Page 127 of Sweet Obsession

What tomorrow would bring.

The vote.

Misha versus Chernov.

Power versus power. Blood against blood.

Only one of them would walk away as Pakhan.

And I wasn’t sure what scared me more—what Misha would become if he won.

Or what might happen if he didn’t.

I looked down, and froze.

My shirt, soaked with pigment and thinner, had turned nearly translucent. My skin. My bra. Every inch underneath was visible in vivid, humiliating detail.

I yanked the hem instinctively. “Don’t...”

“I’m not,” Misha said, voice rougher now. “Looking, I mean.”

But he was.

Not like a man ogling.

More like a man watching a lit fuse snake toward something breakable.

I backed up too fast.

My heel slipped on the wet floor. “Shit—!”

He caught me. One arm braced tight around my waist, the other on my back.

I was suspended—flushed against him, every line of muscle and heat anchoring me in place.

And then his hand slid. Just a little. Just enough.

A bolt of heat ripped down my spine.

I looked up.

He was already looking down.

And the moment tilted.

Gravity shifted. The air thinned. Every part of me leaned in before I could stop it.

His mouth brushed mine.

Not soft. Not sweet.

It was hot—bristled, hungry, dangerous. The kind of kiss that warned you this will cost you.

A mistake.

A betrayal of every boundary I’d tried to draw.

And still—