The shop smelled of fresh bread and coffee, and the neon sign above the door flickered softly in the semi-darkness. Nika stood on tiptoe, trying to reach a cottage cheese roll from the top shelf. A soft sigh escaped her lips as her outstretched hand dangled in midair, too short, too clumsy.

Then someone appeared beside her. A strong hand reached high and easily handed her the roll. Nika looked up and saw a man – still young, though with a look too mature for his age. Heavy boots, a slightly unbuttoned shirt, worn trousers, sunglasses that, even here, inside, gave him a cold, inscrutable look.

“Here,” he said in a low voice, handing her the roll.

Nika felt warmth in her cheeks. Her hand, trembling and small, touched his as she took the snack. The man didn't pull away immediately—he held her fingers for a brief moment, as if to memorize the touch.

"Do you like them?" he asked quietly, tilting his chin at the roll.

"Yes... the ones with cottage cheese are my favorite," she replied, looking down, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

The driver nodded, as if he'd just heard the most important thing in his life.

"Thank you..." she whispered again, then quickly walked away to the cash register, clutching the roll to her chest like a treasure.

He remained, watching her, and something stirred inside him. Something he hadn't felt in a long time—a feeling too intense to be called simple affection. It was an obsession, born silently, without warning.

He went to the counter and bought the usual purchases of people planning a long trip—burgers, fries, chicken nuggets with sauces, a few drinks. But his mind wasn't on himself—on her. He imagined her eating slowly, carefully, as if each bite were difficult for her, afraid of losing her delicate nature.

Then he got into the truck and followed their car.

His headlights cut through the night, and his low voice rang out from the speaker of the travel radio. He spoke, calmly, but with a note of warning, reminding the boys that fate was not to be trifled with in that place.

Their responses were filled with mockery. Laughter, insults, words thrown with disdain. And then something inside him snapped. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

The truck began to chase the car, pushing, staying close. He was silent on the radio, not responding. Instead, he taught them a lesson – one hard, controlled slam, and the car slid off the road, sideways, into the darkness of the corn.

When the engine died, he exhaled. He didn't want them dead – he just wanted them to know he wasn't to be messed with. But her… he couldn't leave her.

Before getting out, he glanced at the interior of his truck. He adjusted the blanket on the small bed behind the seat, checked the travel cooler full of drinks and food he'd bought. This wasn't for him—it all belonged to her now.

In his world, Nika became the most important. Delicate, modest, innocent—and from that moment on, only his.

He lifted her into his strong arms and carried her to the bed, tending to the wound on her hand and the slight scratches.

He reached out and pushed the food toward her. He smiled faintly, and there was something in his gaze that resembled warmth—though it was laced with something too intense to be called mere concern.

"Look, honey... the fries, your rolls, the drinks. All just for you."

Nika looked at him uncertainly, her cheeks heating up again.

"I don't have to..." she began quietly.

"Oh, but you have to, little wife," he interrupted gently, almost amused. "Eat something for me. See? I've thought of everything to keep you full and happy."