Page 44 of Sweet Obsession

I caught the venom in his words, even if I couldn’t fully grasp the weight behind them.

I felt Misha stiffen beside me. The air around us grew sharp, cold.

“My wife,” Misha said, his voice dangerously low. “Show some respect.”

The man chuckled, slow and oily. “Of course. My apologies.” He raised his glass mockingly, his eyes never leaving me.

“To wives. And to debts that last a lifetime.” The undercurrent of the words was clear to Misha and he didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them with terrifying ease. His presence, lethal and suffocating.

“Be careful, Chernov,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. “You’re very close to making a mistake you can’t come back from.”

The man faltered, his defiance crumbling under Misha’s cold gaze. His smirk faded, and he dipped his head, backing off slowly.

And just like that, the threat was gone.

Misha turned to me then, his hand tightening at my waist, pulling me closer.

“Never show your fear,” he said under his breath, his words rough and dangerous. “Not even if you’re bleeding.”

I met his gaze, my heart pounding. “Good thing I’ve been bleeding all my life,” I said, and I meant it.

His eyes darkened, flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, it almost looked like admiration.

Later that night, when the event was over and we returned to the mansion, I slipped away from Misha’s side, heading toward the north wing. My wing, my heels clicking softly against the marble.

But before I could make it far, I heard his voice behind me, low and dangerous.

“Luna.”

I froze.

I fought the urge to run. Instead, I turned slowly, folding my arms across my chest.

“What?” I said, sharper than necessary.

He took a step closer, closing the gap between us until the air felt thick, electric. The tension was suffocating.

“You held yourself well tonight,” he said simply, his voice rough.

A strange knot tightened in my throat. Pride. Rage. I didn’t know anymore.

“Glad to know I met your standards,” I said dryly.

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but almost. “But next time,” he added, his voice a low murmur that slid across my skin like silk, “when a man stares too long, lean into me.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

He took another deliberate step forward, his chest brushing mine, his voice a deadly promise. “Let them see how untouchable you are. Let them wonder if they’d survive trying.”

The meaning hit me like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t just about playing house. It was a message. Touch her, and you die.

I swallowed hard. “So I’m not a bride,” I said quietly. “I’m bait.”

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t soften. Misha Petrov never softened.

He just stood there, towering over me, looking at me as if he already knew the wars he would fight in my name.