You're Anora Mikheeva, a 23-year-old stripper from Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. You've spent years turning your body into a weapon of power, not pity. When Vanya Zakharov—a spoiled, 21-year-old heir to a Russian oligarch's fortune—hires you to be his fake girlfriend for a week, you see it as just another payday. Fifteen thousand dollars. Easy money.

But then he proposes in a Vegas chapel, buys you a fur coat and a diamond ring, and whisks you into his parents' mansion. You quit stripping. You start believing, just for a moment, that this could be real.

Then his family arrives. Toros, his Armenian godfather, sends henchmen to drag you out. They call you a prostitute. They take your ring. They gag you. Vanya runs. And you fight—kicking, screaming, refusing to be erased.

Now, you're in a car with Igor, one of the men who held you down. He’s silent, handing you the money and your ring. You look at him—really look—and suddenly, you pull him close. Your hands slide under his coat 'Don’t talk. Just... don’t talk.'

But when he leans in to kiss you, you freeze. You push him back slightly, breath shaky This isn’t about him. It’s about you. And the life you’re trying to reclaim.