Page 151 of Dirty Damage

Good. Let him stew in it.

“I grew up with nothing,” I continue, forcing steel into my voice. “No protection. No legacy. Just me and Sydney against the world. So I understand wanting to give our child everything. But I won’t let them grow up watching their father treat their mother like she’s worthless.”

He flinches. Actually flinches. “That’s not?—”

“What you meant? Maybe not. But it’s what youdid.” I wrap my arms around myself, shivering even though the night isn’t particularly cold. “You made me feel this small, Oleg.”

Like I was no better than my mother, falling for the same cruel, handsome men again and again.

“Fuck. I didn’t— I wouldn’t—” He scrubs a hand over his face. An awkward pause follows before he picks up his risotto again, takes another bite. “This is good.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. I’m acknowledging that I was wrong earlier. About your cooking. About… everything.” He sets the bowl down again, shifts closer. Not touching, but near enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “When Boris sabotages me, it’s not just about business. It’s personal. He’s trying to prove I’m still that scared, helpless kid who couldn’t save his sister. Who doesn’t deserve to lead.”

My heart clenches. “Is that what you believe?”

“Some days.” His voice drops to a whisper. “The days when everything goes wrong and I can feel control slipping through my fingers… Those are the days I become like him. When I’m the Beast everyone expects me to be.”

I want to reach for him, to smooth away the pain etched in his features. But we’re not there yet. “You’re not a beast, Oleg. But you’re not invincible, either. None of us are.”

He turns to me, moonlight catching the gold in his eyes. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“See through all my bullshit. Cut straight to the heart of things.” His mouth quirks up at the corner. “That’swhy I like having you around. Not for the food. Or the fucking. Though both of those things are good, to be clear. It’s because yousee.”

I’ve spent my whole life watching people hide their pain. My mother. Sydney. Even myself, more often than not.

But I can only shrug.

“Maybe I just pay attention.”

His hand moves toward mine, then stops, hovering in the space between us.

Testing.

Waiting.

“I don’t deserve your attention,” he says roughly. “Or your understanding.”

“Probably not.” I fight the urge to close the distance between our hands. “But you have it anyway.”

We eat in silence, listening to the water and the soft purr of the engine. The quiet is easy, and no words need to be exchanged when he takes my bowl from my hands, lifts me to my feet, and leads me down the stairs to his cabin.

His room smells like him, woodsy and sharp. I fall back on the bed, leaning on my elbows as he stops in front of the mirror.

He catches my eye in the reflection. “I know we’ve made up, but we’re not fucking again, are we?”

I pinch my bottom lip between my teeth. There’s a pleasant ache between my legs from the first two rounds already. One more might push me over the edge.

“I mean, we could, but…”

“I’m tired,” he announces, letting me off the hook and reaching for a tube on the countertop. “I could just go to sleep.Withyou.”

This doesn’t mean anything. It’s still just a contract.

I shove that voice aside and smile. “Okay.”

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