Page 24 of Savage Obsession

I take a long drag of my cigar, exhaling slowly. Maybe if I hadn’t touched her that night, none of this would be a problem. Maybe if I had ignored the temptation of her soft skin and the way she moaned my name, I wouldn’t be sitting here, my body aching for something I refuse to let myself have again.

Damn it.

I knock back the scotch in one gulp, welcoming the burn, but it does nothing to douse the fire still raging inside me.

Then there’s Bella.

I grimace, thinking about yesterday’s scene. She had pulled a ridiculous stunt, intercepting me outside as I was leaving. Shehad looked stunning—she always does—but instead of igniting something in me, all I had felt was impatience.

She had thrown herself into my arms, her voice desperate as she begged me not to cast her aside. "Why can’t we keep seeing each other? I don’t mind being your side girl."

The words had made my stomach turn.

I had always known Bella was ambitious, but her willingness to degrade herself just to hold on to me made me feel something I hadn’t expected—pity.

I peeled her off me and told her that whatever we had was over. I am married now, and she will respect that. She had cried, of course, clutching at me as if I were her last lifeline. But my body had already decided. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t touch her. Not when the thought of Yelena burned so fiercely inside me.

I sigh, rubbing my temples.

Why am I keeping myself away from Yelena yet rejecting Bella?

The answer is bitter and simple: I’m waiting.

Waiting for Yelena to come to me of her own free will.

I won’t chase her, won’t force her. If she wants me, she’ll have to say it. She’ll have to be the one to break first.

And God help me, if she doesn’t…

I might just lose my mind.

13

Yelena

I spend most of my morning in the kitchen, sitting at the marble counter while Abby kneads dough for fresh bread. She chats easily, telling me about the staff, the routines, and even sharing some gossip I don’t ask for but listen to anyway. It’s comforting to have someone to talk to who isn’t trying to manipulate or command me.

As Abby wipes her hands on her apron, another staff member enters, carrying a clipboard.

“Mrs. Vasilios, your things have arrived,” she says with a polite nod.

It takes me a second to register that she means my luggage and belongings from New York. Finally, a sense of familiarity in this foreign place. “Thank you. Have them taken to my room.”

She nods and leaves as Abby returns to her work, humming softly. Before I can get back into the rhythm of our conversation, a guard steps inside, holding an envelope.

“This just arrived for you, ma’am.”

I frown, taking the thick envelope from him. My name is scrawled across the front in handwriting I don’t recognize. My pulse kicks up a notch. Who could be writing to me at this address? I’ve barely been here a week.

Abby leans over, eyeing it curiously. “Expecting something?”

“No.” I turn the envelope over in my hands. It’s sealed tight, and something about it feels… off.

I tear it open and pull out the contents. My breath catches.

It’s not a letter.

There are photos.

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