Page 92 of Sinful Games

I should be hating him, not begging him to come inside me.

Gosh, Caia, you’re such a freaking idiot.

Every night since then, he’d vanish like a ghost, only to reappear right at 7 p.m. sharp. He’d cook dinner, calling my name like nothing was wrong, and we’d eat in strained silence,sneaking glances at each other. His smirk was infuriating, like he knew exactly how much he was messing with my head.

His eyes tracked my every move, like he had a radar set to detect my discomfort. I’d devour dinner at record speed, rushing to the washing machine, only to find him right behind me, practically breathing down my neck. His hand would brush mine as he cleaned up, his warm breath sending fireworks in my chest.

Last night, after we scarfed down a shrimp stir-fry that could’ve won awards, he casually placed his hand on my hip while loading his plate into the washing machine. Then, out of nowhere, he kissed my shoulder before vanishing into the night, leaving me utterly confused and questioning every decision I’d ever made.

Alexsei Romaniev was driving me insane.

He’d slept at home only once this week—the night after we…

But as the days went on, he resumed his nightly disappearances, coming home briefly around 8 or 9 to shower, change, and then vanish again.

This morning, as I stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen for breakfast, I found my phone next to a note.

You can go to work today.

Don't make me regret it. Keep your phone close.

“How the hell did he even get your number?” I asked, my confusion growing by the second.

Valeria flashed me a tight smile, clearly hiding something.

A knot twisted in my stomach.

“Seriously, Valeria, how did he get your number?”

“I’m not sure. Seems like the Silas have a knack for getting their hands on everything, but?—”

I held my breath. “But what?”

She sighed and gestured for me to follow her to her office, locking the door behind us once we were inside.

“Valeria, you’re starting to freak me out?—”

She settled into her desk chair and pulled out a patient file from one of the drawers, filled with records from the past decade. “When your hubby?—”

“Please, for the love of God, stop calling him that!”

She chuckled. “When Alexsei showed up weeks ago with your favorite pastries and I let him in, there was something about his face that just bugged me.”

My brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“No, I mean,” she said, flipping through the pages before stopping on one patient’s document. “I felt like I’d seen his face before.”

She pulled out the document and turned it toward me.

“So, after your wedding day, where you looked absolutely stunning, by the way,” she winked. “I spent days trying to figure out where I’d seen Alexsei before, and then it hit me!”

I hadn’t even looked at the document yet, too engrossed in her story to divert my attention.

“Valeria, I don’t get it?—”

“Alexsei’s father is one of our patients,” she said, jabbing her finger at the paper. “Look!”

I reached for the document and nearly choked when I saw the photo.

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