Page 13 of Sweet Obsession (Savage Vow #1)

He turned back to the window, exhaling smoke into the night.

Leaving me burning with questions I had no right to ask.

I stood and moved to my bag. I needed something to anchor me.

Jewelry.

My fingers worked on my latest design, the intricate metal and stones calming the war inside me. The one he kept triggering.

The second day. I didn’t see much of him. He left for meetings while I stayed in the room. I made more jewelry. Read. Prowled the walls like a caged animal. When night came, so did the cold. And the ache in my spine from that damned chair.

He returned late. Said nothing. Didn’t even look at me.

I wrapped myself tighter in the blanket. A burrito of resentment and half-buried heat.

I must’ve dozed off because shouting woke me. Voices downstairs. Arguing. One of them, Vladmir.

I bolted up. Tripped over the blanket and fell right into him. Hard chest. Warm hands. Strong fingers gripping my arms like I’d fall through the floor if he let go.

His breath hitched. So did mine.

I looked up. Mistake. His eyes, those glacial, silver eyes, burned down at me like a curse.

“You drive me mad, Luna,” he said, voice rough, cracked with something he didn’t want me to hear. “You are... undoing me.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

His thumb brushed my lower lip. Barely there. Possessive. Sinful.

I jerked back, but he pulled me closer, hands pressing into my spine. “What are you doing to me?” he growled. “I can’t think. I can’t focus. And it’s only worse when I try to stay away.”

His words coiled around me like smoke. My skin tingle where he touched me. God, I hated that I wanted more of it.

“Let’s sleep side by side tonight,” he murmured.

“No,” I whispered. “I can’t—”

He let me go. Gently. Like it pained him.

I turned. Walked to the bed. Lay on the far edge like it was a cliff. A warning. Because if I let myself believe this was anything more than survival, I wouldn’t survive it.

And I think he knew that.

The storm outside resumed. At first, it was only the wind, howling low against the windows, rattling them like an old ghost.

Then the rain came. Sheets of it, hammering against the glass. And thunder.

Deep, shaking thunder that rattled the chandelier above the bed and sent vibrations through the floorboards.

I wasn’t a child anymore. But the storm didn’t care. It cracked open the vault I’d sealed shut. flashing me back to a night when thunder drowned out my screams and my mother died behind a locked door.

I tucked my knees tighter to my chest, pressing my forehead against them. Another loud crack split the sky, and I jumped too sharp, too obvious.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Pathetic.

A rustle of movement. I froze, instinct sharpening.

Footsteps. Soft but certain.

I didn’t lift my head, but I heard the slow approach.

Something warm settled over my shoulders.

I jerked slightly, looking up, startled and found him.

Misha. Standing over me.

He had dropped his heavy black jacket over my shoulders.

He said nothing. Didn’t ask. Didn’t mock.

He just turned and walked back to the bed, the faintest limp in his step, almost invisible. He hated when I noticed. But storms peeled us both raw.

I laid there, stunned, wrapped in the heat of his jacket. It smelled like leather and something darker, sharper, like smoke and rain and metal.

I buried my face in the thick collar, breathing him in without meaning to.

Outside, the storm raged on. But inside, something had shifted.

Subtle. Silent. But real.

For once, the cold in my chest softened.

Just a little. And it had nothing to do with the fire.

I don’t know how long I sat there, wrapped in his jacket, pretending I wasn’t clinging to the last shred of warmth he’d offered.

By the time the storm finally eased, pale morning light was bleeding through the heavy curtains.

The house was too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.

I stood slowly, stretching aching limbs, and made my way to the en suite bathroom attached to our shared room.

After a long shower, I changed into one of the simple outfits Vladmir had packed for me, soft black leggings and a sweater too big for my frame, and padded barefoot back into the main room.

Misha was at the window again.

Still.

Like he hadn’t moved all night.

His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid.

Something was wrong. Before I could ask, a sharp knock rattled the door.

Misha didn’t move. “Come in,” he said, voice like gravel.

Vladmir stepped inside, his face grim.

“I thought you said the marriage was believable,” he snapped. “Some of our men are asking questions. About the marriage. About why it’s so... quiet.”

Misha’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Vladmir continued, tone clipped. “They’re expecting a wedding announcement. Proof. Pictures. Something to convince them she’s not just here... as a hostage.”

The word hung between us like a blade.

I felt Misha stiffen. For the first time, something that looked almost like frustration flashed across his face.

“What do you want me to do, father?” he asked coolly. “Parade her around like a trophy?”

Vladmir didn’t flinch.

“I already did the best I could. Embraced her in public and kissed her before my men. If that’s not enough... they should suck it.”

Vladmir glanced at me and for once, there was no coldness in his eyes. Only something that almost looked like pity. “You need to act the part. Both of you. Starting now.”

Misha said nothing.

His jaw flexed once. Twice.

Vladmif left without another word, closing the door behind him with a final, heavy click.

I wrapped my arms around myself.

Waiting.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

Finally, Misha turned. His expression was carved from stone.

“Vladmir is right,” he said. “We have to continue to play our parts.”

I lifted my chin, ignoring the cold knot tightening in my chest.

“Aren’t we already doing that.”

“Not enough. The municipal wedding must be filed. That will convince them, because If anyone suspects this charade of a marriage isn’t real, you put both of us in danger. You put Gabriela in danger.”

That last part hit harder than I wanted it to. I’d walked through fire for her. But in Misha’s world, fire wasn’t enough. Blood was the price.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest.

“I already made enough sacrifice to be here and just so you know, it’s all for my sister. You do not get to threaten her.” I said defensively.

For a beat, the air crackled between us.

I hated him.

I hated how calm he was.

How in control.

I hated that he could stand there, looking like sin and violence wrapped in a tailored suit, and talk about pretending.

When some twisted, broken part of me didn’t know if he was pretending anymore.

Neither did he.

He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a simple gold ring.

Plain. Unassuming. He held it out to me.

“Wear it,” he said. “Starting today.”

I hesitated. The ring was warm from his skin. I hated how easily my fingers closed around it. Hated that I didn’t throw it across the room.

It weighed nothing and everything.

Misha turned away before I could answer, moving to the dresser, gathering files, his body tense and cold.

And I realized... He hated this just as much as I did.

But he would do it. For his empire. For the war brewing in the shadows.

And somewhere deep down, maybe, for me.

Even if he’d never admit it.

On our last night in Moscow, he stood behind me at one point, hand brushing my lower back as he reached for a document. I froze.

“Relax,” he murmured. “You flinch like I’m going to break you.”

“Maybe you already did,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

But that night, he stayed closer. Sat in the armchair near the fire after I went to bed. Didn’t speak.

But his eyes never left me.