Page 27 of Sinful Games

As he stepped closer, the height difference became even more noticeable. He towered over me, radiating warmth in the chilly air. His full, rosy lips and flushed cheeks from the cold only added to his charm. The wind tousled his light brown hair, making him look effortlessly dashing. In his sleek black Prada puffer jacket, thick black pants, and boots, he looked like he’d just walked out of a fashion magazine.

Every move he made was smooth and effortless, and I couldn’t help but check out his perfectly put-together outfit.

His deep blue eyes, dark and sparkling, locked onto mine as I took in his features.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Like what you see?”

I let out a derisive snort. “Oh please, I’ve seen more sex appeal in a statue.”

“Little liar.”

I shot him an icy glare. "Your charms won’t work on me, Romaniev. I’m immune to cheap tricks."

He leaned in slightly, the playful glint still in his eyes. “Oh, Caia, there’s more to me than just looks.”

"Doubtful."

He leaned in a bit more. "Wanna find out?"

"Listen," I sighed, rubbing my eyes, suddenly exhausted. This game was proving more draining than I’d expected. "I don’t know what sad fantasy you’re living in, but I’ve got better things to do than babysit your fragile ego. So, how about you crawl back to whatever shallow puddle of charm you think you’ve got and leave me out of it. I’m done wasting my time."

Surprisingly, his playful demeanor shifted, turning serious.

Without saying a word, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Like I said, I think we got off on the wrong foot," he repeated, offering his hand. "I’m Alexsei Romaniev, and before I crawl back to that shallow puddle of charm you think I’m fullof, I figured I should at least properly introduce myself. Couldn’t help but notice how fucking stunning you are," he added with a smirk.

I hesitated, staring at his extended hand like it might bite me.

His patient gaze held mine, while I wrestled with the uncertainty of my own half-baked plan. My first instinct? Tell him to shove that hand somewhere unpleasant. But then it dawned on me—this was exactly what I’d been scheming for.

My plan was unfolding flawlessly.

First, I’d let him think we were becoming fast friends, gradually building a connection that felt so real it might actually make him believe in fairy tales. When the moment was right, I’d sleep with him, tick off my father’s ridiculous task, and then vanish without a trace.

I’d be nothing more than a ghost in his life, leaving behind nothing but regrets and a cold bed.

"Caia Mankiev. Nice to meet you, Lucifer."

“So, this is where Mankiev’s daughter hangs out.”

After our hands met in a firm shake, I felt a jolt like I’d just touched a live wire. Goosebumps erupted all over, and for a moment, it felt like my arms were covered in static electricity. Thank goodness my coat did a decent job of hiding my little involuntary shiver.

His hand, rough and strong, completely swallowed mine. The size difference made the handshake feel like an electric shock, sending my pulse into overdrive like I’d just touched a live wire. I quickly pulled my hand back.

Then it hit me—I’d forgotten to buy milk. Withoutoverthinking it, I blurted out an invitation for him to tag along. To my surprise, he agreed, and we headed back to the convenience store. During our chat, I mentioned I was planning to bake some vatrushka, and he casually revealed he was a skilled cook.

Seizing the opportunity, I invited him over to my tiny studio.

Sure, it might seem a bit rushed to invite him so soon, but there was a method to my madness. I needed him to think I actually trusted him, hoping it’d make him let his guard down just a notch. Plus, it didn’t hurt that I could use a little extra help with the baking—and maybe a bit of distraction from the sadness in my heart.

“Yeah,” I said with a grin, taking in my cozy little space. “Were you expecting a palace or something?”

It might be small, but it’s mine, and I’m oddly proud of it. The white tiles on the floor sparkle under the soft candlelight, giving it a bit of a glamorous touch. Over in the kitchen, there’s my babushka’s vibrant red kettle sitting on the stove, looking like it’s ready for a dramatic tea scene.

My bed’s snugly tucked under the window, dressed in sheets with cheerful red roses. Across from it, there’s a cozy beige couch facing a small round wooden table that proudly displays a bouquet of white roses from Elskar, my ex-colleague who fancied himself a bit of a European charmer.

The only piece of art above the couch is a minimalist painting of a tranquil valley with mountains. It’s pretty, but not exactly going to make anyone’s jaw drop.

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