Page 51 of Sweet Obsession

Vladimir’s grin turned sly.

“You’ll share a room, naturally. As husband and wife should.”

My body went still.

Misha’s head whipped toward his father. “That’s not necessary,” he bit out, like the very idea repulsed him.

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

Vladimir raised an eyebrow. “I insist.”

The fire crackled.

Misha’s jaw clenched so tight I thought it might snap.

And me? I couldn’t look at either of them. Because my mind was already racing, at the heat that would pour between us in a shared room. At the nearness. At what might happen when the walls came down... and there was no one left to blame for what we wanted.

Not even ourselves.

And just like that, it was decided.

Vladimir’s word landed like a verdict. No one argued. Not even Misha.

He just sighed and looked away, jaw tight.

It wasn’t resignation, it was control. The kind that barely held. Like he could shatter the room in half if he let himself feel for even a second.

Why didn’t he fight it? Why didn’t he say no? I wasn’t given time to wonder.

Dinner ended.

Vladimir waved a hand like a Roman emperor, and Misha was already guiding me down the hallway. Silent. Stern. Unreadable.

Five days.

Five nights.

One room.

God help me.

The door creaked open. He let me walk in first. Like a gentleman. Like a predator inviting prey into its cage.

It was a beautiful room, if you ignored the fact that it felt like a prison made of silk and gold.

Velvet drapes hung like royal cloaks at the tall windows. A fire crackled in the hearth, throwing soft shadows over dark wood floors. The chandelier glittered overhead, too bright.

And in the center of it all, one bed. A king-sized monstrosity dressed in black silk. It gleamed in the firelight like it knew too much.

I stopped cold in the doorway.

He said nothing. Just walked past me, peeling off his blazer like it weighed more than it should. His movements were precise. Controlled. Lethal.

“This is not happening.” I muttered.

He didn’t bother to answer. Of course not.

Talking to Misha was like throwing knives at stone and hoping one would stick.