Page 6 of Sweet Obsession
My stomach was tight. Dread curled low in my gut like a warning siren I couldn’t shut off.
The dining room door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open, heart thudding.
And stopped cold.
A man sat at the far end of the table. Not our father.
Not anyone I recognized.
But I knew who he was.
Misha Petrov.
Dark tailored suit. Knife-straight posture. No expression on his face, just that pale, glacial stare that pinned you to the floor and made you forget how to breathe.
My father stood beside him, all fake smiles and ingratiating nods, like a rat trying to charm a snake.
Gabriela gripped my wrist. Her nails dug into my skin.
He shouldn’t have been here. Not yet. Not like this.
And yet, he was already seated at our table. Already acting like he belonged.
His gaze shifted from Gabriela... to me.
Lingering. Assessing.
His eyes met mine. And they didn’t move. Like he was reading a file someone had sealed and buried.
I didn’t flinch.
But I hated that my heart did.
The dining room gleamed like a showroom for power. Gold-rimmed plates. Crystal glasses. Armed guards stationed just beyond the double doors like decorations. Everything gleamed, except the people sitting around the table.
My father sat, the smirk on his face wide and practiced. Gabriela was placed beside Misha, like a prize being presented. I was seated across from him—directly in his line of sight.
He was larger than I remembered. Not in size, though he had the frame of a man built for war, but in presence. He radiated command without saying a word. It was in the way the guards didn’t look directly at him. In the way my father leaned slightly toward him, like approval mattered more than pride.
“Mr. Petrov,” my father began, raising his glass. “To new alliances.”
Misha lifted his in response. No smile. No toast. Just a quiet nod that said: I don’t need words to get what I want.
My father cleared his throat awkwardly. “Allow me to reintroduce my daughters. This is Gabriela, your intended.”
Misha’s eyes slid to her. He gave a polite nod. “Gabriela.”
Then his gaze drifted.
To me.
He didn’t say my name. Didn’t smile. Just stared.
Like he’d already claimed something I didn’t realize I was offering.
I didn’t look away.
If he came for prey, he picked the wrong fucking sisters.
