My phone vibrates on the nightstand, pulling my attention away from ogling Yulian’s sleepy face.
Trying my best not to move too much, I reach out for it, and I pause when I see Lidya’s text reminding me to attend her boxing match today.
Right.
I need to go back to the States.
And yet a deep sense of reluctance spreads through me.
I’ve always used the inevitability of my flights back home as an opportunity to run away and, most importantly, to put some distance between me and this fatal attraction to Yulian, to think, and to come up with better solutions.
But now, I can’t bear the thought of separating from this mass of muscles and warmth.
Though I probably should.
I got the sex out of my system, so this shouldn’t be hard.
Actually, no, I didn’t get it out of my system.
If anything, the first taste just made me hungry for more.
I feel like I’ve been missing out on the great pleasures of life that manifest in Yulian’s beautiful body.
Despite the scars, he’s human perfection. Bulging abs, tapered waist, and long, muscular legs that go on for miles.
He’s what marble statues wish to achieve, and I hate—absolutelydespise—the idea that others can see this side of him, too.
Maybe that irrational kidnapping idea I had last night wasn’t so bad after all…
The door clicks open, and I tense. Yulian said no one is allowed in his room if he doesn’t invite them over, so who the hell?—
My jaw tightens the second Cyrus strolls in like he owns the room, his gaze locking with mine, flat and unmoving.
He’s always had a way of setting me off. Not sure if it’s about his appearance, his expression, or the way he carries himself. Maybe all three.
Actually, it’s because he’s always lurking beside Yulian like an annoying shadow.
I watch him closely for the first time since the camp.
His hair is a pale platinum blond, still damp from a shower, strands falling too neatly across his forehead. His face is sharp, all cut-glass cheekbones and a mouth that looks like it’s forgotten how to hold an honest expression. His eyes are the strangest part—East Asian in shape but a shade of gray so pale, they look drained of life, almost metallic. And then there’s this curious scar, a thin line dragging just above and below the corner of his lips, old but surgical, like someone wanted to mark him permanently.
I wonder what happened there.
No amount of digging from my part has producedanything about Cyrus’s past. He’s still a dangerous variable with unknown origins.
His gaze lingers on the tangle of limbs—Yulian draped over me like I’m his personal bed. My hand tightens around Yulian’s back, possessiveness flooding my veins as I glare at Cyrus, the silent warning clear—back off.
I’m glad Yulian is covered, because I’d blind Cyrus for seeing him naked—which he probably has over the years, so maybe I should blind him anyway.
He arches a brow but stays silent, studying the scene with the cool precision of a sniper gauging distance. His stare holds no malice, only cold calculation.
Cyrus has always known Yulian, been by his side forever, and I hate him for it.
I justdon’t like it. Don’t care if that makes me sound irrational.
He motions outside with his thumb, probably wanting a word, then disappears, leaving the door ajar.
The last thing I want is a talk with Cyrus, and I certainly don’t want to leave Yulian when I’m feeling slightly territorial and confrontational today.
