The siren

Anya Romanovski

They think they own you.

Men like him.

All of them, actually.

With that cold, calculating stare, like they were auditioning for the role of ‘Most Intimidating Glare’ in some B-grade action movie. Sizing me up, deciding how best to control me. As if they had a shot. They didn’t know a damn thing about what was beneath the surface. All they saw was the designer clothes, the flawless makeup, the seductive smile—my perfectly curated disguise. I’ve spent years perfecting it, so kudos to me, I guess.

And why should I care? I was successful, rich, and a spoiled brat, as they’d say. Sure, it was my father’s money, but last I checked, it wasn’t coming out of their wallets. Not like they had a penny to their names, to begin with. So why should it matter to them how I spend it? Or how I live my life?

Let them talk, let them judge. I’ve heard it all before.

‘Oh, she’s just a rich daddy’s girl.’

As if that’s supposed to be an insult.

Newsflash: I was living the life they can only dream of. And if that made me the villain in their sad little stories, then so be it. I’d play the role with pleasure.

And men like him? They were just the extras in my movie. Cold, emotionless, trying to act like they were the ones in control. But the joke’s on them. Because I was the director, the star, and the one pulling all the strings. They could keep trying to size me up, to control me, but they’d never figure out the truth. They were too busy staring at the surface, missing the abyss beneath.

So, I let them try.

I’d be here, sipping champagne, spending Daddy’s money, and laughing at how little they actually know.

I was born into a world where power isn’t just everything—it’s the only thing. Love? That’s just a weapon, sharp and cold. Trust? A weakness for the naive. My father drilled that into me, but my bodyguard? Oh, he was the one who truly hammered it home. The man meant to shield me, to Protect me? He turned out to be just another warden, another leash around my neck.

Ugh. If only I could put a bullet in his head.

Why did they think I was a delicate, fragile girl who needed protection? It was almost cute how they clung to that illusion. But fragile? Please. I learned early that the world doesn’t care about your tears. It cares about your strength, and how well you could hide your pain and wear it like a designer dress—short, sparkly, and so dazzling that no one would notice the razor-sharp edges underneath.

My father taught me how to survive in this world, and I think I’ve done a splendid job at it.

Then there’s him. Kyle Molotov. The bane of my existence. I looked at him sitting there with that infuriatingly smug look on his face. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair cut just a bit too neatly, those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through people—God, how I hated those eyes. He was the kind of man who made other men uncomfortable just by being in the room. But me? He made me want to scream.

Kyle Molotov, with his chiselled jaw and that irritating calm looked like he was always in control. As if he could ever control me. The man thought he could decide what I should do, where I should go, how I should live my life. It was almost laughable.

He was being paid to be my lapdog, so he should just stick to that role. Play nice, pretend to be obedient, and stop acting like he was some kind of wolf. But no, he had to make everything difficult. Had to get under my skin.

I crossed my legs over and the slit exposed my legs and I caught the driver catching a glimpse, I grinned. Yes. That’s how Kyle should behave. Like an infuriating male. You could watch me, but couldn’t touch me.

I didn’t need protection. I was not some damsel waiting to be rescued. I was the one who set the traps.

I was Anya Romanovski, the siren as they call me and I… would not be tamed.

*******

The cameras flashed. My lips curled into a grin as I swayed my hips deliberately. I blew kisses to the paparazzi. Fools. Desperate for a glimpse, a scandal. They’d twist anything if it meant a good story. I gave them what they wanted—a smile, a wink. They ate it up, none the wiser.

“Anya, over here!”

“Anya, who are you wearing?”

“Anya, are you dating anyone?”

Same tired questions. I played along, tossing my hair, and letting them spin their little fantasies. The venue was grand just like I expected. My father’s money was on full display. A monument to everything I was supposed to care about, but didn’t. The envy, the whispers—they were almost amusing.

I stepped inside. The air was cooler, quieter, and suffocating in its own way. Chandeliers dripped crystal, walls draped in silk, everything drenched in gold. A palace built on wealth, on power. My father’s world. My self-chosen cage.

Eyes turned, conversations paused. It was almost laughable how quickly they gravitated toward me. The old geezers with their fake smiles, their trophy wives clinging to their arms like accessories. They all wanted something—attention, approval, a piece of the Romanovski name. But they wouldn’t get it. Not really. They could look, they could even talk, but touching? That was off-limits.

I took a glass of champagne without a glance. The crowd parted around me, eyes following, whispers trailing. Let them talk. This world was nothing. Glittering, but empty. Beautiful, but worthless.

Kyle was at my side, pushing people back. Playing the protector, always the guard dog. One of them tried to grab me—some pathetic attempt at attention. I almost scoffed. As if they could touch me. As if any of this mattered.

I was here to make an impression.

But then, as I moved through the crowd, someone dared to grab my arm. I barely had time to react before I was jerked to the side. The brute behind the hand? None other than Kyle. His grip was firm, almost too tight. “Watch your step, sweetheart,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low, rough. I nearly tipped over but caught myself just in time.

I rolled my eyes, yanking my arm out of his grip. “Don’t call me that,”

I snapped disdainfully. His eyes narrowed and a flicker of something dangerous flashed in them, but he didn’t back away. Not an inch. He towered over me. He might appear intimidating to some, but not to me. I have lived with four intimidating men all my life, I knew which switch to turn to tick them off.

Sometimes he reminded me of my brother. Did I mention I hated them both?

“I’m not here to babysit your attitude,” he shot back. “I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. And his eyes flickered to my chest, and I scoffed. “And here I thought you were just a glorified minion.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a step closer, his breath warm against my forehead. “Keep pushing me, Anya. You might not like what happens next.”

A shiver ran down my spine, but I refused to show it. I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Is that a threat?” I challenged steadily, even if my pulse wasn’t.

“Call it a warning,” he replied, his voice low, almost a growl. He wasn’t backing down. He never did. And damn it, I hated him for it. But there was something in the way he looked at me, something I couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t just control he wanted—it was something more. Something dangerous.

But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under my skin. Not now, not ever. “You can warn all you want, Kyle. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re just a low-life. Nothing more.”

His eyes darkened, and he took another step closer, crowding my space, refusing to be intimidated by my words. “Better a low-life than a spoiled brat with daddy’s money to wipe her ass,” he shot back, his voice dripping with contempt.

My jaw tightened, but I kept my composure. “At least I don’t need to grovel for scraps like a mutt. You’re only here because my father pays you. Otherwise, you’d be nothing.”

Kyle’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Funny, coming from someone who’s never had to work a day in her life. Without your father’s money, you wouldn’t last a minute in the real world.”

I felt a surge of anger, hot and fierce, but I refused to let him see it. “I’d rather be rich and spoiled than a glorified bodyguard.”

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear, his tone deadly calm. “My place is wherever I damn well choose it to be, princess. And right now, that means keeping you from getting yourself killed. So keep flapping those pretty lips of yours as much as you want.”

I opened my mouth to retort when a familiar voice jolted me. I shut my mouth and glared at him before turning around wearing the pretty smile I kept reserved for my loved ones. “Tina.”

I opened my mouth to retort when a familiar voice jolted me. I shut my mouth, shooting Kyle one last glare, then turned around with the smile I reserved for loved ones. "Tina."

Her soft brown eyes met mine with warmth she kept reserved for special ones. Before I could react, she pulled me into a tight hug. I rolled my eyes, awkwardly patting her back. "There, there, little sis," I murmured.

Tina pulled back, her face glowing. She looked immaculate, as always. Soft brown hair cascaded down her back, mirroring the hue of her eyes. She wore a designer dress—elegant, modest, covering every inch of her body. Ever the conservative one.

"You look… beautiful," her eyes flicked over my far more daring attire.

"Thanks, Tina," I kept my voice light. But then her eyes narrowed just slightly, and I knew the next question was coming.

"Where have you been these past few days?" she asked, her tone casual, but the suspicion was clear.

My chest burned with irritation, and I shot a quick glance at Kyle, daring him to interrupt. He smirked, a knowing look in his eyes, but before he could spill any of my secrets, I stomped on his foot. Hard.

"I've been busy with… art school," I said, forcing a nonchalant shrug.

Tina raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she motioned over her shoulder. "Everyone’s waiting for you. Papa said he'd introduce you as the new Executive of the company."

I rolled my eyes. "Executive? I should be the Chief."

She chuckled, glancing at Kyle. "I hope she isn’t giving you any trouble."

My jaw clenched as something burned in my chest. Kyle’s lips curved into a smile—something he never did in my presence, but here he was, smiling at her. And this wasn’t the first time I’d seen him smile at Tina. It just seemed so genuine, so carefree.

"Of course not," Kyle replied smoothly. "I know how to handle her."

I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, to wipe that smug smile off his face, but I stopped myself. Instead, I turned to Tina with a forced smile. "Well, let’s not keep everyone waiting, shall we?"

This… this was why I hated going back home. These feelings, creeping up on me, returning stronger every time. Because deep down, beneath the anger and the masks we wore, there was something raw. Something I couldn’t afford to face.

And it was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.

Before my masks would be ripped, and everyone would see the real me. The me, who used to be in love, with her own bodyguard.