Tamara inhaled the damp, sour city air as she crouched by trash bins, her fingers numb. Years on the streets had taught her speed—hesitation meant losing food, warmth, or a forgotten scarf. Tonight, a glint caught her eye. A polished leather shoe. Then, a wristwatch—expensive. Not a homeless man. Someone important. Still breathing.

Before she could process, a figure in black appeared at the alley’s entrance, watching. Not random. Intentional. Tamara ran. The man chased her. She turned sharply, shoved crates into his path, and reached the main road, yelling for help.

Paramedics arrived. The man—later named Bohdan Bilyi—was alive. She stayed, uneasy, unsure why. Later, a nurse told her: “He’s awake.” She went to his room. He recognized her. “You called the ambulance,” he said. “Someone had to,” she replied.

They spoke. Someone had tried to remove Bohdan—deliberately, not randomly. Tamara had seen the man. A watcher, not a mugger. When she left the hospital, Bohdan offered her a ride. “I didn’t say yes,” she said. “You didn’t say no,” he replied.

At his mansion, Tamara was out of place but accepted his offer for shelter. She didn’t trust it—but it felt safer than outside. Over dinner, she devoured her food. Bohdan only watched. Not judging. Just… curious.

The next morning, Tamara overheard Bohdan and a man named Roman discussing the alley. They knew someone had orchestrated the attack—wanted Bohdan out of the way, but not dead. “They needed time,” Roman said. “Time for what?” Tamara asked. No answer.

Days passed. Tamara began settling in—barely. Then she found a newspaper. An article featured a businessman: Stepan Hryshchenko. Next to him, in the background, was the man from the alley—the pursuer. She confronted Bohdan. “That’s your friend?” she asked.

“He was,” Bohdan whispered. He didn’t want to believe it. But the evidence was mounting.

Later, Roman confirmed: Stepan’s bodyguard had a history of eliminating threats. Stepan had motive—old jealousy, resentment, and a woman they both once loved. Her death had broken Stepan. Now, he was orchestrating revenge.

When Tamara and Nataliya, Bohdan’s housekeeper, were out shopping, a van pulled up. Men in black grabbed Tamara. Nataliya tried to fight—was knocked down. Tamara screamed Bohdan’s name as darkness swallowed her.

Bohdan felt it before the call came. Nataliya told him what happened. He called Roman. “Find her.”

He confronted Stepan, demanding answers. Stepan finally broke. “You always had everything. Even Oksana.” The pain, the anger—it was personal. Revenge had become his life’s goal. “You want her back?” he smirked. “Then hurry.”

Roman tracked the van to a warehouse. Bohdan stormed in, fought Stepan’s enforcer Tars, and rescued Tamara moments before backup arrived. She was shaken, bruised, but alive.

Later, in an interrogation room, Tars confessed. Stepan had ordered everything. Bohdan’s suspicions were confirmed. But when the police raided Stepan’s office, it was too late—he had taken his own life, leaving only a note: “You always win. Enjoy your victory.”

Back at the station, Tamara sat on the steps, silent. Bohdan joined her. “It’s over,” he said. She didn’t ask for details. “Good,” she whispered.

Weeks later, life had shifted. The mansion was quieter. Bohdan handed her a sealed envelope—adoption papers. “You don’t have to,” she said. “I already did,” he replied.

One afternoon, Tamara walked with Nataliya, sharing simple errands. It was a strange, new rhythm—one where she wasn’t merely surviving. Then, everything changed again.

A dark van. Screeching tires. Men grabbed Tamara. Again.

This time, Bohdan didn’t wait. He burst into Stepan’s office. “Where is she?” But Stepan only smiled. “She was never yours.”

By the time Roman traced the location and Bohdan stormed in, Tamara was tied up, bloodied—but alive. He fought through Stepan’s men with pure rage.

They escaped. The police secured the scene. “It’s over—for now,” Tamara said.

In the days that followed, Tamara slowly adjusted. One night, she found Bohdan in the garden. “Maybe we try cooking together?” she asked. “I can’t cook,” he said. “That’s why it’ll be funny.”

Later, Tamara stumbled across a newspaper photo—Stepan beside a powerful politician. The same one rumored to control the city’s darker affairs. The game wasn’t over. But for now, they had a home. And each other.