She wiped her mouth, straightened her disheveled dress, and stormed out of the sitting room.
I looked down at my unresponsive body. Since meeting Elena, I couldn't get hard for another woman. She was like thedeadliest poison, seeping into my marrow, controlling every nerve, every desire.
I hastily fixed my pants, grabbed my coat, and headed out.
Near dawn, I returned to Elena's apartment, using my key to quietly open the door. Darkness claimed most of the room, only weak moonlight through the window sketching the living room's blurred outline.
I tiptoed into the bedroom, approaching Elena's bed. She was sleeping, breathing steady and deep. My night vision let me see her innocent sleeping face clearly. Her blonde hair spread across the bed like the world's finest silk. Her lashes cast shadows on her soft features, making her pure as an angel. But her full lips contradicted that purity—slightly parted, as if inviting someone's entry.
Maybe my gaze burned too intensely. Her long lashes suddenly fluttered, then slowly revealed her clear blue eyes.
"You came back..." Her voice carried sleepy confusion, scratching at my heart with inexplicable tenderness.
I murmured agreement, pressing a kiss to her smooth forehead. But then her nose wrinkled slightly.
"You smell like perfume. Strong perfume."
Though her voice stayed soft, wariness crept into her tone. My heart skipped a beat. Natasha's scent—overpowering and sharp.
I straightened, trying to project casual indifference while panic churned inside. I casually removed my coat, draping it over a chair, then offered a vague explanation. "Yeah, just met a client at a hotel."
Elena sat up in bed, most of her sleepiness gone. Her eyes watched me in the darkness with probing intensity.
"A woman?"
The guess hit like a punch to the face.
"No." I denied too quickly, the lie so rushed even I could hear the guilt. "Probably picked it up in the lobby or elevator."
I immediately looked away, unable to meet her eyes. Her suspicion and doubt felt like tiny needles pricking my heart, spreading pain. Silence stretched between us. I could hear my own breathing, the occasional car passing outside.
"I'll shower, wash off this smell." I quickly changed the subject.
Without waiting for her response, I grabbed clean clothes and headed for the bathroom, my steps much faster than when I'd arrived. I could feel her gaze following me, heavy as a thousand-pound weight on my back.
Finally, I closed the bathroom door, shutting out Elena's stare.
Chapter Three
Elena
Watching Igor's evasive back disappear into the bathroom made my heart sink heavily. He knew I trusted him, loved him, so he always gave my questions the lightest brush-off explanations or just changed the subject outright. He was betting I'd rationalize it away myself, pretend nothing happened. I didn't know how to fix this imbalance. Anger and hurt burned up my throat like acid, eroding my sanity in waves.
A faint phone vibration broke through my chaotic thoughts. I spotted his suit jacket tossed carelessly on the chair by the bed.
Almost on instinct, I slipped out of bed. I pulled his phone from under the jacket, my fingers trembling slightly. The screen was still on, a message jumping right out at me.
N. Ivanova: [I'm looking forward to that day.]
My fingers clenched around the phone until they ached. Ivanova—I knew it was a typical Russian woman's surname. The intimacy and anticipation in those words pierced my heart, making it hard to breathe.
With shaking fingers, I scrolled up to check their chat history. Should I be fucking happy about this? His phone wasn't evenpassword-protected. Did he trust me that much, not bothering to hide anything? Or did he just not think it was worth concealing? Each possibility stung worse than the last, swirling in my mind.
I opened their conversation easily, but that message dangled there all alone, like everything else had been deliberately erased, leaving just this tantalizing fragment.
"What are you doing?"
The bedroom light suddenly flicked on, and I squinted instinctively against the harsh glow. Igor leaned against the doorframe, shirtless, the light outlining his muscled contours. Water droplets slid down his firm chest, disappearing into the loose white towel wrapped around his waist.
