Page 107 of Sweet Obsession
“You carved me out of silk and then threw me to the wolves,” I whispered.
His jaw ticked. “They were already circling.”
Across the table, Chernov lifted his glass to me in a mock toast. “Red suits her, doesn’t it?” he said lightly to the man beside him, though his voice carried just enough to sting.
Misha’s grip on my thigh tightened. “Careful,” he said, not to me—to Chernov. “The last man who looked at her like that couldn’t speak for a week.”
The elder from Irkutsk stood. “Let’s not waste time with threats. We vote based on strength, not sentiment.” His voice carried weight—impatience layered over deep-rooted tradition.
“Strength,” echoed the elder from Chita, “and legacy. The Volograd estate cannot fall into chaos.”
A murmur of agreement swept the table. My stomach twisted.
Misha leaned close to me, his lips brushing my ear. “Three votes are still undecided. Chernov has Magadan. Irkutsk is leaning. The rest, mine, if I can hold them.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then I’ll take them by force.”
Before I could respond, Chernov stood. “I request that each elder not simply cast a vote but explain it. Let the room know why they choose who they do.”
The host considered, then nodded. “Agreed. It is tradition in times of close decision.”
A hush settled. Every word would matter now.
The elder from Magadan stood first. “We vote for stability. Chernov has shown clear investment, foreign alliances, and control of debt. He’s young, but decisive.” His eyes didn’t even flick toward Misha. “We cast for Chernov.”
A rustle of unease.
The elder from Irkutsk rose next. “Petrov may be brutal, but he commands loyalty. His people fear him—but they follow. His control over Irkutsk port flow cannot be ignored.” He looked directly at Misha. “We vote for Petrov.”
Tied.
The host nodded once. “Three remain undecided.”
Tension rose like smoke. No one moved. No one breathed.
But before the next elder could stand, Misha leaned into me again, his hand sliding higher under the table, eyes never leaving the table. “If we win,” he said, voice low and rough, “you’ll never wear red again unless I tell you to.”
“You said I was free.”
“I said I was yours,” he murmured, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. “You didn’t ask what that costs.”
I swallowed hard, heart thundering.
The next elder stood. Khabarovsk.
Everyone leaned forward.
And just before he spoke, the host raised a hand. “We will now break for ten minutes before the final votes are cast.”
The room sighed, tension scattering like ash.
Misha stood slowly, pulling me with him by the hand. “Don’t speak to anyone,” he said. “Especially not Chernov. You’ve already bled enough for one night.”
“Where are you going?”
“To make sure the right palms are greased.”
