Page 33 of Savage Obsession

I nod. “Find out who took those photos.”

Leon sighs. “And how do you intend to clean up this mess with Yelena?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with her.”

Leon smirks. “Good luck with that.”

I don’t need luck. I need control.

And I intend to take it back.

17

Yelena

One week later

Aithan’s office is a towering beast of glass and steel, its sharp edges cutting into the morning sky as we pull up to the private entrance. The air inside the car is thick with tension, though neither of us acknowledges it. I convinced him to let me come here today—not that it was easy.

The argument started last night in bed, my body still humming with the remnants of our earlier passion while he lay next to me, his hand draped possessively over my stomach. It had taken everything in me to keep my voice steady when I asked him to take me to his office.

“There’s nothing there for you to do,” he’d said, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I have a degree in finance, Aithan. I can go over your accounts.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“What I need,” I countered, rolling onto my side to face him, “is to get out of this house before I lose my mind.”

That had been the argument that won. Aithan had sighed, muttered something under his breath about me being a pain in his ass, and agreed. So, here I am, walking into his domain, past a sea of his men who barely hide their shock at seeing me here.

Only one has the guts to voice it.

“No one told me today was bring-your-wife-to-work day,” Leon says, smirking as he leans against the doorway to Aithan’s office.

“Shut up, Leon,” Aithan fires back.

I flash Leon a pitiful smile. “Is this how my darling husband bullies you?”

Leon nods solemnly, placing a hand over his heart. “Every day.”

“Well,” I say sweetly, “now that I’m here, I’ll protect you.”

Aithan mutters something about us both being impossible before waving me into his office.

The morning passes smoothly enough. I’m tucked into a seat at a mahogany table in the corner of Aithan’s office, pouring over ledgers and financial reports. Despite the elegant furnishings and the sweeping skyline view, this place feels more like a war room than a workspace.

Just as I begin cross-checking a set of transactions, I hear the sharp scrape of Aithan’s chair against the floor. When I glance up, his expression is a thunderstorm waiting to break.

“That’s it,” he growls, standing abruptly.

I frown. “What’s the matter?”

His golden eyes darken as they meet mine. “You. You’re the matter.”

I blink at him. “I’m just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem,” he mutters, stalking toward me.

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