Page 86 of Unforgiving Sinner (Starukhin Bratva)

“No.” Eden hesitates, but her fidgeting intensifies. She holds her hands still in tight fists. “Why do you ask?”

I grip the desk to control my own anger bubbling to the surface. “Becausesomeonehas been in here.” It’s hard to keep my voice steady, but the volume rises with each word. “And I think you know who.”

Eden looks away quickly. “Maybe it was the cleaning staff?” she suggests, but her eyes dart around the room as if searching for an easy escape. “They come in here every day, don’t they?”

I glare at her. “They know better than to touch my desk.”

My constant gaze bears down on her, and slowly, I watch Eden’s facade crack, then break. I take pleasure in seeing her guilt exposed. And yet, even in this moment of triumph—having caught her in a lie—I can’t deny the magnetic pull I feel toward her.

“Fine,” Eden admits at last, her voice sharp. “I was in here, but only because I wanted to help you, Nikolai. I swear it.”

“Help?” I echo insidiously.

I make no movement toward her, but she backs away until she’s pressed against the door.

“Please believe me,” Eden says as her voice dies into a whimper. “Please.”

Eden says that word as if it’s a shield. My eye follows the tear rolling down her soft cheek, and I want to taste it. But I won’t give in to this display, this ruse.

Zakhar has taught his daughter his best tricks, I am sure of it.

“So, if spying didn’t work,” I ask, nodding toward her dress, “was your next trick seduction?”

Her eyes widen instantly. “Spying?Seduction? I’m not doing any of those things!” Eden’s voice shakes, but I hear indignation in her tone.

I scoff as I rise from my desk to approach her.

“Then what else would you call sneaking into my office and digging through my private papers?”

Her hands clench into fists, and her cheeks turn bright red. “I had to try something—anything. You’re the criminal, not him.” A sob interrupts her words. “It can’t be him.”

“You believe him.” My voice descends into a low growl. “But not me.”

My instincts scream to stay clear of Eden and not let her draw me in any deeper. But it’s too late. I’ve told her too much. The night she fell, I sat by her bedside and let my mind convince me she was unique like the lone chrysanthemum in the painting.

Her beauty, her tears, and her wrong-headed conviction of the truth. All of it is a cruel lie. But the pull between us grows stronger with each heated word we hurl at each other.

“Don’t turn this on me.” Her tears are no longer from fear but anger. “You don’t trust me. You never have, and you never will. I want to prove it to you. But you won’t let me. You refuse to believe anything else—right or wrong.” Eden’s gaze locks on mine. “Don’t push me away because you’re afraid to be wrong, Nikolai.”

I freeze in place, staring at her.Afraid. The word stings, then ignites a fire that rips through me.I’m not afraid, am I?Yet Ibalance precariously between my desire for her and the fear of getting too close. Instead, I challenge her.

“Why should I trust you, Eden?” I whisper. “Because you’re the innocent one?”

Our gazes lock, and I see something in hers—a longing that reflects mine. That energy pulls us closer, and it takes every ounce of my control not to reach out and touch her.

Her anger lessens as she leans against the door. “I’m not trying to trick you, Nikolai. I don’t know how.”

My gaze consumes every detail of her face, the curve of her lips as she forms each word, her long lashes that hold back her tears, and the determination in her eyes that intensifies my need.

Eden watches me closely, but I know what she’s going to do before she does it. I watch her hand move slowly as she turns to face the door. But I move quickly, blocking her path and slamming it shut before she can open it all the way. Eden tries to slip away from me, but I grab her upper arm and tug her hard against my body.

“Look at me,” I growl.

Her gaze searches my face for a hint of compassion, but all I can focus on is how her chest rises and falls beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Does that make me a madman? To keep her in my grasp until I hear the answer I want? I shake her arm when she looks away. “Look at me!” I repeat. “Do you want to tell me the truth, Eden?”

“Why should I?” she shouts, wrenching her arm out of my grasp. “When you already don’t believe me? My father is not a traitor!”She slams her fist into my chest. “I’m not the one you should hate. I’ve done nothing to you!”

I wrap my arms around Eden and pull her tight against my chest. And as I do, I realize just how dangerous this game we’re playing with each other has become.

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