Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lily
Song - wet dreams, Cloudy June
Drago got home yesterday in the late afternoon after being somewhere mysterious. After he grabbed my dad for a chat, I went upstairs for the evening and promptly passed out. But I still took the crystals he charged for me to bed.
And now after so many hours of sleep, I still feel like I haven’t slept properly. The vodka is already kicking my ass.
After jumping in the shower and making myself look somewhat presentable on the outside, I head straight downstairs to the coffee.
The only thing I need to get me through this day.
Dad can drink a hell of a lot more than I can, but at least I didn’t throw up.
I pause at the doorway, watching Drago and my father locked in a heated debate at the dining table, their voices low, like knives scraping bone.
The air feels too thick, too charged, and suddenly all I want is out. The hangover isn’t helping me.
Maybe I can just sneak away. Go to work, and pretend that none of this is happening.
I take one careful step, but Drago’s blue eyes snap to mine instantly like he felt it before he saw it.
My fingers tighten around my purse, clutching it to my body as if it might shield me from the intensity rolling off him. His gaze flicks down, then back up, then one eyebrow arches.
“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks, already rising from his chair.
My pulse stutters.
I glance at my dad, silently begging for backup, but I get nothing.
“Work?” I say, the word lifting at the end like I’m asking permission instead of stating a fact.
Drago nods once. He reaches for his suit jacket, sliding it on with calm precision. No rush. No anger. Just control.
He doesn’t say another word.
Instead, he picks up the gun from the table, checks it out of habit, and holsters it smoothly at his side. The click feels loud in the quiet room.
Then he steps into my space.
Too close.
He stops directly in front of me, towering, his voice dropping as he leans in just enough that only I can hear him.
“Don’t try to sneak out on me, Lily. It won’t work,” he whispers. “I’m programmed to hunt.”
My breath catches. My eyes go wide before I can stop them.
And then, like he didn’t just flip my entire nervous system upside down, he chuckles softly.
Like this is amusing. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And worse… Like he’s daring me to try again.
I try to dodge past him, but he’s right behind me, one hand resting at the small of my back as we leave the house. It isn’t guiding or pushing, just present. A reminder that he’s there. That he always will be.
And that doesn’t scare me.
The drive is silent, neither awkward nor comfortable.
I stare out of the window, pretending I’m not hyperaware of everything he does, the way his hands flex around the steering wheel, the way his jaw tightens when another car gets too close, like the world itself is a threat and I’m the only thing in it worth shielding.
When we pull up outside the gallery, relief and dread collide in my chest. Work is supposed to mean normal. Work is supposed to mean distance.
I step inside anyway, the bell chiming above the door, the familiar scent of incense and polished stone settling me. Gothic calm. My sanctuary.
“Morning, boss,” Roxy chirps from the desk, and then her voice trails off, and she freezes. Her eyes lift slowly, and then widen in a way that makes my stomach drop.
I feel the shift instantly. That instinctive pause women make—the silent, visceral oh.
Roxy stands, smoothing her skirt, her cheeks flushing as her gaze drags openly over Drago’s broad shoulders, his tailored suit, the quiet menace that clings to him like a second skin.
“Uh… hi,” she says, blinking like she’s forgotten how speech works.
Drago gives her a polite nod.
“Roxy,” I say quickly, forcing brightness into my voice, “this is… Drago.”
Just Drago. Nothing else. There isn’t a title that would explain him anyway.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand, still staring like she’s fighting the urge to gawk.
Drago takes it briefly.
“Likewise.” His accent slips through just enough to make her swallow.
“Wow,” she says, then clears her throat. “Do you… Need anything? Coffee? Water? I mean—”
I shoot her a look.
She winces. “Right. Professional.”
Drago’s mouth twitches, the smallest hint of amusement flickering before it’s gone.
“I’ll be with Lily,” he says calmly.
Not for now. Not if needed. With.
Roxy nods immediately. “Of course. Totally. Take all the time you need.”
Inside my office, I drop my bag onto the chair and move straight to my desk, suddenly desperate for routine. My laptop boots up, the quiet hum grounding me in a way my body desperately needs.
Drago closes the door behind him, then locks it. The sound clicks too loudly in the room.
I turn slowly. “You know you don’t have to—”
“I do,” he says evenly.
He stays by the door, arms folding across his chest, his gaze sweeping the room like he’s mapping exits, angles, and blind spots. Like this space is already a battlefield. In reality, it’s just a lot of windows and a security feed in the corner.
I sit, fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to breathe normally.
And then I feel it.
His attention isn’t constant or obvious, but it’s there all the same. Every time I shift in my chair. Every time I tuck my hair behind my ear. Every time I lean forward to type.
I catch him glancing up. Watching. Not my body, not like that. My face. My reactions. My breath.
It’s maddening.
I clear my throat. “You can sit, you know.”
“I’m fine.”
Of course he is.
I try to work, but the numbers blur, and emails go unread. My pulse refuses to settle.
“Do you always stand guard like this?” I ask without looking at him.
“No.”
That makes me pause. “No?”
“I usually blend into the background,” he says quietly. “You don’t make that easy.”
My fingers are still on the keys. “That sounds like a you problem.”
There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Everything about you is a me problem, Lily.”
I look up, and he’s already watching me. The silence stretches until it feels as if either of us breathes wrong, something irreversible will happen.
I swallow and look back at the screen, forcing my focus where it belongs.
And somehow, I’ve never felt more seen. Never felt more contained. Never been more aware that whatever this is between us, it’s only getting harder to outrun.
I click on the email from Marco’s assistant, and my heart drops. Shit.