Page 25 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

Avery

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the hotel lobby's floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm patches across the marble floor. I stood behind the front desk, mechanically organizing guest files, but my mind was completely elsewhere.

Dmitri was here. Right now. Just upstairs.

This knowledge hit like cold lightning, unexpectedly shattering my forced calm, leaving a burning tremor spreading down my spine.

Would we run into each other? In the elevator?

In the hallway? The identity I'd carefully constructed, wrapped in layers and layers of lies, wasn't ready to face his scrutiny.

"Avery, the mysterious owner is here." Mark's voice sounded beside me, carrying a mix of awe and curiosity.

"Huh? Oh, really?" I snapped back to reality, hastily forcing out an extremely strained smile, trying to hide the storm raging inside.

"Avery?" Mark's concerned voice pulled me from my panicked thoughts. "You okay? You just went really pale. "

I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to control my trembling fingers. "I'm fine, maybe just low blood sugar."

The lie rolled off my tongue, just one of countless lies in my life now. I'd become a pro liar, weaving an increasingly complex web of deception to maintain this double life.

Mark leaned forward, the concern in his eyes making me feel a stab of guilt. "You sure? Want me to grab you some candy?"

"No, Mark, I'm perfectly fine, thanks for offering."

"Good," Mark gave a warm smile. "You know, I'm really glad to see you finally perking up." He paused, seeming to gather courage for what came next. "There's something I want to tell you."

He took a deep breath, his cheeks starting to flush. "Avery, you free? Wanna grab dinner tonight? I mean, as friends, or, or maybe something more?"

Mark's sudden invitation caught me completely off guard, though looking back, it wasn't entirely out of blue—I'd just unconsciously ignored the signs. His brown hair gleamed in the sunlight, his gentle eyes holding sincere affection.

Mark was a good guy—honest, kind, hardworking. Under any normal circumstances, I'd be grateful to have someone like him care about me. But I couldn't say yes. My heart was completely occupied by another man—a dangerous man I shouldn't have fallen for.

And right now, that man was upstairs.

I opened my mouth to refuse him, but just then, my phone rang.

The ringtone seemed especially jarring in the quiet lobby. Several guests glanced our way. When I saw "D" on the screen, my heart nearly stopped. The timing was so coincidental it triggered some inexplicable panic, as if he could see through my current situation.

"Sorry, I need to take this." I gave Mark an apologetic smile, but my fingers trembled involuntarily as I slid to answer.

"Ella." Dmitri's voice came through, but it sounded different today. The usual confidence and control were gone, replaced by an exhaustion and weakness I'd never heard before.

"Are you okay?" I asked almost instinctively, worry flooding over me like a tide .

He coughed lightly, the sound leaving stinging marks on my eardrums. "I don't feel well. The doctor said it might be too much stress, but I-" his voice paused, as if fighting something, "I need to see you. Now."

Fear washed through my veins like ice water. I remembered that afternoon in college when Mom suddenly called. That call completely changed my fate. I dropped out to care for her, and from that moment, I became hypersensitive to illness.

And now, that familiar fear was back.

"I'm coming right now." My voice shook, hands already gathering things from the desk.

"No, you're at work—"

"Fuck work!" I practically shouted, then realized my outburst and quickly lowered my voice. "What could be more important than you? Just wait for me."

His voice sounded even weaker. "I'm at Aisley Resort, Room 302."

I closed my eyes, thinking, I know exactly where.

"Stop talking, save your energy. I'm nearby, I'll be right there."

I hung up and turned to face Mark, still standing there. His expression had shifted from hopeful to confused, then concerned.

"Avery, what happened? You look—"

I frantically gathered my things. "Sorry, Mark. About dinner, I'm really sorry, but I can't. I have something really important to do."

Mark's expression immediately turned sympathetic and understanding—I think he assumed it was my mother on the phone. "God, of course, go now. If you need any help..."

"Thank you, if you could, please call in sick for me." I had no time to explain, turning and running toward the locker room.

In the locker room, I tore off my uniform, fingers fumbling from nerves.

The employee elevator's metal doors reflected my pale face.

I hit the button for the 30th floor, my hand shaking slightly.

I knew I was taking a risk. If Jimmy or any other manager caught me sneaking off to visit a guest during work hours, my freshly permanent job would be toast. And rushing up here so fast?

Dmitri might figure out just how close I'd been all along.

But his weak voice, that pained cough—it haunted me, looping in my head like a curse.

Screw it. Nothing else mattered. I just needed him to be okay.

The elevator crawled upward, every second pure torture.

I stopped in front of Room 302, took a deep breath. The hallway was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. I raised my hand and knocked lightly, the sound sharp in the silence.

The door opened almost instantly, like he'd been waiting.

"You came," he said, his voice back to that low, magnetic rumble.

He stepped aside to let me in. I scanned the hallway to make sure no one saw, then slipped inside and shut the door fast.

"Dmitri, are you okay?" My voice shook with fear.

"I need to talk to you," he cut in, strolling to the bar to pour himself a whiskey. His movements were smooth, graceful—no sign of pain. "Want a drink, sweetheart?"

The truth hit me like a lightning bolt. He wasn't sick. That phone call was a flat-out lie to get me up here. Anger flared in my chest, mixed with a weird sting of betrayal.

I fought to keep my temper in check, desperate for some kind of explanation. "You lied. You're not sick at all."

He turned to face me, raised his glass, and nodded. "Yeah, I lied."

That blunt admission pissed me off more than any denial would have. "Why? Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I needed you here, and clearly, it worked." He said it so calmly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Worked?" I couldn't believe my ears.

"You think lying to me, making me worry my ass off, and dragging me away from work is working?"

He set the glass on the coffee table and stepped toward me. "Ella, sit down. We need to talk."

"I'm not sitting down." I backed up, keeping distance between us. "Say what you've got to say, then I'm going back to work. "

His eyes turned serious. "That's exactly what I want to talk about. Your job."

He leaned forward, locking his gaze on mine. "I want you to quit. I'll take care of everything you need. You said you want to write, right? This way, you'll have all the time and energy to focus on your work."

My legs went weak, and I grabbed the chair for support. The offer was so out of left field, so far beyond what I expected, I needed a second to process it.

"I don't understand."

"I'm saying I want to take care of you." He stood and closed the distance between us. "You won't have to run yourself ragged to make ends meet. I can give you everything you want. A comfortable life, time to write, and…" His hand grazed my cheek. "My love, baby."

This was the kind of offer every girl supposedly dreamed of. A rich, handsome, magnetic guy willing to bankroll your whole life, no worries, no stress. So why wasn't I grateful or thrilled? Why did I feel this deep, gut-level resistance?

I could barely believe it. "This is why you dragged me up here? You lied about being sick, scared me half to death, just to tell me this?"

He didn't seem to catch the anger in my voice, just kept going. "Think about it, Ella."

"Don't." I cut him off, stepping back.

Fury boiled in my veins. The feeling of being played, manipulated, made it hard to breathe. "Is that how you see me? Some pathetic little thing waiting to be saved?"

His face twisted with confusion. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" My voice rose, years of frustration and humiliation spilling out. "You think I should be grateful you're offering to take care of me? Thankful you want to keep me like a pet in your fancy little cage?"

"Ella, you got me wrong."

"How?" I was practically yelling now. "You think because I'm not as rich as you, I should kiss your feet for tossing me your scraps?"

The air in the room went still. Dmitri stared at me, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—something I'd never seen before. Maybe he hadn't expected me to react like this. Maybe in his world, his offer was some grand gesture.

"I'm not treating you like charity. I'm saying this because I love you."

I gave a bitter laugh. "Love me? If you really loved me, you'd respect me. Respect my right to change my own life through my own damn work. Not try to turn me into some kept pet."

His jaw tightened—a telltale sign he was pissed. But I didn't care anymore. Years of being looked down on, all the slights and struggles, had found their outlet.

My voice shook. "Do you know what I went through to get this job? Do you know how many dirty looks and insults I swallow every day just to prove I deserve a chance? And you—you want me to throw it all away because you think you can give me a better life?"

"I can," he said, his voice edged with steel. "I can give you a life a thousand times better than this."

"But it wouldn't be my life! It'd be yours, one you let me borrow. And the second you get bored, the second you find a new toy, I'd be left with nothing."

"I'd never get bored of you."

"How do you know?" I shot back. "How can you promise that? How many women in your world have fallen for the same line?"

He went silent. That silence said more than any words could. In it, I saw the truth—he couldn't make that promise, because he didn't know.

Exhaustion hit me like a wave, heavy with disappointment. "I thought you got me. I thought you saw the real me, not some damsel who needs saving."

He took a step toward me, grabbing my wrist. "I do see the real you. That's why I want—"

I yanked my hand free, cutting him off. "Want what? To own me? To control me? Dmitri, that's not love. That's possession."

I turned and headed for the door, each step cutting into my heart. I loved him—there was no denying it. But I loved myself more. My independence, my right to earn my own dignity through my own work .

"Ella, wait." His voice came from behind, carrying a plea I'd never heard before.

I paused but didn't turn around. "I need time to think."

"We can talk this through."

I opened the door, not looking back. "No. I think we're done talking."