“How did you get all this information?” My voice is sharp, demanding, but I need to know.
Arseny hesitates, his expression showing anxiety. “It was easy. She leaves a lot of digital trails—social media, public records, everything. Took me only a few hours to pull it all together.”
I stop just a few feet away from him, and I look him in the eye, my voice lowering, quieter but no less dangerous.
“Don’t dig into her again until I say so,” I say, each word deliberate. “Understood?”
Arseny’s eyes flicker for just a second, but he doesn’t flinch. He nods. “Yes, Boss.”
I turn back toward my desk, dropping the folder onto it with a force that makes the pages flutter. I don’t look back at Arseny. Not yet.
“This girl….” I tap the name again. “Zoella Everleigh Monroe… is mine.”
There’s no doubt in my voice. No hesitation. She belongs to me, whether she realizes it or not.
Arseny nods again. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t push. He just knows. That’s why I trust him. He understands the weight of this without me needing to say anything more.
“Find me her address,” I order. “Her home address. Her fashion store address. Everything.”
“Yes, Boss,” Arseny replies, his voice as steady as ever, and without another word, he turns and exits the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I pick up the whiskey bottle from the corner of my desk, the weight of it comforting, the burn of the alcohol as it hits my throat a welcome distraction. I swallow it down in one long gulp, trying to numb the fire burning inside me.
But it doesn’t help. Nothing will. The desire, the obsession—it’s still there, gnawing at me.
“I’m coming for what’s mine, Zoe,” I mutter, my voice low and dangerous, before the last of the whiskey slides down. “You can’t hide from me forever.”
Chapter Nine - Zoe
Several days have passed, but I can’t shake the memory of Lukin. The things that happened between us, the tension, the heat. It all plays on a loop in my mind, each replay more vivid than the last. His touch, his words, his presence—it lingers in my skin, in my breath, in the very core of me.
I tell myself to forget, to move on. That it doesn’t mean anything. But the more I try, the harder it becomes. Every time I close my eyes, it’s like he’s still there—his touch still pressing into me, his eyes still watching me with that unrelenting intensity. His hands were everywhere, claiming, owning.
My body aches from the memory of him, a dull throb that refuses to fade, and my mind battles it with guilt and confusion. He’s Maria’s father, for goodness’s sake. I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him.
But I can’t help it.
I’m in my fashion store, wrapping a silk dress around a mannequin, my hands moving mechanically as I try to keep my mind busy. It’s a small store, one I’m still building, but it’s mine. The place where I can create, where I can lose myself in the beauty of the designs I put together. It’s always been my safe space, the one place where I could escape everything else.
But now, it’s different.
Every corner of this place, every surface I touch, is suddenly riddled with memories of Lukin—his presence, his overwhelming masculinity. The way his body felt against mine, how his touch sent shocks through me, how it felt like I was on fire when he was near.
I try to focus on the dress in my hands, but the silk slips through my fingers, my mind drifting back to that moment inthe garden, when he held me in that almost-kiss, his lips so close to mine, the heat between us so palpable I could taste it.
I swallow hard, shaking my head to clear it. This store is my sanctuary. I can’t let him ruin it for me.
But I can’t deny that every day, every minute I spend here, the pull toward him is growing stronger. I try to push it away, but every time I try to distract myself with something else, his face flashes in front of me, his voice echoes in my mind, and that terrible, wonderful ache takes over again.
I’m losing control.
And I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve never felt this way before about anyone.
The sound of my phone ringing jolts me out of my thoughts. I jump, the noise piercing through the quiet of the store. My heart races for a split second, but when I check the screen, it’s just Jason.
I roll my eyes, the irritation rising immediately. Jason. Of course.
He’s been calling for weeks now, trying to get back in touch, trying to make amends, or whatever it is he wants. I know exactly what he’s after—he wants me back. He wants to pretend like nothing happened between us, like we can pick up where we left off.
