“The boss requires your presence,” he says in a neutral tone, but beneath the surface lies an undercurrent of worry.
I swallow, nerves running rampant through my insides, and I glance at Tristan, who appears as if he has no care. It must be nice to be that freaking smug.
“Dahlia, don’t worry about me. Now, go get your prize.” He winks at me. Standing up, he towers over everyone as he buttons up his suit jacket. Handsome, successful, and dangerous. Someone who could match Mika. Yet my heart doesn’t even twitch. I am numb to him, like I am toward the entire male population, save one.
I remain frozen in place. Maybe if I don’t react, I’ll turn invisible and escape this situation of my making. Tiny breaths puff out of me in a vain attempt to ground myself.
Prolonging it would only make it worse.
And fuck Mika. He’s not my boss. That doesn’t diminish the control he has over my body, the grip he has on my heart. He owns every beat.
Fighting it would be futile.
I witnessed his state tonight and ignored all signs, spiraling in my hurt because his pain triggered mine. Damn this connection that is embedded in my life essence.
I give the guard a small nod, infusing more cheer and strength than I possess.
As I glance up toward the glass, I gulp. He’s there, biding his time. He sweeps his intense gaze from me to follow Tristan. Most surely thinking of a hundred ways to kill him for kissing me—kissing what is his. That’s the undeniable, unalterable fact.
On unsteady legs, I follow the guard. The music vibrates through me, playing with my nerves as Kirill makes sure the partygoers part for me, eyeing me with rapt curiosity. Great. Chin held high, I square my shoulders and plaster a smile on my face. Tonight took a wild detour.
Inside the elevator, I wrap my arms around myself. A strange mix of nerves and spite flows through my insides, making me want to simultaneously run away from him and straight into his arms.
Kirill extends his arm for me to enter the elevator, and the two guards stand taller on each side. When the doors slide closed, my pulse spikes up, and a sheen of sweat covers my nape. The whole situation is thrilling yet terrifying.
Don’t bring me up. That’s what I want to say to the inanimate thing, but I guess it’s time to face the consequences.
I burst out into hysterical laughter. I am pretty sure that if it weren’t for my brother being away, we would never have gotten ourselves into this predicament. It’s ironic. But I guess there is a higher power pulling the strings of my life, turning me into a puppet.
A stuttered breath rolls out of my mouth once the elevator halts, I walk out and straight into his office, bracing myself for the storm.
The door closes behind me, sounding final. I flinch as it traps me with Mika inside his office. I can’t escape him, anyway.
He’s leaning on the edge of his desk. My gaze follows the length of his body, starting from his leather shoes to the veinspulsing in his thick neck. His hair looks as if he raked his hands through it many times, seeking clarity.
My anxiety reaches a new level—so intense I can barely keep myself upright. But I feel so alive, proud that I am the only one who can shatter his control, who has so much power over him. Yes, because he’s mine just as much, even if he denies it.
That knowledge infuses me with a shot of confidence that shatters the moment my eyes meet his. His silver eyes light up; I expect any moment lightning to gather in them and strike me. He’s beyond handsome. A man who has the strength of thousands and the beauty of a god.
“What do you want?” I blurt out because every second he keeps quiet, I lose a bit of my mind.
He cocks his head. “Ah, baby girl, keep fucking up.”
I can’t believe his nerve. I march to him and stab a finger in his chest, frustrated that I can’t even leave an indent. He’s made of stone—body and heart. No wonder I always clash, breaking every bone and my heart whenever I try to get inside of him.
His hand flies to my neck, and he splays it over my heated skin, his fingers going up to my cheeks—not too hard, but hard enough to trap me. He easily subdues me, creating an inferno of want inside of me.
His eyes bore into mine as he lowers his forehead and presses it to mine. His hot breath fans my lips that hunger for him to kiss me—erase this perpetual thirst.
“What’s your problem?” I shout, pouring all my exasperation into it.
One of us will surrender, and it won’t be me.
He gnashes his teeth, and his voice drops to arctic cold. “How do you want him to die?”
I gulp. “Tristan has nothing to do with this. And you wouldn’t do it.”
He would. I have no doubt. Maybe I should retreat and come up with a better tactic.
