Page 5 of Sweet Obsession (Savage Vow #1)

LUNA

I drifted in and out of consciousness.

The world was a blur of cold marble floors, the soft creak of doors swinging open, the low murmur of voices I couldn’t understand.

But one sound stayed constant.

Footsteps. Measured and heavy. The kind a predator makes when it already knows you can’t run.

I opened my eyes once. Caught a glimpse of a long hallway I didn’t recognize.

Walls lined with somber oil paintings. Gold sconces throwing dim light onto dark wood.

Not the east wing. Not the family quarters.

Where was I?

Misha’s scent clung to me, gunmetal, smoke, and cold earth.

It was threaded into my skin now. Into my breathing.

When the darkness tugged again, I didn’t fight it.

I woke slowly.

My body felt heavy, but my mind was clearer now.

Something flashed in my mind—Yuri’s hand tightening around my wrist, the sharp sting of a needle, his breath hot near my ear. I flinched, swallowing bile.

The fog of whatever Yuri slipped me was thinning, leaving behind a pounding headache and a sour taste in my mouth.

My hands flew to my dress—still intact. My skin prickled like something had been stolen from me while I slept. I hated that I didn’t know what.

I was lying on a massive bed in a dimly lit room. Dark velvet curtains hung from towering windows. The furniture was heavy, expensive, old-world.

Not mine. Not Gabriela’s. Not my father’s.

I sat up too fast. The world tilted.

“Take it slow,” a voice said.

I jerked toward the sound.

Misha Petrov stood across the room, arms folded, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

He watched me. Not kindly. Not cruelly.

Just... watched.

A heavy tumbler of water sat on the nightstand beside me. I snatched it up and drank like my throat was on fire.

Only when I set it down did I realize he hadn’t moved.

Still staring. Still silent.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, forcing myself to my feet.

Every muscle protested, but I stood anyway.

Because weakness wasn’t an option.

“Where am I?” I rasped.

“My wing,” he said simply.

The words hit like a punch.

His wing.

The part of the estate nobody talked about. The part even Papa’s men avoided after dark.

I crossed my arms over my chest, heart slamming painfully.

“You didn’t have to bring me here,” I said.

“You were drugged,” he said. His voice was even, but his jaw ticked once, like it cost him something not to break something in half.

“Your boyfriend was about to make decisions for you.” He said flatly. The word boyfriend dripped with contempt.

I stiffened.

“He’s not...” I bit the rest off.

What was the point?

“Why help me?” I asked, throat dry.

He pushed off the wall and took two slow steps toward me.

“Because you’re under my protection now,” he said, voice low, almost bored. “And I don’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”

My heart stuttered. “I’m not yours,” I snapped.

A flicker of something crossed his face. Annoyance? Amusement?

I couldn’t tell.

“No,” he agreed. “Not yet.”

The air thickened, charged with something too heavy to name.

I took a step back without meaning to.

His eyes dropped, just for a second, to my bare feet, my wrinkled dress, the way I wobbled slightly.

“You shouldn’t have gone to him,” he said. “You’re smarter than that.”

“I didn’t know he was going to drug me,” I shot back, shame creeping up my neck.

Misha’s jaw flexed.

“You shouldn’t trust anyone in this house,” he said. “Especially the ones who smile the most.”

My skin prickled.

He took another step closer.

“You think you know what you’re doing. You think you can play this game and win.”

His voice dropped, colder. “You can’t.”

I lifted my chin. “I’m not scared of you,” I lied.

His mouth curved slightly. Not a smile. Something darker.

“You should be.”

I swallowed hard.

“Are you going to punish me for embarrassing your men?” I asked.

“No.” He stepped closer again, so close now I had to tilt my chin up to keep eye contact.

“I admire your spirit,” he said. “But recklessness gets people killed.”

His hand lifted, slow and deliberate, and for one terrifying second, I thought he was going to touch me.

But he just brushed two fingers against the stray strand of hair near my cheek, tucking it behind my ear.

Barely a touch. But it set my blood on fire.

I should’ve recoiled. After what Yuri did, after waking up like this, but I didn’t.

I hated that I didn’t.

He straightened.

“You’ll be fine by morning,” he said, stepping away like he hadn’t just unraveled me with a single graze.

“Get some sleep.”

He turned toward the door and paused.

Without looking back, he added: “And stay out of trouble, malyshka.”

“Wait,” I said, voice cracking. “You can’t just—”

But the door clicked shut.

He was already gone.

Leaving me standing there, trembling from a touch that hadn’t even bruised my skin.

Later that night, I laid still, unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt him.

Not Yuri, not my father.

Misha.

The way he looked at me—like he already knew how this ended.

The way his fingers barely brushed my skin, but still set me on fire.

I rose from the bed and padded barefoot to the window. The estate stretched out below me in cold silver light. Guards patrolled the fences.

The gardens whispered with secrets I didn’t want to hear.

Somewhere down there, Gabriela was curled up in her bed, bruised and broken, waiting for a rescue that might never come.

Whereas, Misha Petrov was hunting something that had already sunk its claws into both of us.

Morning came too fast. I woke up tangled in unfamiliar sheets, the scent of Misha’s world clinging to my skin. A reminder that even in sleep, I wasn’t safe.

I cleaned up quickly, pulled on the least wrinkled dress I could find, and slipped out of the guest wing before anyone could catch me.

One guard stood at the end of the corridor. He didn’t stop me, but his eyes followed like a warning.

If Papa found out where I’d spent the night...

If Yuri...

I shoved the thought aside. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Except trust the wrong people. Again.

The hallways were already humming with activity. Staff moving briskly, preparing for something.

I caught snippets of conversation.

“Formal announcement tonight...”

“Senor Rojas says the wedding must move forward, no delays.”

“The Russian approves?”

I ducked around a corner before they noticed me.

Wedding.

No delays.

The words clawed at my stomach.

The dining room was already set when I arrived.

Silver gleamed. Porcelain shone. Guards flanked the double doors like statues.

Papa sat at the head of the table, reading a document with a glass of black coffee at his elbow.

Gabriela sat quietly two seats down, fingers twisting the hem of her dress, eyes downcast.

And Yuri, he lounged lazily across from her, grinning like the devil who knew he’d already won.

He winked when he saw me.

I ignored him and slid into the chair beside Gabriela.

My heart kicked painfully when I caught sight of another figure entering behind me.

Misha.

Tailored black suit. No tie. Open collar. Sharp enough to bleed on.

He moved like he owned the air around him, every step measured, unhurried and inevitable.

He didn’t greet anyone.

He didn’t need to.

His presence said everything.

Papa cleared his throat awkwardly.

“We have much to celebrate today,” he said, voice booming too loud against the heavy silence. “A new alliance. A stronger future.”

Misha didn’t so much as glance at him.

Instead, his gaze locked briefly and deliberately on me.

Just a flicker. But enough.

My palms went clammy.

I dropped my eyes to my plate.

Papa cleared his throat, the sound too loud against the suffocating silence.

“Today, we formally announce the engagement of my daughter Luna to Yuri Volkov.” He said,“ voice booming across the table

The words hung in the air like a guillotine.

Gabriela flinched visibly. Her eyes flicked to mine—confused, betrayed. I hadn’t told her. I couldn’t.

I clenched my hands under the table, nails digging into my palms.

Yuri smirked and lifted his glass lazily toward me, like he was already toasting to his prize.

I didn’t lift mine.

“I am not interested in this engagement,” I said, my voice low but slicing through the false cheer.

Yuri’s smirk didn’t waver. “You’ll come around, kotenok,” he murmured. “They always do.”

The room tensed.

Papa’s expression darkened. “This is not a matter for you to decide, Luna,” he said sharply. “It’s business. Security for our family.”

I swallowed the bitter taste rising in my throat.

Security.

That’s what I was worth now.

A contract. A promise. A chess move.

Yuri reached across the table, brushing his fingers over the back of my hand like he already owned me.

I jerked away before I could think.

He laughed under his breath, not bothering to hide his amusement.

But what caught me wasn’t Yuri’s laughter.

It was Misha.

Sitting there.

Silent.

Expression unreadable.

His eyes, icy and sharp, fixed on the scene like he was dissecting it piece by piece.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t interfere.

But the weight of his gaze pinned me to my chair harder than any hand could.

I didn’t dare look at Misha.

Not yet.

“Papa, when mother was alive, you said you’d never let me be forced into marriage,” I said, hating the crack in my voice.

“Circumstances change.”

The finality in his tone was a slap.

I stood abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.

“Excuse me,” I said tightly.

Papa didn’t stop me. Neither did Yuri.

But I felt a different weight follow me as I left the room. Heavy and silent.

At the Corridor, just outside the Dining Room. I barely made it two turns before a hand caught my wrist.

I yanked around, heart slamming against my ribs.

Misha.

His hold wasn’t bruising, but it wasn’t gentle either.

He steered me into a small alcove, out of sight, and released me.

I backed against the wall, breathing hard.

He said nothing for a moment. Just studied me. Those pale eyes missing nothing.

I found my voice first.