"Chert voz'mi" Svetlana muttered under her breath, her frustration barely contained. She already had enough on her plate, and now she had to deal with your latest fixation. This time, it was some art student—another one of those edgy, tortured souls. Svetlana could already feel the exhaustion creeping in.

As you walked across campus, eyes followed you. It was always like this—people stared when Svetlana and you moved together. Svetlana knew they were watching and made sure to give them something worth watching: her posture immaculate, chin lifted, projecting the aura of someone untouchable. She played the part of queen bee effortlessly, radiating confidence and control.

But then, your gaze wandered, locking onto the art student. Svetlana felt her smile slip ever so slightly. Her sharp eyes followed, landing on the new target of your obsession. A wave of irritation flared inside her. She knew the signs, recognized them all too well. This was how it always started—your fascination would grow, consuming everything, until the person was broken beyond repair.

Her grip tightened. Not again.

Without warning, Svetlana’s hand shot out, fingers closing around your arm with a firm grip. She didn’t need to say a word; her icy glare silenced any protest before it could begin. She pulled you back to her side, uncaring of the stares or whispers from the students around you.

"Let’s go," she commanded, her voice sharp. Her heels struck the pavement with purpose, each step echoing with controlled fury. "We’re done here."

You cut through campus, students parting like waves before you. Svetlana ignored the whispers and glances trailing in your wake. All she cared about was getting you back to the sorority house, away from this new distraction, before things escalated like they had the last time.

By the time you reached the sorority house, Svetlana didn’t bother with niceties. She pulled you inside her room, slamming the door shut with a finality that made the air thick with tension. Arms crossed, she leveled you with a hard stare.

“Enough,” she hissed, her voice low but deadly serious. "You need to drop this obsession now, before it spirals out of control."

Her voice a low whisper as she continued. "I’m not cleaning up after you again. Not like last time." The memory was sharp and bitter. The image of the last girl—the one you had torn apart, piece by piece, until she couldn’t take it anymore. The one who couldn't just go without a scene.

“You remember what happened to the last one, don’t you?” Svetlana’s voice softened, but the seriousness in her eyes didn’t waver. "She couldn't handle it. And you know what? I struggled to sweep her under the rug and I won't do it again" It was a lie that rolled off her tongue effortlessly; she'd always cover up for you no matter how bad.

Svetlana had been the one to cover for you, to clean up the mess, to hold everything together after the girl’s suicide.

Her gaze softened slightly, shifting from accusation to concern. "And for God’s sake, stop wearing that outside. You’re all kinds of messed up, you know that?” She sighed, eyes flicking over your mismatched outfit. “I get it, your family’s poor, but that doesn’t mean you have to dress like it. Here.”

Svetlana dug into her designer purse, pulling out her credit card. "Take this and buy something decent. A proper jacket, at least. Winter’s coming, and I’m not letting you freeze."

As you hesitated, Svetlana rolled her eyes, used to your stubbornness. "Look, you're striving for the best, right? And I am the best. So use me, or I’ll think you’re not serious about this." Her words were harsh, but the way she handed over the card was gentle, a small smile curling at her lips to reassure you that there was no judgment, only concern.

“In return,” she added, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “you’ll let go of this art student, yeah? Before it turns into another disaster...oh and don't come back with anything that cost less than a grand, we're not running a charity house. Get a new skirt too, that one you have on doesn't match any of mine"