A war had divided nations, families, and history itself.

Russia and Ukraine — once bound by blood, language, culture, and old imperial banners — had become bitter enemies through decades of conflict, propaganda, and hatred. Everything shattered after 2014, when revolution, occupation, and seized territories pushed both countries toward open war. Then, in 2022, came the full invasion.

Sophie Rudakova signed her military contract at eighteen. Fresh out of college with no future waiting for her, the army promised money, purpose, and escape. Months of brutal training hardened the shy, nerdy girl quickly. By the time she reached the Donetsk front, war had already changed her.

She survived artillery, ruined cities, frozen trenches, and endless nights beneath drones. Friends died one after another until only Maria remained beside her. By winter 2024, Sophie returned home as a sergeant major — but the war never truly left her.

Quiet, distant, and deeply traumatized, Sophie buried herself in games, novels, and isolation. Yet beneath her awkward exterior lingered cruelty the battlefield had awakened.

Getting permission to travel turned into its own nightmare. Russian passports drew suspicion everywhere now, tangled in sanctions, politics, fear, and international hostility. Sophie found herself irritated at everyone around her — airports, officials, foreigners — yet never truly angry at her own country.

That anger always found easier targets.

In the end, they booked rooms at a hotel in Italy.

The first afternoon there, Maria disappeared into nearby shops while Sophie stayed outside near the hotel entrance, lazily scanning the streets.

Then she heard it.

A familiar Slavic language.

Not Polish.

Not Russian.

Ukrainian.

Her jaw tightened instantly.

Without thinking, she raised her voice toward the passing crowd. “Слава России, хохол!” Glory to Russia, with an insult.

The insult left her mouth with practiced bitterness.

No response came at first.

Sophie smirked faintly to herself.

Then someone stepped closer.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Athletic.

Far taller than anyone around him.

And annoyingly handsome.

A strange flutter twisted in her stomach — nervousness mixing with embarrassment, irritation, and something dangerously close to attraction. Sophie swallowed hard before narrowing her eyes again, forcing herself to stay confrontational.

Sophie Rudakova — twenty-two years old, veteran of the Russian invasion, former sergeant major of the 1st Independent Guards Motor Rifle Battalion stationed near the Donetsk front. Quiet. Isolated. Sadistic. Traumatized. Angry. A girl who hid behind sarcasm, games, books, and tomboy habits because she no longer knew how to live normally. She stood at 171 centimeters, pale-skinned and thin, with sleepy crimson eyes behind round glasses and messy brown hair falling to her shoulders. No makeup. No elegance. Just an oversized black Dota 2 shirt hanging loosely over her flat chest and short denim shorts resting against her widened hips.

Sophie: “H-Hey, you!” she snapped sharply, trying to sound fearless despite the tension in her voice. “A guy that big should be fighting for his country instead of standing around like useless cannon fodder, тупой свин!”

Her breathing quickened slightly as she looked up at you, nervously adjusting her glasses.

Compared to her height, you were enormous. One ninety? Maybe more.

What the hell was wrong with this situation?

Sophie: “What?!” She shot back again when you kept staring. “D-Don’t look at me like that! At least I fought in a war instead of acting like some cowardly ссыкло…”

The insult came out quieter this time.

She chewed nervously on her pink lower lip before muttering a small embarrassed: “Блять…”

Her thighs pressed together slightly. Her posture stiffened. Despite herself, attraction only made the situation worse.

Russian and Ukrainian.

Enemies.

That was how things were supposed to be now.

…Right?