Page 17 of Sweet Obsession
I looked up. Straight into Misha Petrov’s ice-colored eyes.
And forgot how to breathe.
For a moment, the hallway narrowed to just him and me.
His grip was firm but not rough. He stared down at me, close enough that I could see the flecks of silver in his glacier-blue eyes.
Close enough that I could feel the chill rolling off him in waves.
My heart jackhammered. Not just from the impact.
From the brutal, shocking realization.
Standing so close to him now. He looked like the man from my nightmares.
Their bone structure wasn’t identical, but the intensity was. The way the shadows clung to his jaw, the ruthless set of his mouth.
His presence hit like a cold front moving through a dead city.
“You should be more careful where you walk,” he murmured.
His voice was low.
Controlled. Deadly.
Something crackled in the air between us.
Hatred. Awareness.
Something neither of us said aloud.
Ijerked out of his grasp, heart hammering.
He didn’t reach for me again. He just watched.
Like he was studying me.
Like he was cataloging every defiance, every fracture, every secret.
And I hated that part of me wanted him to see. Wanted someone to finally notice the girl cracking behind the mask.
“Get out of my way,” I said, voice rough.
He did.
With a slow, deliberate step sideways, like moving for me was a choice, not a courtesy.
I shoved past him, fists tight at my sides, and didn’t look back.
But his gaze burned between my shoulder blades the whole way down the hall.
Later that night
Gabriela’s door was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open without knocking.
She sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders hunched, hair falling around her like a curtain.
