Page 44 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

The irony is not lost on me: the last thing I need right now is to feel possessive, especially after what I went through with Dasha.

Betrayal doesn’t leave you; it just embeds itself deep in your bones.

I went through that hell, only to be dealt a card like Gabriette. There’s this dangerous pull she has on me. Every damn thing about her screams for me to claim, protect, and never let go. But I’ve been down that road, and it’s paved with deception.

With every steady breath she takes, resting against me, the walls I’ve meticulously built over the years are chipped away bit by bit.

I don’t want to care. I don’t want to feel anything but indifference. Yet here I am, silently raging at the idea that someone might have hurt her, left marks, emotional or otherwise, on her.

Who the fuck dared to hurt her? Who in their right mind thought they could lay a finger on her and get away with it? The surge of anger rising within me is almost blinding.

That possessive streak I’ve always had? It’s raging now, burning hotter than ever. Any pain she’s felt, any threat against her, is a direct affront to me.

Her gentle movements, the slight rustle of her hair against my skin, brings a different kind of anger—frustration. Those hands, which pulled such haunting sounds from her cello, do they bear hidden signs of past torment? Every thought I have, each one darker than the last, it makes me grit my teeth.

She shifts slightly, drawing me back from my spiraling thoughts. I let my fingers run along her face, resisting the urge to probe for any signs of past pain. All I see is the tranquil mask she wears. But I know better now. Behind those closed eyes is a story, a nightmare she’s lived through.

I need to know the details. Not just to feed my growing rage, but because knowing is the first step to avenging. She deserves justice, and by fuck, I’ll see that she gets it.

How did this woman manage to wedge herself so deeply into my world? When did her pain become my war to wage?

Fuck it. I tighten my grip around her, a silent vow forming in my mind. Whether it’s my past demons or her present ones, I’ll burn the world down before I let them touch this. Gabriette might just be the end of me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t stand as her shield.

This isn’t me. This level of possession is raw and unhinged. But the truth is, the more I try to resist these feelings, the stronger they get.

I sigh heavily, and she stirs in response, her eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, she looks disoriented, then understanding dawns, and she nestles closer, her head tucked under my chin. The gesture, so simple and trusting, unravels me further.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.

I simply tighten my hold on her, not trusting myself to speak. There’s so much I want to say, questions I want to ask. But now’s not the time. She doesn’t need an interrogation.

We lay in comfortable silence for a while. The morning light grows steadily brighter, casting a soft glow over everything. It’s a tranquil scene, at odds with the tumult of my thoughts. Gabriette’s past, my growing attachment to her, the risks of letting someone in—it’s a tangled mess in my mind.

“Fucking hell,” I whisper, more to myself than her. It’s an acknowledgment, a surrender to the inevitable pull she has on me. Gabriette isn’t just a temporary diversion anymore. She’s challenging every damn thing I believed about myself.

It scares the shit out of me, this vulnerability. This feeling that she could, maybe, break me. She’s found a crack in my armor that I didn’t even know existed. But here’s Gabriette, making it look so damn effortless, breaking down barriers I didn’t even know I had left.

I’m not naïve. I know how dangerous this path is, and I know where it can lead. But looking down at her face, I know I’m in deep shit.

Whatever the fuck is happening here, one thing’s crystal clear: Gabriette is mine. Even if I’m still trying to figure out what the hell that means.

GABRIETTE

Sunlight filters in through the sheer curtains, their golden hue warming the room. I stir, reaching out for the comforting presence that cradled me just hours ago, only to find empty space. The sheets beside me are cool, signaling that Mikhail’s been gone for a while.

Last night, the raw, unfiltered emotions I expressed through my cello had been liberating. And yet this morning, the weight of it all still sits heavily in my chest and leaves me feeling tender.

With a sigh, I push myself up, running fingers through tangled hair. I can still feel the remnants of last night — dried tears, the lightest smudging of eyeliner. God, I didn’t even shower or anything; I feel like a mess.

So after a shower I feel slightly human again, then I slip into clean PJs, I wrap myself in a robe, and go downstairs. Purging your emotions tends to leave you starved and craving coffee, so here I go.

As I walk down the staircase, the subtle aroma of freshly brewed coffee greets me. I make my way to the kitchen, feeling the ever-present watchful eyes of Viktor and Alexei following me as I go.

“Morning,” I mumble, nodding at them. They respond with curt nods, but there’s an undertone of respect in their gestures.

Mikhail’s gentleness from last night replays in my mind, causing a flutter in my stomach. The way he held me, his powerful arms offering protection and comfort … It’s unsettling how good it felt.

It’s one thing to be drawn to a man’s power, another entirely to find solace in it. I’ve been alone since I arrived here, with the exception of Natalya’s visits. But last night, with Mikhail, it felt... right.

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