♛Chapter Sixteen♛
Lola
Obsession is a sickness. A parasite that’s sunk its teeth into my brain and refuses to let go. I feel it in my bones, in my bloodstream. My fingers twitch, itching to open my laptop and stalk the cameras in his apartment, to give in, to drown in whatever scraps of him I can find.
I let the hunger burn through me instead, let it sear from the inside out. Because this? This is withdrawal. This is breaking an addiction, and I will not relapse. I will not chase him. I refuse to waste another second feeding the monster that is Mikhail.
Yesterday, I chose my words carefully, knowing which ones would claw at his darkest insecurities.
Maybe that makes me cruel. I don’t care.
He deserved it. He wanted to be my protector, my savior, my executioner?
Then he should’ve been strong enough to handle the truth.
Instead, he pushed me aside. Hid me away like a shameful secret, as if I couldn’t handle the blood on his hands, like I haven’t always known something about him was off.
That phone call only confirmed it. Mikhail is involved in something shady.
A gang? A cult? I don’t know.
But he should have realized long ago that I was never pure, never some delicate light. My own father warned him, for God’s sake. I would’ve taken him, darkness and all. Kissed his bruises. Licked his wounds. Bled for him. But he shut me out.
The canvas I’ve been working on flies across the room, a smear of wet paint splashing onto the floor. It lands near the portrait of Mikhail, the one I took down and covered, no longer able to look at it. I feel like I’m suffocating inside my own skin.
I’ve been wasting time, complaining, whining about wanting freedom, about cutting myself off from my father’s money and his world. But what the hell have I done to change that?
Not enough.
That ends now.
Commissions. More than ever. I’m accepting every request, drowning myself in work. Letting exhaustion anchor me, keeping me from spiraling into thoughts of Mikhail.
And yet... that business card.
That damn business card the stranger gave me, the man who looked suspiciously like Mikhail, is still sitting there.
I haven’t touched it since, but in my gut, I know it’s connected to him.
And I won’t pretend the thought doesn’t tempt me.
Dipping my toes into the unknown. Into the dark.
Maybe even into something illegal. There’s a thrill there. A danger I might welcome. Easy money.
But not like this.
Not if it means trading one cage for another.
Because moving my income from my father to something Mikhail controls isn’t freedom. It’s just a new leash. A soft rustling outside makes my ears strain.
Look. Don’t look . Look . Don’t look.
Ignore it.
Footsteps. Light. Feminine. Then a knock—three slow raps against his door.
Look . Don’t look . Look . Don’t look.
I lose the fight. When my eyes flick to the peephole, my stomach sinks. A woman stands outside Mikhail’s apartment. Young. Pretty. My chest tightens as I watch him let her in.
A slow, numbing cold creeps into my bones. I swallow, tasting blood and something worse, something bitter and vile. My vision tunnels. Black dots flicker at the edges.
I want to kill them both.
Blood.
Justice.
I push myself up. My legs barely hold. My fingers rake down my face, desperate to claw the feeling out. But it doesn’t stop. My skin feels too tight, my head too full, my heart pounding so hard I think it might split open. “Fuck. Fuck.” The word comes out as a whisper. A rasp. A plea to no one.
This isn’t heartbreak. I try to convince myself it’s just withdrawal.
I stumble to the bathroom, wrench the shower handle until it clanks, and let the water blast through the pipes, freezing, punishing.
I step in fully clothed. The ice slices through my skin.
I collapse onto the tiles, curling in on myself as the water crashes down.
It soaks me to the bone, but the fire in my chest only burns hotter.
Wilder. It spreads like gasoline on a flame.
I won’t give in.
Mikhail is not mine anymore.
Mikhail is not mine.
Mikhail is not—
A scream tears out of me, cutting off my thoughts. I crawl out of the bathroom. My drenched clothes slap against the floor, leaving a trail of water behind. I reach for the laptop. Just one look. Just a peek. Just to see what’s happening.
My fingers hover over the lid, close enough to snap it open. To dive headfirst into destruction. To rip the wound wider and pour salt into it.
But I stop.
No.
I yank my hand back like it burned me. I’m not going to be that girl. I peel off the soaked clothes and throw on a hoodie and leggings. I need to get out. I don’t run when I leave the apartment. I won’t look desperate. The elevator dings, and I step inside, grateful to be away from his door.
Out. I need out.
The lobby is quiet. I try to smile at Clark, but I’m sure it comes off as a grimace. “Hi, Clark,” I say.
He looks up, his face lighting up. “Miss Lola, out this late?”
“Just needed some air.” I lean on the counter.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Something like that.” And just like that, I become the charming girl, the sweet girl, the girl who could be anyone, anywhere, with nothing clawing at her insides. I am a lie wrapped in a smile.
I walk outside, and for the first time tonight, I can finally breathe. I’m not going to cry over him. Not now. Not ever. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t care. As long as I’m moving away from him, it’s enough.
A sound brushes the edge of my awareness.
Soft. Measured. Like a shadow stretching too close. I glance over my shoulder, but the street is empty.
It’s nothing. My mind is playing tricks on me. I turn down another path, trying to shake the feeling, to lose whoever might be out there. But the sound lingers, just behind me, refusing to disappear.
Running makes you prey. It makes them chase. So I don’t run. I pivot, my apartment complex coming back into view. Just make it back. Just make it inside. A hand reaches out—
I throw my weight into the first punch, my knuckles cracking against solid muscle.
Another punch. Then another. My breath is ragged, fists flying, striking whatever part of him I can reach.
“Fuck—” the man grunts, his grip on me tightening.
“Relax. I don’t want to hurt you.” He takes a blow to the stomach, sucks in a sharp breath, and finally lets me go.
I stumble back, panting. It’s the stranger who gave me the business card. “What’s your name again?” I shout, furious and ready to report him to the police.
His lips twitch. “Roman.”
“What the fuck do you want?” I spit, wiping my mouth.
“You never called me.”
“For what?”
“For the commission work.”
I make an educated guess. This stranger, who looks eerily like Mikhail, who shares the same last name, who approached me once before about this mysterious “commission work”, is Mikhail’s brother.
And judging by how Mikhail had stressed how mediocre I was during that phone call. .. he was speaking to him that day.
“Why the fuck would I do that? I thought Mikhail already told you how mediocre I am.”
“Oh, so you heard. No wonder he called for Lara.”
Lara. The name twists inside me like a jagged knife. “Oh, nice,” I grumble. “A shared slut.”
“Careful. Not many people get away with talking to me like that.”
“And who am I talking to?” I mock.
“The Pakhan.”
Fuck. The blood drains from my face.
What the hell has Mikhail pulled me into? The fucking Bratva, really? I swallow hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral. “Well, it was nice chatting, but I should—”
He catches my wrist. “You know what Mikhail said on that phone call wasn’t true.”
I yank my hand back. “Don’t care.”
“We need a good artist. And fast.”
“What does that have to do with me? I mean, the Bratva has a lot of other resources.”
“Not good enough,” he hisses. “We need a forger. You know how skilled an artist has to be to make a forgery believable?” His eyes narrow. “You’re not mediocre. Mikhail only said that to protect you.”
I scoff. “Protect me? And yet here you are, trying to drag me into the very thing he wanted me out of.”
“You and I both know you were in this world long before Mikhail came into your life.”
My stomach drops. He knows what I’ve done.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
He hums like he’s willing to let it slide. He’s not calling me on my bullshit, yet.
“Why the hell would I agree to this?” I yell, my patience fraying.
“Because if you don’t, we all get into trouble.” He pauses. “Your precious Mikhail included.”
“Why would I care?” I sneer. “He was nothing more than a convenient fuck.” Even I’m impressed by how easily that lie slips from my lips.
“You think I don’t know my brother? He never looks at the same woman twice. But you? You’ve ensnared him. He’s drowning in you.” I don’t believe him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “So I might as well say it now, welcome to the family. And don’t get me wrong,” he sighs. “I’m not exactly happy about this arrangement.”
I arch a brow.
“Women make men sloppy. And I don’t like sloppy.”
“Then you should’ve told Mikhail to keep it in his pants.”
“Like I said, it’s a lost cause. My brother’s already set his eyes on you. And when Mikhail wants something…” He shrugs. “He doesn’t let go. So don’t fight this. Don’t fight him.” Why does it sound like a threat?
“Accept his apology, Lola.”
“I’m not accepting shit.”
“Then he’ll show you.” That aura of darkness around him is something else entirely. “He’ll show you how your version of obsessed is child’s play.”
A shiver runs down my spine, but I keep my expression blank. And before he turns to leave: “You, Lola, will be the reason why Mikhail returns to us.”