Page 61 of Fractured Allegiance
Now I hear every decibel like it's someone calling my name in the dark.
Everything in the bedroom is where it was. The sheets never moved. The lamp's still on.
The camera in the corner is watching.
I can feel it.
And Drazen knows I know he's watching. That's the worst part. Not the surveillance itself, but the fact that he's aware I tried to escape it—and he's graciously allowing me these smallwindows of "privacy" as a reminder that nothing I do is truly mine.
I sit on the edge of the bed, robe tied securely, and reach for my phone like I'm checking the time. Normal. Routine.
Nothing to see here.
Then I speak out loud. Not to anyone. Just to fill the space.
“Fuck.”
It’s not elegant, but it’s true.
I rub a hand over my face, then let it fall.
There’s a burn in my chest I can’t name. Not shame. Not regret. Just friction.
The kind that comes from wanting something too much and pulling back before it destroys you.
The atmosphere still smells like him.
Not cologne. Not soap. Just something skin-deep and male. Leather and heat and the kind of restraint that leaves fingerprints inside you, not outside.
I reach back, grab the pillow behind me, and hold it to my chest.
It doesn't help.
There’s this electric ache under my skin, crawling like ants. Like I’m vibrating in my own body, unable to turn it down. Kissing him didn’t satisfy the need. If anything, it made it worse.
I wanted to be touched.
I wanted to feel like I belonged to no one.
And for one second, I almost did.
I told him to stop, that we needed to stop. And he did. But I’m still sitting here with a fire between my legs and a mind full of what-ifs that refuse to burn out.
I squeeze the pillow tighter. Try to remember who the hell I’m supposed to be.
The woman who walks into Dom’s club without flinching.
The one Drazen doesn’t own, even when he pretends to protect.
The one who smiles with knives in her mouth.
I’m not supposed to ache like this.
I’m not supposed to feel his hand on my thigh and remember it like a wound.
The phone buzzes.
Not loud. Just enough to jolt me.
