Page 50 of Sweet Obsession

“You can relax, son. I’m not going to interrogate your wife.”

Wife.

The word caught in my throat like broken glass. Not because I wanted it to be true... but because some traitorous part of me already knew it was.

Misha’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing.

“You look too delicate for this world, Luna,” Vladimir said, turning his gaze to me. “But the most beautiful things often survive the harshest winters.”

My chest ached at the truth in it.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

He poured two glasses of dark amber liquid. Passed one to me.

“To survival,” he said, lifting his glass.

I hesitated, then clinked mine gently against his.

From the corner of my eye, I felt Misha’s stare, watching. Always watching.

“What do you do with your time, tucked away in that frozen fortress?” Vladimir asked.

I flushed. “I... I make jewelry.”

Vladimir’s eyes lit with genuine delight.

“Art,” he said, as if tasting the word. “Beauty is rebellion. It fights back against coldness. Against fear.”

I smiled despite myself. The warmth in his voice tugged at something inside me I didn’t know still lived.

“Misha never told me he married an artist.”

Misha didn’t respond. But something sharp flickered across his face.

“You must show me your work,” Vladimir continued. “Perhaps I’ll find it... interesting.”

The lump in my throat tightened. Kindness felt dangerous. Disarming.

I nodded quickly, before emotion could betray me.

Vladimir leaned back, assessing us both with the kind of gaze that stripped through armor.

“And you,” he said to Misha, “should treat her better.”

Silence.

Misha’s jaw ticked. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t defend himself.

Vladimir chuckled, shaking his head. “You confuse silence with strength, son. But sometimes, the strongest thing a man can do is reach out.”

Again, that flicker in Misha’s eyes. Softer. Unsettled.

After dinner, Vladimir rose and stretched lazily. “Stay five days. The house is large enough. You could use the warmth.”

I almost exhaled in relief. Any place but Yakutsk.

Misha didn’t argue. “Of course,” he said, stiff and careful. Like every word was a weapon he had to weigh before using.