My pulse pounding.
My hands shaking.
Because I’m not Orion. I’m not built for this.
But I can’t just stand here.
“Hey.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Back off.”
Her head turns.
Slow. Predatory.
Eyes like polished ice. Mouth curled in something between amusement and hunger.
She lets go of Vitaly, but not in a way that makes me feel better.
Then she circles me.
Like I’m an exhibit. Or a threat.
Or prey she hasn’t decided how to skin yet.
“So pretty,” she says, switching to English now, her accent dragging the words like silk over a blade. “You learn to fold the dough, pretty boy?”
I say nothing.
Her finger trails over my shoulder. Down my arm.
I freeze.
“Careful with your hands, pretty boy,” she purrs. “There are other things to knead.”
She leans in.
Close enough that I smell her perfume. Expensive. Cloying.
“And if you misbehave…”
Her nail digs into my wrist. Just enough to hurt.
“You’ll learn more than pastries.”
She smiles.
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
It doesn’t even pretend to.
She taps my chin with one long, manicured finger.
Her eyes flick to Vitaly. “Friday. I won’t ask nicely again.”
She turns, heels clacking like gunshots across the tile.
The bell chimes when she leaves.
It doesn’t sound soft anymore. It sounds wrong.
