Chapter 24 – Roman
It wasn’t my intention to keep my distance at first; I’d just been too occupied with work. But after my conversation with Demyon, I realized I was indeed starting to develop an attachment to Scarlett.
He called it love. I called it intrigue.
However, if I didn’t control my emotions as he suggested, things could take a different turn much quicker than I thought. To control my emotions, I decided it was best to avoid her for the time being.
She had already snuck her way into my stone-cold heart, and her face was already cemented in my mind. The longer I stayed around her, the more vulnerable I’d become. And in my line of work, vulnerability often led to destruction.
To keep her from further damaging my mind, I began intentionally avoiding her. I’d leave too early and return too late, so she hadn’t really set eyes on me. This method of detachment was more painful than I anticipated due to the conflict between my mind and my body.
My mind wanted me to stay away from her, but my body didn’t sign up for this. It craved her like a drug I couldn’t do without. The longer I avoided her, the more I wanted her. I feared that at some point I might have become addicted to this woman.
Every morning when I woke up beside her, I’d watch her as she slept peacefully. For the next five minutes or so, I’d drink in her beauty and the sight of her body—her curves and contours. I always wrestled against the urge to touch her, to kiss her lips and caress her skin.
Sometimes, I’d find myself stroking my length—fuckin’ hard as a rock—while watching her sleep. And on several occasions, I came so close to waking her up with a kiss. However, I tapped into my inner strength, and although it was tough as hell, I always emerged triumphant.
I might have been a cruel bastard, but I wasn’t a pervert. It was my decision to stay away, and I intended to do just that. It didn’t matter how tempting her body was; I wasn’t going to make a move simply because I was horny.
It wasn’t pride. It was an act of fairness.
Considering how I made her feel the last time we were together, it was only logical to conclude that there must have been times when she wanted me and I wasn’t there for her.
If I were unavailable when she needed me, why should she make herself available when I needed her?
The fact that I was now starting to see things from a different perspective was as intriguing as it was disturbing. This only showed the extent to which her personality was rubbing off on me, and that awareness unsettled me in so many ways.
I’d heard that sometimes, through sex, couples exchange traits with each other and that over time, they begin to act or even look alike. I honestly hoped that wasn’t the case with me. Because the last thing I needed right now was her soft traits clashing with mine.
Recently, I noticed that she often disappeared for hours at a stretch. And although I had no idea where she spent all that time, I didn’t bother because I knew she was close. She was always within the confines of the mansion.
This obsession with her was starting to piss me off, especially because there wasn’t a switch I could flip and end it all. She’d slipped into my heart and had crawled even deeper under my skin, making it nearly impossible to get her out.
The only way I could think of to detach was to bury myself in work, ignoring the pull toward her.
I was in my study that afternoon, eyes fixed on my laptop screen, reviewing some files and barking orders into the phone. I’d been distracted for a while, but I was back now, and everyone around me must be up and doing.
The front door busted open, and she walked in. “Surprise!” she giggled, striking a seductive pose at the door.
I recognized that voice long before I lifted my head. “Oh, fuck,” I murmured, fingers massaging my temples as I met her gaze.
Her familiar perfume wafted through the air, her heels clicking against the floor. I’d almost forgotten that scent, almost forgotten that she even existed. Yet, there she was, sashaying into my study like she owned the place.
“Let me call you back,” I said to Sergei on the other line and ended the call. “Anya,” I called, reclining in my chair. “What’re you doing here?”
“Oh, come on, that’s no way to treat your sugar pie, now is it?” she teased, tossing her handbag on my table.
Meet Anya Vesalov, an old flame I thought I extinguished months ago. She was my lover, my 4:00 p.m. booty call for as long as I could remember. It had all been fun and games until Scarlett stepped into the picture and ruined what Anya and I shared.
It wasn’t anything serious, just two people benefiting from each other. If I wanted sex, I’d call, and she’d show up immediately, ready to please me.
If she wanted money, she’d call, and I’d wire it to her. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, one in which both parties benefited with no strings attached.
However, after Scarlett arrived at the mansion, I grew tired of Anya and gradually forgot all about her. I stopped calling because I no longer needed her services. She tried to reach out a few times but stopped soon after noticing my lack of interest.
For a while, I thought she’d moved on, that my coldness toward her and the distance between us had created a rift that had pushed us apart.
I was wrong, because here she was, standing in front of me with that seductive smile on her face. She was wearing a black dress that hugged her in all the right places but revealed way too much skin.
Her gown featured a long, daring slit that almost bared her entire right leg. The neckline dipped so low that it exposed the lush swell of her breasts, which seemed rather inappropriate.
Anya had always loved to put her curves on display without apology, and I used to like it too. But somehow, I now thought it looked indecent.
She walked around my desk, trailing her fingers along the table as she cast an alluring glance at me. “I’ve missed you, Roman,” she began, her voice low and seductive. “I’ve missed you so much.” She halted in front of me, her green eyes boring into mine.
I stared at her in silence, waiting for her actions to ignite a flame within me. But so far, I hadn’t felt anything—no spark, no desire. Nothing. My cock didn’t even twitch in my pants.
“Haven’t you missed me too?” She lifted the hem of her dress, teasing her hand along her thighs.
“What’re you doing here, Anya? What do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She leaned in, her face mirroring mine, her breath warm against my skin. “I want you. That’s why I’m here.”
I tried to push her away as politely as I could, but her hands were already all over my body.
“You broke my heart when you abandoned me and married someone else,” she whispered, her manicured hands caressing my face.
“Anya….” I pulled away, avoiding her kiss.
“I’m not even mad that you’re married now; it just makes you even hotter.” She straddled me in one swift motion. “God, I miss your dick inside me,” she moaned, grinding against my groin with a deliberate slowness.
“Anya, stop,” I said calmly, pulling my face away from hers.
“What’s the matter?” She placed her palms on my cheeks. “Don’t you find me attractive anymore?” She tried to kiss me.
Again, I avoided her lips, uncomfortable with how she was seated on my lap. Our position didn’t paint a good picture at all, and deep down, I was worried my wife would walk in on us. I didn’t want her to stumble upon this scene—I wasn’t sure why, but somehow I knew it just didn’t feel right.
“Come on, Roman,” she whispered, her voice laced with desire, her hand crawling all over my face. “Are you gonna leave me hanging? I’m wet for you already.” She ground her waist against mine. “Just take me—fuck me like you used to…. Destroy my pussy.”
Suddenly, I sensed another presence in the room, and the unmistakable scent of my wife’s perfume drifted into my nostrils. I turned toward the door, and there she was, standing still, as if frozen in place. Shocked.
Fuck.
She didn’t utter a word, but the look in her eyes revealed the pain behind her blank expression.
My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my pulse quickening by the second. A sudden heat spread across my body, accompanied by an unexplainable dryness in my throat.
It wasn’t what it looked like, but I couldn’t even find the words to explain myself. My lips parted, but no sound came out.
Anya followed my gaze to the door, and a wicked grin curled at the corner of her lips. “Aww, is this her?” She straightened atop me, her voice tinged with mockery. “Poor thing, you wanna join? I don’t mind sharing.”
Scarlett’s expression remained blank, and quietly, she walked away, her receding footsteps silent against the floor.
“Oh, man—and a threesome would’ve been great,” Anya mumbled to herself like she hadn’t seen the pain in Scarlett’s eyes. “Too bad she refused to join. Now, where were we?” She faced me.
“Get up and get out,” I said to her, my voice cold and menacing.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“But I thought—”
“Get out!” I snapped, eyes blazing with fury.
“Okay, okay, jeez!” She hopped off my lap, hand on her chest as if to keep her heart from jumping out. She straightened her spine, adjusted her dress, and looked at me. “I’ll leave…. You’re no fun anyway.”
I watched her grab her handbag and walk out of my study with her chin held up high, unaffected by my rejection. I didn’t give a flying fuck about her—my focus was on my wife and on how to explain the situation to her.
I’d never had a reason to explain myself to anyone, let alone a young girl half my age. But with Scarlett, things were different, and for the first time, this growing attachment to her scared the shit out of me.
Unsure of what to do or how to handle this problem, I waited until later in the evening to make a move. I thought that by then, it would be a lot easier to have a conversation with her, even though I had no idea what to say.