Page 152 of Sweet Obsession

She walked in like she owned the place, but her face was guarded. That quiet steel she wore when she meant to start a fight she didn’t want to finish.

I didn’t look up. Not at first. “I’m busy.”

“I see that.”

Paper rustled. I forced my eyes to stay on the page. “Say it, malyshka.”

She leaned against the edge of the desk. “Two weeks left.”

My pen stilled.

She didn’t have to say it. We both knew. The contract. The twelve months. The countdown we pretended didn’t matter. It was almost over.

“I tore that paper months ago,” I said. “It was never real after you bled for me.”

“But it was,” she said softly. “And it still is.”

I finally looked at her.

Her hair was tied back. No makeup. Eyes rimmed with exhaustion. She looked like a woman unraveling—and I hated that I’d barely seen it until now.

“I’m not letting you go.”

“You don’t get to choose.”

“I do,” I snapped. “I have. Every day, I choose you. In this house, in this war, in every goddamn decision I make...”

“Then choose me properly.”

I stared at her.

She folded her arms. “No control. No threats. No force. If you want me beyond that contract, you do it right. Because I won’t stay trapped under your title just to rot in a gilded cage.”

“You think this is a cage?”

“I think it used to be. And now it’s something else. Something we haven’t figured out yet.” Her voice wavered. “But I want to be asked, Misha. Not claimed. Not ordered.”

“And if I don’t?” My voice was low.

“Then I want a divorce.”

The word sliced deeper than any knife.

She wasn’t bluffing. She meant it.

I stood slowly. “Where would you go?”

“Anywhere but here. I just... I need space.”

“You want space? Take the winter estate. Hell, take Yakutsk. Just don’t ask me to pretend I don’t want you here.”

“That’s not the point.”

She stood, too fast, and stumbled a little before heading straight to the bathroom.

I followed.

When she came out, I was there—close, too close, blocking her path.