Page 19 of Sinful Desires
Whoever Alexsei stuck me with, I would figure out how to handle him. Soft, hard, military grade, it didn’t matter.
They would all crack eventually . . . until one didn’t.
Chapter
Seven
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not;and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
?Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Scarlett
24 years old
One and a half years ago
“I still can’t believe you threatened to send me to the convent,” I muttered, tossing my headphones onto the soundboard.
The studio reeked of burnt sage and citrus, Victoria’s holy blend for banishing small-dick vibes and bad spirits. I almost smirked at the thought.
Almost.
But even my sarcasm was tired tonight.
The low hum of a half-mixed track buzzed in the background. My journal lay open beside me, pages full of crossed-out lyrics and smeared ink. I’d been here all day, drowning in the wreckage of my second solo album,To Dream Is To Die, an accidental suicide note set to melody.
Alexsei sat on the red leather couch, arms sprawled, one ankle balanced on his knee.
“What can I say?” he chuckled. “I’m all for sexual freedom, really, but you needed to be sedated, sweetheart. You were out there humping anything with a dick just for five seconds of fake warmth, then crashing harder than your last breakup. It wasn’t a good look.”
I crossed my arms, scowling. “Stop slut-shaming me.”
“I’m not, Scar,” he said, softer now.
And I hated how my throat tightened at the sound of it.
“I’ve done the same thing. Drank. Fucked. Ran from myself. Thought pleasure would drown the silence, but it just echoes louder when you stop.”
A lump formed in my throat. As much as I wanted to roll my eyes and brush him off, I knew he was right. The meaningless sex, the drugs, the alcohol, they were all just distractions. Blunt tools to carve out the silence that always came back louder.
Even in my own studio, the noise lingered. Voices that weren’t here anymore still echoed in the corners. Crowds I couldn’t see still screamed in my head. And despite all the chaos, or maybe because of it, I still felt empty.
Outside, rain tapped against the high windows of my penthouse condo.
I leaned back in the chair. “This album’s gonna kill me.”
He smirked. “Let it. Then maybe what rises after will finally feel likeyou.”
I closed my eyes and tapped my fingers against the arms of the chair, trying to find my way back into the melody that had been haunting me all week.
“Cherry Blossom and Wine” was soft, slow, and bittersweet, just like the title, but the rhythm of the rain outside kept screwing with my timing. Like the sky had decided to add percussion just to spite me.
“Ihatehim.”
I didn’t need to look—I already knew Alexsei was grinning like the smug bastard he was.
“Well, knowing you,” he said, voice soaked in sarcasm, “that means he’s probably perfect at his job.”
