Chapter Ten - Lukin
I sit in my office, the soft hum of the city outside my window barely reaching my ears.
The room is silent, save for the occasional clink of my pen as I tap it against the desk.
I’ve been here for hours, trying to drown myself in work, to escape the thoughts that have been circling in my mind nonstop.
My work has been dragging a bit these past few days, thanks to a certain curvy girl with hazel eyes and wild auburn curls.
As I struggle with this, Arseny walks into my office without knocking. I look up sharply, and his eyes flicker to me for a brief moment before he begins. He knows better than to waste time when I’m in one of these moods.
“Everything is in order, Boss,” Arseny starts, his voice steady. “But there are some things you need to know.”
I don’t respond right away, just nodding for him to continue. His gaze shifts to the folder in his hands, the same one he’s been updating daily with information about Zoe. It’s become a ritual. A fucking obsession.
“Zoe’s been rejecting everything,” he says, his voice a little tighter than usual. “Flowers—she’s been throwing them out. The black orchids, the roses… everything.”
I don’t flinch. I don’t react. But inside, there’s a tight knot of frustration building. She’s rejecting me?
He keeps talking, unaware of the storm in my chest. “She’s disregarded the protection detail you assigned. The man you had shadowing her? She yelled at him, told him to stay away.”
I hear the words, but they feel like they’re coming from a distance. My jaw clenches, and I stand up, pacing the length of the room, my steps deliberate, controlled.
I know what she’s doing. She’s pushing back. She’s trying to maintain control. Trying to remind herself she has some say in all this.
But she doesn’t. She doesn’t know what she’s dealing with.
I turn away from him, trying to push down the surge of irritation that’s creeping up on me. But it’s no use. The frustration, the desire—it’s all boiling over now. I’ve tried to give her space, but that’s not what she needs.
“Where is she now?”
“She’s gotten home and locked up for the night,” Arseny replies.
I don’t like defiance. Not from anyone, but especially not from her.
She’s different. And that’s what makes this so damn infuriating. I’ve never had a woman fight me before, push back, try to test their boundaries.
She thinks she can push me away, that she can reject the things I’m offering her. She doesn’t know the kind of protection she needs.
She doesn’t understand that the world she’s so eager to hide from—my world—is the only thing keeping her safe. That the same darkness that pulls me in is the one that shields her.
The thought of her rejecting me, rejecting everything I’ve done to keep her from the worst of this life, fills me with rage. She doesn’t get to dictate the rules here. She doesn’t get to decide when and how she’s part of my world.
I stand in the center of my office, my hands clenched into fists, my jaw tight. Every word Arseny spoke about her pushing away the protection I assigned her, tossing the flowers aside like they were nothing—it eats away at me, gnawing at my insides.
I don’t care that she’s scared. I don’t care that she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t get to play this game. Not with me. Not with what’s mine.
She doesn’t understand the danger that follows me. The enemies I’ve made over the years, the shadows I’ve built my empire on. But she will. She’ll learn it. She’ll see what I’ve protected her from.
And she’ll realize that the same man who is keeping her safe is the one she’s pushing away.
The silence in the room is suffocating. I can’t sit still any longer. I walk toward the window, the weight of my thoughts heavy in my chest. I’m not going to let her reject me. I’m not going to let her walk away from this.
She’ll come around. She has no choice.
I don’t just want her. I need her.
And no matter how much she tries to run, no matter how hard she pushes, I won’t stop until she understands.
She can’t keep rejecting what she doesn’t fully understand. She doesn’t know what it means to belong to me.
“Get out.”
The words are cold, sharp—an order, not a suggestion. Arseny doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. He nods, quietly taking the dossier with him, his expression unreadable as he heads for the door. He’s barely there when the door opens. This time, it’s Adrian.
He walks in casually, the usual arrogance in his steps, his eyes immediately flicking to the Zoe dossier in Arseny’s hand. He rolls his eyes, an exaggerated gesture, like he’s seen enough of this shit to last a lifetime.
“Lukin,” he starts, his voice laced with both annoyance and concern, “when is this obsession going to stop?” He crosses his arms, looking at me like I’m some kid playing a dangerous game.
I turn away from him, staring out at the city skyline, trying to push down the anger bubbling beneath my skin. I don’t need his judgment right now, don’t need anyone’s opinion on her.
But he doesn’t let it go. “What would Maria say if she found out you’ve been fantasizing about fucking her best friend?” Adrian’s words cut through the tension like a knife.
I turn to face him, my eyes narrowing, my jaw tightening. “Don’t you ever speak on Zoe like that again. Is that clear?”
Adrian hesitates, his gaze flickering with the slightest trace of something—surprise, maybe, or something akin to fear. As my brother, I give him a lot of grace, but he knows when I’m at my limits and he has never tested me before.
“Yes,” he finally mutters, his voice edged with reluctant acceptance.
“Good,” I say, my tone flat and final. “Now both of you—get out.”
I don’t wait for any more words, but Adrian stays planted in the middle of the room. He has his own idea in mind, and I know it before he even opens his mouth.
“No,” he says with a grin, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Why don’t we go unwind at the club? As a distraction. I know I could use one. You’ve been cooped up here for days. Let’s go. I’m sure the women there won’t mind.”
I can see where this is going. He’s not wrong. The club is full of distractions, full of beautiful women willing to forget their names for a few hours, and for a moment, it sounds like exactly what I need—something to drown out the thoughts of Zoe.
But it’s not enough. I know it won’t be.
Still, I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Fine,” I say reluctantly, feeling the weight of Zoe still hanging over me, but I push it down for the moment. “We’ll go. But make it quick. I’m not staying long.”
Adrian smiles, a knowing look in his eyes. “That’s the spirit. Let’s go blow off some steam.”
***
The VIP section of the club is dimly lit, guarded, flooded with luxury—everything polished, everything perfect.
The hum of conversation and clinking of glasses blends into a smooth, rhythmic beat that tries to drown out the noise in my head.
But it doesn’t work. I’m here, surrounded by all this excess, and yet, I’m still trapped in my own thoughts.
Adrian’s already sprawled across the booth, lounging like he owns the entire place, drink in hand, surrounded by a group of women laughing too loudly, leaning too close.
He’s living in the moment, as always, chasing whatever fleeting pleasure catches his eye.
I watch him for a second, his eyes scanning the women around him, his charm effortless.
A few whispers from Adrian, and suddenly, the women stand up and walk over to me.
They glide in like they’ve been rehearsing their movements, their smiles, their touches.
One of them runs her hand across the back of my neck, the other slides closer, her fingers lingering at the collar of my shirt. I don’t respond. I don’t need to.
They’re all the same—seductive, eager, but hollow.
They try to pull me in, slipping their hands under my shirt, into my hair, into my pants.
I tolerate it, out of habit, out of pity, but it does nothing for me.
I don’t care about them. They’re distractions, and I can’t help but feel irritated by their presence.
Their perfume smells wrong, too sweet. Their voices? Wrong.
The only thing right, the only thing real, is the face in my mind.
Zoe.
Her eyes, her lips, the way she looked at me with that mix of curiosity and fear. She’s the only thing I can think of, the only thing I want. Every woman here, every touch they offer, feels like an imitation. A pale reflection of what I’m truly craving.
I take the bottle of whiskey in my hand, uncaring, and sip straight from it. The burn of the alcohol does nothing to numb the ache that’s slowly building in my chest.
I look ahead, out through the glass wall of the VIP section, where I can see the sea of bodies dancing below.
The flashing lights from the general floor pulse, a chaotic blur of movement and noise.
It’s supposed to feel exhilarating, but it’s just white noise.
Nothing matters here. Not the women, not the drinks, not even Adrian’s constant chatter.
That is, until I spot her.
At first, I think it’s just a trick of the light. A figment of my imagination playing tricks on me, but when I sit up straight, the certainty hits me. It’s her.
I watch as she moves through the crowd, her dress clinging to her curves like a second skin.
The fabric is a deep red, so tight, so perfect, that it accentuates every movement of her body.
Her makeup is sharper than usual, her lips bold and red, like she’s daring the world to look at her.
And it works. She has the attention of everyone around her.
But it’s not just her. It’s the man beside her.
He’s standing too close, laughing too easily, his arm around her waist like he has the right to touch her.
The sight of him with her makes my blood run cold.
So this fucking jerk can touch her but I can’t?
I watch as she dances, her body moving seductively to the music, her arms wrapping around his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She writhes, twisting her hips, the way she moves making something dark twist inside of me. She’s playing the game. Playing it well.
I can’t watch this.
I shove the women around me out of the way, ignoring the surprised looks they throw in my direction.
I don’t care. I push off the booth and walk closer to the glass, my hands resting on the cool surface as I stare down at her.
I can see everything now. The way she’s leaning into him, laughing too animatedly at whatever he’s whispering in her ear.
The way his hand slides too possessively around her waist, pulling her closer.
I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to feel the tight knot of jealousy forming in my chest.
But I can’t look away. I can’t stop watching her.
I can feel the women closing in on me again, their hands slipping onto my neck, their laughter too loud, too eager. They’re trying to draw my attention back to them, to distract me, but I don’t want them. I never wanted them.
With a quick motion, I turn my head, my jaw tight, my voice low and threatening. “Leave me alone.”
They hesitate for a moment, their eyes flickering with uncertainty, but they back off, their disappointment obvious. I don’t care. I’m done with them. My focus is on her.
I turn back to the glass, my pulse quickening when I see her again.
Zoe.
She’s looking right at me. Her eyes—dark, full of something I can’t define—lock with mine across the distance. The recognition hits me like a punch to the gut. She knows I’m watching her. She knows. And yet, she doesn’t look away.
For a split second, time stands still. Everything around me blurs—the noise, the music, the women. All I see is her. All I feel is the weight of her gaze, like it’s branding me, marking me as hers.
And then, just as quickly, she turns back toward the man beside her.
The guy. The one with his hands all over her.
She tilts her face up toward him, her lips parted, and for a moment, she looks at him the same way she looked at me earlier. But there’s something different about it. Something purposeful.
And then, in slow motion, I watch as her lips brush his.
That’s it.
My blood ignites, hot and violent, like a fire starting deep in my gut. I feel my fists clench involuntarily, the heat of jealousy and rage seeping into my bones. Every inch of my body tenses, and for the first time in a long time, I feel out of control.
How dare she?
She’s mine. She belongs to me. She doesn’t get to give him anything. Not like that. Not when I’ve already claimed her, when I’ve already shown her what it means to be mine.
I can’t take it anymore.
This is the last fucking straw.
I push off the glass, the anger burning hotter with every step I take. I don’t care about the women, the music, the distractions. All I care about is her. I need to make her understand. To make her see that she doesn’t get to play this game with me.