Page 99 of Sweet Obsession

“No, you won’t.” I reached for her hand, brushing her knuckles. Her skin burned hot. Too hot. “Let me take care of you.”

She didn’t pull away. That was all the permission I needed.

I poured her a glass of water from the tray, kneeling again, pressing it into her hands. “Drink.” My fingers brushed hers.She drank, slowly, watching me the whole time. I adjusted her blanket, tucking it tighter, touch lingering.

Then I reached into my pocket, pulled out a velvet pouch, and placed it in her lap.

“I found this... in the safehouse. With Stepan’s things. A locket. Your mother’s. The ones you told me about. I thought you’d want them back.”

Her breath caught. She opened the locket with trembling fingers, and there they were. A faded photo. A pressed flower. Her past, cradled in silver.

Her tears were soft, quiet.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I didn’t deserve her gratitude. Not even a drop of it. But I drank it down like a dying man.

She shifted under the blanket. A strap of her nightgown slipped from her shoulder, revealing warm, flushed skin. My breath hitched. My gaze dropped, my body betraying me again.

I reached out, brushed her cheek with my knuckles.

“You’re beautiful, Luna,” I said hoarsely. “Even when you’re sick. Even when you hate me. I can’t stop wanting you.”

Her eyes fluttered. She leaned into my touch.

“Misha...”

My name on her lips—half-sigh, half-warning.

She gripped my shirt, fingers trembling.

I leaned closer. But I didn’t cross the line. Not yet. She was too fragile. I had too much left to fix.

I stood, voice strained. “Rest, malyshka. I’ll be here when you wake.”

She drifted off, beads still clutched in her hand.

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her breathe. The weight of everything pressed down—Stepan’s death. Chernov’s obsession. Gabriela’s disappearance. Luna’s father—the bastard who sold my brother for favors.

I remembered what Stepan once told me, in the snow, long ago: “You’ll find someone worth protecting, Misha. Someone who’ll make you better.”

I hadn’t believed him then. But now, looking at her, I did. She was the only thing keeping the darkness in me from winning.

And maybe I was losing. Because every day, I got more obsessed with her. Every day, she slipped further beneath my skin. I didn’t just want her.

I needed her.

And I would burn the whole world to keep her.

LUNA

The fever had finally broken, leaving me weak but alive, my body aching as I lay in the bed, the morning light filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls.

I’d woken to the memory of Misha’s hands on me yesterday, his touch gentle as he’d cared for me, the beads he’d returned a quiet weight in my palm, a piece of Mama I thought I’d lost forever.

The crescent moon pendant he’d given me hung around my neck, a symbol of his promise, a promise I wanted to believe in, even as the hate for what he’d done in Colombia lingered, a fire that refused to die.

The door creaked open, and Misha stepped inside, a tray in his hands.