When war forced her to flee her hometown, a journalist's life takes a thrilling turn abroad. A chance encounter with a world-famous actor leads to a whirlwind of passion, deception, and d...

With the onset of the war, journalist Vera leaves her native Dnipro and heads abroad. There, she meets the world-famous actor Klass Bayer, whose films she has secretly admired for a long time. Yet, she has no idea what awaits her. Pain, deception, twisted torture, or love? Back in Ukraine, her mother and younger brother are left behind, with her brother volunteering to go to war. The kaleidoscope of events in the novel unfolds in Nessebar, Gdansk, Sopot, and Ukraine. This is a tense thriller.

We present an excerpt from the book "Call Me Klass Bayer" by Yuliya Cherninska, published by "The Old Lion Publishing House." You can purchase the novel via this link. The cover design was created by Anastasia Starko.

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Sopot amazed Vera with its tiny doll-like mansions. All the villas resembled lavishly frosted pastries, and the town, illuminated by night lamps, reminded her of one giant wedding cake. The bourgeois spirit was palpable, possessing its own unique passage of time. The clock showed midnight. There were few pedestrians around. Occasionally, couples in love walked by. Most tourists in the Sopot sanatoriums were of a respectable age, drawn by the bourgeois charm of the city. The youth preferred to relax in neighboring Gdynia, known for its modern style and architecture.

Vera loved everything. She had always wanted to live in such a charming city that seemed lost on the map and had completely cast aside all temporal barriers.

– What’s with the name Klass?

Silence had long settled in the car. Vera decided to break it first.

– Do you like it? – Zenon turned to her. – It’s Swedish, if I’m not mistaken.

– So, Klass is really Swedish? There’s a lot of conflicting information online.

– No. He’s a pure Pole. Klass lost his father at a young age. Later, his mother remarried a Swede.

That’s where the confusion stems from. Klass himself has often mentioned in interviews that his father was Swedish. He deliberately confuses fans and journalists. He harbors a sense of inferiority. This started after his worldwide fame. He wants to be a Viking. Klass Bayer is a pseudonym. His real name is Wojciech Czech.

– Wojciech? – Vera asked playfully.

– Yes. What’s wrong with that? It’s a very nice name.

– Of course, it’s nice. I just prefer Klass.

– You’re just used to it, – Zenon smiled and seemed to friendly touch her knee.

Vera decided to ignore it. This could genuinely be a friendly gesture, and by reacting, she would only earn herself a bad reputation.

– Here we are, – Zenon finally said, driving through the wide wrought iron gates that parted before them, as if a magical fairy tale surrounded them.

– Why did he write to me? – Vera suddenly asked.

– Who? Klass? – Zenik was taken aback.

– Yes.

– He always reads fans' comments. Checks the likes. I think it’s simple. You caught his interest.

– What about Katarzyna?

Zenon turned to Vera and stared at her for a long time. He was silent. It seemed he was trying to decipher what was on her mind. And what he read there, he clearly didn’t like.

– I can just take you back to Gdansk right now. You probably noticed it’s close.

– No need, – Vera was flustered. – Since we’re here…

– Well, that’s good.

They got out of the car and headed toward the black entrance of the house.

The entrance gaped into darkness and looked anything but grand. Vera looked around and noticed that the windows of the house opposite were glowing. Apparently, Zenon didn’t want the neighbors to see them.

– Is anyone living in the house when Klass is not around?

– No. There are all sorts of alarms here. Only Klass and I know the passwords. Even Katarzyna doesn’t know because she’s never been here alone. This is our little nest. A bachelor pad, so to speak. Inside the villa, the spirit of antiquity prevailed. Vera wasn’t used to that. Her own place was decorated in a modern style. She had only seen golden frame moldings in museums before.

– Do you like it? – Zenik asked.

– Interesting, – Vera smiled.

– Would you like something? – he asked, pointing to a large glass bar in the corner of the room.

– I wouldn’t refuse.

– Something strong? – Koreniovsky winked.

– I’d prefer to continue drinking champagne. If there is any, of course.

– There’s everything here!

Zenik filled the glasses. He handed one to Vera and downed his in one go, like someone very thirsty. He immediately poured another.

– How do you find Poland in general? – he asked.

– Like home. There’s no feeling that I’m abroad. The language is similar. The mentality of the people is too. I especially find your people resemble our Galicians. I studied at Lviv University and lived there for a long time. So now I even hear familiar words. Kolizanka, filizanka, rovar, kozyk, lody, zupka… In short, I’m comfortable here, but home is better.

– Well, you definitely shouldn’t rush home, – Zenon disagreed.

– Still, I feel drawn to home. I’m not here for long. I don’t even know how I ended up in Gdansk… Fate probably carries me...

– Probably, – Koreniovsky smiled. – I should probably head home now. I need to be there at this time. You wait for Klass. He’ll be here in about twenty minutes, – Zenik suddenly said.

– I wouldn’t want to be here alone… – Vera started.

– Stop it. Make yourself at home, – Koreniovsky said, not accepting any objections, and got up from the couch. – Is something bothering you?

– Yes. I’m uncomfortable in this suit, – the woman confessed.

– You look stunning in it! Don’t even think about feeling insecure!

With those words, he kissed Vera on the cheek and, waving both hands as if in the midst of a grand celebration, dashed out of the room through the large glass doors.

Time flew by like a scene in a movie. Vera hadn’t even finished her glass or examined all the antique curiosities in the room when the door opened, and Klass entered in his Dracula costume. His perfect black hair was tousled, and now a few strands of his previously slicked-back hairstyle hung down on his forehead. Incredibly sexy in his gloomy outfit, he crossed the distance from the door to Vera in just a few steps. Silently, without saying a word, he embraced her. Vera was taken aback but didn’t resist. In a moment, he was already kissing her with a long and passionate kiss. Only then did Vera realize she was quite tipsy. The room swam before her eyes, and somewhere deep in her stomach, she felt a pang of nausea. "Am I really nauseous from his kiss?" – she thought.

The man continued to insistently work his tongue, and Vera finally gently pulled away.

– Hi, – she said.

– Hi, my little one. Kissing your fingers, my kitty, – Bayer continued to press on her.

Vera was torn apart by completely opposite feelings. Excitement pressed down in her lower abdomen, but her stomach was gripped by spasms of an inexplicable, unfounded disgust. "What’s wrong? – she thought. – Maybe he’s pressing too hard on me."

– How did you find the masquerade? – Vera pulled away again from her ardent admirer.

– You were the highlight of the evening. I didn’t see anyone but you.

– Strange. I didn’t notice you nearby the whole evening.