Chapter Fourteen - Lukin
I sit at my desk, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. The air is thick with the remnants of business, the aftermath of the chaos I’ve been submerged in for the past few weeks.
The Dmitri family. They’d been encroaching on my territory for months—testing the waters, poking around where they didn’t belong.
I’d buried myself in the details, tracking their moves, watching their every step until they made the mistake of trying to stake a claim where they didn’t have the right.
I chased them out of the country. It wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. The job was too easy. They’re gone, for now, but I know they’ll come back. They always do.
But for now, there’s silence. A rare moment where I don’t have to worry about enemies at the gates, where I can breathe without the constant pressure of my empire pulling at me.
I should be enjoying it, but instead, I find myself right back at square one.
My mind drifts back to her.
Zoe.
The thought of her is a constant itch beneath my skin, a hunger that never fades, no matter how hard I try to focus on something else.
She’s been haunting me for days. From the beginning when she looked at me in the club.
To the way she tried to pretend I didn’t exist after that moment in the garden.
The way her body responded to me the last night we shared together, even as she tried to push me away.
It should be simple. She’s just another woman. Another conquest, another name I can forget. But she isn’t.
She’s different.
I can’t shake her. I really want to.
The silence in my office presses in, and the temptation to reach for my phone, to track her again, is almost too much. I called off the guards I had shadowing her, deleted the tracking link, and stopped sending her flowers or gifts. But none of this is working.
She’s mine.
I can feel it deep in my bones. The way she responds to me. The way her body betrays her even when she tries to fight it. It’s not over, not by a long shot.
The clock ticks in the background, but all I can hear is her laugh, her voice, the way she looked at me that night. I don’t care about the business. I don’t care about the enemies waiting to pounce. All I care about right now is getting her back.
I’m the one who told her to leave.
I told her never to show herself again, that if she left, she was out. She didn’t belong in my world, and I made that clear.
And yet, here she is, lingering in the back of my mind—sharp and soft all at once. I haven’t asked about her. Haven’t searched for any sign of her. I haven’t needed to. But that doesn’t stop her from showing up.
She’s there, in the quiet moments when I’m supposed to be focusing on my work, on the empire I’ve spent years building. She’s in the spaces where I should be planning my next move, chasing down enemies, expanding my influence. But all I can think about is her.
She lingers in my thoughts like a shadow I can’t shake.
It’s maddening. The way she pulls at me, the way her presence invades everything, even in the silence. I can feel her—her eyes, her lips, the way her skin felt against mine. It’s like a fucking fire that won’t go out. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t ignore it.
She’s not gone.
And that’s what’s driving me crazy.
I lean back in my chair, trying to focus on the reports in front of me, the contracts, the numbers, the power plays—but the thoughts of her are suffocating.
Suddenly, the door slams open. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Adrian. He’s the only one who’d dare come into my private space like that.
“Lukin,” he starts, already in full rant mode. “You wouldn’t believe it—there’s this charity art fundraiser and the whole thing’s a scam. This guy’s been skimming donations for months. I’m telling you, it’s a mess.”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. Adrian.
He doesn’t even bother to check if I’m in the middle of something. He doesn’t need to. He’s used to barging in whenever it suits him.
I lean back in my chair, letting out a long breath as I push the pile of papers aside. Adrian’s always got some new obsession, but I don’t have the mental bandwidth for it right now.
“Is that so?” I murmur, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “What’s the scam got to do with us?”
Adrian scoffs, rolling his eyes as he paces in front of my desk.
“You really don’t get it, do you? This guy’s running a huge event.
A colleague of mine—a guy I respect. But now this whole thing’s falling apart because he’s got people trying to take the money.
And it’s the art world, Lukin. You know how delicate that stuff is. ”
I glance at him, uninterested, but the words pull me back. A colleague of his? “You’re really this involved in some art charity?” I ask, eyebrow raised, tone a little incredulous.
“Of course I am,” Adrian snaps, sitting on the corner of my desk.
“It’s a big event. It matters to me, all right?
The guy’s a respected curator. We were supposed to partner up for a few things, but now…
.” He throws his hands up in frustration.
“He’s about to ruin everything. This scam’s making it messy. I need to help him clean it up.”
I don’t say anything for a moment, watching him vent. His passion for this art thing is more than I can stomach, but I let him speak. He’s never lacked enthusiasm for anything, no matter how irrelevant it is to our business.
Adrian pulls out his phone, scrolling through pictures before he turns it toward me. “Look at this. See what’s going on. The entire gallery’s compromised.”
I glance at the screen, but the images don’t register. People smiling at a gala, their hands on expensive-looking paintings, their faces flashing across the phone. It doesn’t matter.
I push the phone away. “We’ll deal with it later. Right now, I don’t have time to waste on your pet projects.”
“No, it’s not a pet project. I’m a lover of art. Okay?” He picks up the phone and walks to the side of my desk to show me more photos. “Look, you might know the guy. His name is Mendes.”
Adrian continues to ramble about the scam, swiping through photos on his phone, but I’m barely listening.
The noise in my head is too loud—the mix of frustration, desire, and possessiveness that’s been simmering inside me for days.
I’m trying to keep my focus, but nothing seems to matter.
Not Adrian’s art charity obsession, not the business deals, nothing.
Then, something catches my eye.
Adrian flicks his phone again, showing me another picture from the gallery event. This time, the background looks different—more refined, more polished.
The kind of party where the rich and powerful strut around, pretending they don’t live in a world of smoke and mirrors.
But my attention snaps when I see her.
Zoe.
Her dress—elegant, simple, yet it clings to her in a way that pulls my focus. Her wild auburn hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, her makeup sharp, perfect. She looks…sexy, beautiful, untouchable, and it pisses me off.
But what makes my blood freeze, what makes every muscle in my body tighten, is the man standing beside her.
A clean-cut guy, dressed in a tailored suit.
He’s holding a drink, his other hand low on her back, possessively close.
The way he’s standing with her, the way his hand rests against her, tells me everything I need to know.
I remember him from the Zoe dossier Arseny curated.
It’s Jason.
The smug smile, the way he’s leaning into her space—I know that look. That bastard. Fucking bastard.
My jaw clenches, and I have to force myself to stay still, to not launch across the room and find him. The jealousy, the rage, they claw at me, making my breath come faster. I don’t care who he is. I don’t care about their past. All I care about is that she’s with him. And I can’t stand it.
Adrian notices the shift in me immediately, his voice dropping to a quieter, more cautious tone. “You know him?” he asks, his eyes flickering between me and the phone, sensing the change in the air.
I can’t look at him. My hands are shaking, my grip tightening on the armrest of my chair. I force myself to take a breath, to calm the storm rising inside me.
“No.”
“Okay.” Adrian shrugs. “Here’s Mendes.” He scrolls to the next picture. It’s funny how he didn’t recognize Zoe as the woman in the previous picture. Maybe it’s the makeup or the dress. She looked different, and I hate that she put so much effort into her physical appearance just to go see her ex.
“I have a meeting,” I force out, waving Adrian off. “Give me some space.”
“No, you don’t,” Adrian says, frowning, his eyes flicking between me and the phone.
I glare at him, the anger bubbling just below the surface. He sighs and slides his phone back into his pocket before walking back to the door.
“You’re usually a prick, but you’ve been worse than a prick lately.
” He stops at the door, and I appreciate his common sense for deciding to put physical distance between us before running his mouth.
He’s my brother, but I’ve never hesitated to put him in his place—either with my mouth or fist, he doesn’t get to choose.
“I’ll let you stew in it, but whatever’s eating at you won’t go away just by ignoring it,” Adrian says. When I don’t respond, he walks out and slams the door shut.
I’m finally alone. The silence in the room is suffocating, thick with the weight of everything I’ve been trying to ignore.
I pour myself a drink, my hands still slightly trembling from the rush of anger that surged through me moments ago. I take a long sip, feeling the burn of the whiskey slide down my throat, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t numb the ache that’s still pulsing in my chest.
I told her to stay away. I’m the one who ended it. Told her to never come back.
And yet, here I am, seething with rage at the thought of her with him.
With Jason.
I close my eyes, trying to push the image of them out of my mind, but it won’t leave. Her in that dress, standing beside him, his hand on her back—the bastard—the way he leaned in, the way she let him.
Why does it burn me so much? Why does it make my pulse throb with fury, my blood boiling like I’ve been set on fire?
I shouldn’t care. I told myself I wouldn’t. She’s not mine anymore. She never was.
But I can’t escape it. The thought of her being with another man, someone else touching her, even just for a moment—it drives me crazy.
And I don’t know why.
I down the rest of the drink in one swift motion, the burn a small distraction from the rage that’s still simmering beneath the surface. The tension in my chest doesn’t ease. It only tightens. The anger, the frustration, the unrelenting desire—it all pushes me to the edge.
She was never supposed to matter this much. But now? Now, she’s the only thing I can think about.
I leave my chair and walk to the window, the drink still in my hand. Zoe’s nothing. She was a moment, a fleeting distraction, a woman who walked into my life and tried to make me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. I am done with her. I won’t waste another thought on her.
But as I stand by the window, staring out over the city, my jaw clenched tight, I know one thing for sure.
I don’t like seeing what’s mine in someone else’s hands.
I don’t like it at all.
I force myself to look away from the view, because the sight of the city doesn’t distract me this time. It’s just a blur, the lights, the buildings, the streets. None of it matters.
I’m still thinking about her. Still haunted by her.
I never let go. I never forgot.
Even if I told her to leave. Even if I told myself it didn’t matter.
It does, and I don’t know what to do about it.