Page 79 of Sweet Obsession

I watched, helpless, as the fire consumed my room, my sketches, my jewelry, the only pieces of myself I’d managed to hold onto through years of cartel wars and family betrayal. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I didn’t sob, didn’t break. I stood there, my body rigid, my hatred for Misha burning hotter than the flames.

He released me, stepping back, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’ll learn,” he said again, his voice a dark promise, and I knew he meant it. He’d destroy everything, my family, my home, my memories just so I had nothing left but him.

Misha wasn’t done. As the flames devoured the east wing, he gave another order, his voice cold, final. “Find Yuri’s family house,” he told Nikolai, his eyes flicking to me, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Burn it to ashes. Leave nothing.”

My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as I thought of Yuri’s mother, his little sister, the people who loved him, who were still mourning him. They would all be there.

I’d seen his mother just yesterday during the burial prep, her hands trembling as she poured me tea. His sister cried so hard I thought she might collapse.

They’d done nothing. And now he would bury them in fire.

But this wasn’t about them. It was about me, about wiping out every trace of Yuri, every piece of my past, until there was nothing left but him.

I didn’t speak as he led me back to the SUV, his hand on my lower back, his touch possessive, suffocating. The convoy rolled out of the compound, the Bratva soldiers falling into formation, their control over Colombia absolute. My father, my uncles, my home, they were all his now, pawns in his empire, and I was the prize he’d fought to keep.

We boarded the jet back to Yakutsk, the silence between us heavy, the hum of the engines a dull roar in my ears. I sat as far from him as I could, my body pressed against the window, my eyes fixed on the clouds below, but I felt him watching me, his gaze a weight I couldn’t escape.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, a burner I’d hidden in a seam I’d stitched myself, buried deep enough that even Misha’s dogs wouldn’t sniff it out.

It was a text message from Chernov but I didn’t bother reading the text.

Hours passed and we arrived at Yakutsk. The cold here was a living thing, a beast that clawed at your skin and whispereddeath in every gust. It’s no wonder it’s the coldest city in the world. As cold as it’s ruler.

The Bratva compound loomed before me once more, cold steel wrapped in endless snow, as unyielding and merciless as the man who dragged me back here. I never thought I’d return. After everything, I truly believed I’d vanish with Gabriella the moment Yuri was buried

He moved me to his private wing.

I’d spent an entire day staring out the window, clutching the burner Chernov had messaged.

Meet me in Gorod in three days. You don’t belong to him.

The words burned in my mind, a lifeline I couldn’t afford to trust, but couldn’t ignore either. I’d deleted the message, but it lingered, a spark of hope in the darkness Misha had plunged me into.

Of course I remember Misha told me to avoid him but who would refuse an offer to escape the grip of a monster? Our twelve-month contract meant nothing. I didn’t believe for a second he’d let me go. Not a man like him. Not a man who loved with shackles.

The door creaked open behind me, and I turned, my heart lurching as Misha stepped inside. His black suit was pristine, his pale eyes sharp, but there was a tension in his jaw, a storm brewing beneath his controlled exterior.

My body still remembered Colombia. The smell of smoke. The heat of flames. I flinched when he moved too fast, even now, burning things was his way of making sure I never forgot who they belonged to.

He was different since Colombia. More volatile. More dangerous. Like something inside him had snapped.

I knew why now.

The necklace. A black pearl pendant on a silver chain. I’d worn it for years, never knowing its weight. But at dinner lastnight, I saw the look in his eyes, rage barely caged. He’d stared at the pendant like it was a ghost.

Stepan’s.

His dead brother’s.

He thought I was tied to the murder. That I knew something. That I was the missing piece he needed to solve a death that had hollowed him out.

I didn’t. I’d found the necklace in my mother’s things after she died. I kept it because it reminded me of her. But none of that mattered to Misha. He wouldn’t believe me even if I carved the truth into my skin.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice low, a blade wrapped in silk as he crossed the room, stopping just close enough for me to feel his heat. “Planning another escape?” His eyes flicked to my hands, then back to my face, and I forced myself to keep still, to keep the phone hidden in the folds of my dress. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of catching me.

“I’m not running,” I lied, my voice steady despite the fear coiling in my gut. “You’ve made sure there’s nothing left to run to.” The words were sharp, a reminder of what he’d done, burning my room at Columbia, Yuri’s family house, my mother’s portrait. My chest ached at the memory, but I pushed it down, my defiance flaring. I wouldn’t let him see me break.

Misha tilted his head, a dark smile playing on his lips, but there was no warmth in it, only menace. “Good,” he said, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to brush my cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. “Because I’d hate to have to hunt you again.”