His Adam's apple bobbed, like he wanted to say something, but my sharp gaze shut him down.
"I don't want to hear your excuses." My voice stayed soft. "Right now, you don't get to question me. Only to obey."
I eased back onto the sofa, like he was the one under scrutiny.
"Look me in the eyes."
He lifted his head as told.
"Remember this feeling, Kholod." I hammered each word into his heart. "Insecurity, jealousy, that gnawing fear... That's everything you put me through. Now it's your turn to taste it."
I leaned forward a bit, my gaze burning into him.
"You want my attention? Want me to smile at you like I do for Lorenzo?" I chuckled softly. "Fine. But not by throwing tantrums, making threats, or that pathetic possessiveness."
My eyes roamed his face, forcing him to face the rules.
"Earn it with loyalty, regret, and proving yourself day after day. Got it?"
His breathing came rough, and finally, he ground out through clenched teeth, "...Got it."
"Then go. I don't want to hear another word about Lorenzo tonight."
I got up to pour some water, ignoring him.
Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His voice muffled, laced with a barely hidden plea. "Noelle... Don't leave me..."
I felt the strength in his hold, didn't pull away, didn't respond. The glass clinked crisply as I set it down in the silence.
"Kholod, is this your idea of regret? Forcing a hug against my will to beg for comfort?"
He froze, slowly released me, and stepped back. I turned, seeing the aggrieved unease on his face, and that thrill bubbled up again.
Fun.
"Looks like you didn't really get it. Fine, tomorrow night, I'm hosting Zoe. You'll handle dinner prep and serving."
Yeah, Zoe was back from the woods, knew I was here, and wanted to visit.
His pupils flickered—making the Morozov boss play waiter? Pure humiliation.
"Not willing?" I arched a brow. "That's how regretful you are?"
"...No." He lowered his eyes. "I'll do it."
The next evening, Kholod stood in the corner of the dining room, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. When Zoe glanced at him curiously, his jaw tightened, but he still stepped forward to pour our wine, just like I demanded.
"This is Kholod," I said casually. "Helping out tonight."
Zoe clearly recognized him and knocked over her glass in shock. Kholod's temple vein throbbed, but he silently righted it and refilled.
All through dinner, I deliberately ignored him, chatting and laughing with Zoe. Only when dessert came did I glance his way.
"This wine's bland." I swirled my glass. "What do you think?"
He paused, then said low, "My oversight. I'll replace it right away."
As he turned toward the kitchen, Zoe leaned in, whispering. "God, do you know what you're doing? That's Kholod Morozov!"
