick too.
Our next stop was a private clinic.
He’d decided I needed medical attention. Why was I so helplessly complying? Why wasn’t I protesting, running away? Was this weakness? I didn’t want to be here with him, yet here I was. No choice.
I don’t know what he said to the doctor after pulling her aside, but the woman who examined me was tactful and attentive, avoiding direct questions. They stitched up the cut on my cheek, took swabs, prescribed a sedative, and suggested I find a good therapist.
- Give me your address, Zlata, so I can take you home, - his voice was polite yet detached.
I felt awful. Sitting in the same car with him was unbearable…
Without looking at him, I muttered my address to this man whose presence had become intolerable. Every nerve in my body screamed in protest. His concern weighed on me like a ton of bricks, but I clung to the hope that once I stepped out at my building, I’d be rid of the Mazurs forever.
- Are you married? Who do you live with?
- No, I’ve never been married. I live with my three-year-old son. He’s with a babysitter right now, - my hollow voice echoed back, lifeless.
- Then I’ll come in, and we’ll discuss a few things, - Zakhar declared, turning off the engine.
- No, no, listen…
But he clearly didn’t care about my panicked state, cutting me off mid-sentence:
- I’m not asking for permission. This is necessary! - he barked, putting an end to my feeble objections.
Our fifteen-year-old babysitter slipped out of the house the moment she saw me with a man, not even taking her payment. She did, however, flash Zakhar a sweet smile and wish him a good night.
- Don’t expect any politeness from me. Say what you came to say and get out! - In my own home, I felt a flicker of confidence return.
- Every month, double the salary of a secretary will be deposited into your account as lifelong support. But you’ll need to sign papers ensuring that information about your assault doesn’t reach the police or the media. In return, I’ll make sure my brother pays for what he did.
- Is that it? - All the hatred I felt for the Mazurs was ready to spill over onto him.
- I understand why you want me gone. But I need you to know something—I always keep my word, Zlata, - his tone was firm, his gray gaze commanding. It felt like a rehearsed speech, the kind you’d expect from someone on a big screen.
- Fine, Mr. Principled. Now get out! - I had no strength left, except to open the door for him. We didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t owe him any thanks. …A darkness I’d fought so hard to forget had stormed back into my life.