Author: Admin

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 94

Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

~ Dominic ~

The expression on her face had been a riddle wrapped in shadows, yet the unmistakable glow of boredom flickered in her eyes, as if she would rather have been anywhere but here—here with me.  

It infuriated me that she was not the Genevieve I once knew. Back then, I could decipher her thoughts with a mere glance. Now, no matter how deeply I searched her eyes, all I found was that same tired disinterest, a chilling nonchalance that sliced through me.  

It had been exhaustingly paínful, and it had only been two days.  

I shifted my gaze from the heavy door my sister had just gone through to Genevieve, only to find her rolling her eyes and reaching for her tablet.  

“I apologize on her behalf for touching your…”  

She whipped her head up, cutting me off. “It’s fine.” The words came out almost like a snap. Then, with an effort, she plastered a smile onto her face. “It’s totally fine.”  

Yeah, by her strained, forced tone, she didn’t sound fine at all. She had never been known to fake her feelings, but now she was doing it for me—all in the name of professionalism.  

F+ck professionalism.  

I slowly nodded and decided to speak the next words that came to my mind. “She is my…”  

“Mr. Morozov,” she interjected, her tone firm yet surprisingly calm. “I don’t care about what goes on in your life. So, with all due respect, don’t. I’d prefer being spared the details.”  

I could have pretended her first twelve words didn’t húrt, as if they hadn’t shót straight into my heart like an arrow, leaving a gaping hole for the melancholic mónster to dwell within. I could have concealed the expression that crept onto my face, perhaps masked my emotions long enough for her not to notice. But it was too late—I had already shown my pàin, and she had seen it.  

And she didn’t give a dàmn, because her eyes betrayed not a hint of concern, nor did her expression flicker with any sign of empathy. And I couldn’t really blame her.  

“I think there is a misunderstanding.”  

The way she had seen Aurora and me was misleading to someone unaware of our relationship. She just happened to fall into the category of those who didn’t know I had a sister.  

Except, in truth, I suspected she already did.  

Genevieve tilted her head, feigning interest that was obviously insincere. “You do?”  

Even though I recognized her curiosity was fabricated, a fóolish part of me still wanted her to understand me, just this once, even if I didn’t deserve it.  

I was willing to play the dévil in her story, but not if it meant misunderstandings would cloud her judgment of me.  

“Yeah. You’re misunderstanding me,” I replied, instinctively stepping two paces closer.  

She noticed my movement and paused, her silence stretching between us. Perhaps the distance still felt too significant, or maybe she just didn’t care.  

“Am I?”  

Even a five-month-old baby could discern the heavy sarcasm in her tone.  

“Yes.”  

“Hmm, really?”  

She did it again.  

“Can you stop?”  

For an instant, Genevieve appeared utterly confused, and then, to my surprise, she laughed—a sound that rang with unmistakable mockery. “Stop what?”  

I couldn’t fathom why I was surprised; I knew exactly who I was dealing with. The woman standing before me wasn’t my Vixen, my Love, or Baby; she was Genevieve King.  

And she had chosen to tortúre me with her relentless coldness and indifference.  

Annoyance, which I knew I shouldn’t feel, began to pulse through my veins. My trembling fingers instinctively raked through my hair before they found their way into my pockets—all ten of them. “That,” I blurted out, frustration leaking from my voice.  

Well done, Dominic. Just rúin it further.  

She remained unimpressed, visibly bored by my presence. A tired sigh escaped my lips, and I spoke again, calmer this time. “Stop giving me two-word replies. And stop being like that.”  

A thought flickered in my mind: Would she make another snarky retort? However, to my astonishment, she responded with words even more húrtful.  

“You’re not in a position to request that of me.”  

They say to be careful what you wish for. Well, I had learned my lesson.  

Her slender fingers brushed through her long, silky hair before she added, “And the only thing I am being is professional. Unlike you, I don’t have multiple lovers in my workplace.”  

Dumbfounded, I repeated her words as if they hadn’t quite registered. “Lovers?” I scoffed. “You think they are my lovers?”  

It didn’t matter that I had kissed Lovelyn that one time; the thought of being in a romantic relationship with her was utterly nauseating. As for Aurora, she was my biological sister—quite the opposite of lover.  

I understood this, they understood this, but the one person I wished to grasp the truth was completely in the dark and didn’t want to be illuminated.  

If I said, “That is the reason she’s behaving cold and somewhat rude to Love,” would I sound insàne? 

“Like I said before, I have no interest in your life,” she replied.  

“You sure seem like you do.”  

“I don’t envy your high levels of delusion.”  

My brows furrowed, and my tongue felt heavy, rendering me unable to utter another word in her direction. “Have a great rest of your day, Mr. Morozov. I will take my leave.”  Her voice was clipped, final. A dismissal.

But when she turned toward the door, my body acted before my mind could catch up. My hand shot out, fingers locking around her wrist. The second my skin touched hers, she wrenched herself free as if my touch burned, recoiling with such force one would think it physically húrt her.

She spun to face me, and the moment our eyes met, the air in the room changed. Her gaze—icy, bottomless, and as rúthless as the Atlantic on a stormy night—clashed against mine. It was bone-chillingly glacial, yet it seared where it landed, branding me in its silent fury.

“This will be the last time you touch me.”

A warning. A promise.

I had no idea why I ever believed I could endure Genevieve’s presence—so close, yet untouchable. The sheer indifference in her posture, the way she carried herself as though I were no more than a stranger in her world, was uncanny. Unfairly paiñful.

I can’t do this.

I won’t be able to resist the pull, the instinct to reach for her, to close the impossible distance between us for an entire month. I’d rather be waterboardéd.

Héll, it feels like I am.

I was drowning beneath her stare, suffócating in the weight of everything unspoken between us. My lungs burnéd with the effort to draw breath, yet air refused to come.

“Is that clear, Mr. Morozov?”

Her voice—hard, controlled—was laced with something I couldn’t name. Resentment? Exhaustion? A test of my willpower?

Silence was my only answer, and she didn’t like that.

“I know for a fact I didn’t just speak in a foreign language,” she pressed, her tone sharpening. “So be kind enough to indicate that my warning was heard, understood, and will not fall on deaf ears.”

She was saying everything but what I wanted to hear. And yet, I wished she would stop. Wished she knew what she was doing to me.

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

It was barely a whisper, my voice raw, unrecognizable even to myself.

And I didn’t know which I was apologizing for—touching her without permission, or being the reason we were here in the first place.

“I don’t need your apology,” she countered, her expression unmoved. “I need you not to do it again.”

“Understood.”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered with doubt. Her raised brows told me she didn’t believe me.

“I promise.”

A scoff.

A slow, humorless smirk.

“Of course you do.”

The sarcasm was deliberate, slicing clean through my chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means”—she stepped forward, her gaze nailing me in place—”I’m curious how long it will take you to break this one.”

Forty-nine seconds.

That was how long it took for the meaning of her words to fully register.

And when it did, it felt like a live wire had been pressed against my ribs, a sharp bolt of electricity streaking straight through my heart.

I was left stunned, rooted in place as she shook her head at me, then turned and walked out of my office without looking back.

She hàtes me for breaking the promises I made to her.

I hàte myself for giving her a reason to.

Because that was the very thing I was afraid of.

And yet, I can’t help but wonder—how much deeper will that hatréd run when she discovers the one truth I never want her to know?

                                  ✷✷✷✷

Three days.

Three days of trying to get Genevieve to acknowledge me. Three days of attempting to talk to her, only to be met with sharp retorts about professionalism. Three days of searching for something—anything—to remind her that we once meant something to each other.

Three days of failing. Miserably.

She hàtes me. And she lóathes working for me even more.

I can’t seem to do anything right anymore.

The moment she stepped back into my life, my sanity unraveled, slipping through my fingers like sand.

I can’t think straight.

My eyes track her every movement, desperate for a flicker of recognition, while she avoids mine as if I don’t exist beyond the necessities of our work.

She only speaks to me when she needs an answer about the project, only looks at me when seeking approval.

That’s all.

And in those brief moments when our eyes lock, hers remain vacant. A blank canvas. Unreadable. Indifferent.

It’s killìng me.

Slowly. Painfùlly.

They say words are like kníves, capable of cutting deep and leaving scars.

But no one ever warns you about the agóny of being invisible to the person your heart still bleéds for. No one tells you how it feels to be looked at like you don’t matter.

Like you never did.

And God, does it húrt.

It’s the kind of pàin that crushes your chest, shatters your ribs, and leaves your heart to be trampled underfoot—only to be shoved back into place, still beating, still aching.

And somehow, I know this is just the beginning. 

But whatever happened, happened. It would be her decision to make—whatever unfolded in this tangled, complicated mess of a relationship.

Genevieve was downstairs, overseeing the renovation with the same sharp focus I remembered so well. Her team moved quickly, almost effortlessly, under her direction. Efficiency at its finest. I had to admit, Rory had been right when she recommended Genora Designs. They were the best at what they did.

I understood why my sister had done it—why she had insisted on this company. What I didn’t understand was why now.

Genevieve King was happy. At least, that was the story she told. She didn’t need me. She didn’t want me.

My sister, however, refused to believe that. She was convinced Genevieve was putting on a show, that her so-called happiness was nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion.

I didn’t buy it. 

Not when she was here every day. Not when she avoided my gaze with calculated coldness. Not when her presence lingered in my space, deliberate yet distant.

I exhaled a slow, controlled breath, rising to my feet. My body moved on instinct, drawn toward her like a starving man chasing the scent of something he’d never taste again.

And then I saw her.

She stood there in a deep red turtleneck, the color hugging her like an unspoken promise. Black fitted jeans molded to her frame, boots anchoring her to the ground in a way I no longer could.

God, I missed seeing her like this.

A smile tugged at my lips—hesitant, fleeting. A moment of stolen warmth.

Until my gaze shifted.

To him.

Liam.

Fuckíng Liam.

A wildfiré of ràge ignited in my veins, scorching through me with brutàl intensity. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. It did nothing to ground me.

Her laughter.

It echoed—light, genuine, carefree—twisting like a blàde between my ribs. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t polite. It was real.

She was laughing with him.

Why?

How the héll could she smile like that, so big, so effortlessly, while I stood there suffocatíng under the weight of everything we had been?

And why did it feel like my chest was caving in?

Then Liam looked up. Green eyes met mine, sharp and knowing.

The first flicker of emotion? Anger.

Then—indifference.

And then, just before the final blow—a victorious gleam.

And a goddamnéd smirk.

Genevieve noticed. She turned, her gaze snapping to me like she already knew what she would see. And just like that, her smile vanished.

Gone.

Wiped from her face as if I had never had the right to witness it in the first place.

Exactly how much did she hàte me?

TBC📖✍️

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 86

Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

~ Dominic ~

Guess what? 

I’ve been blatantly lied to my entire life by the one person I trusted not to vanish after the tràgic démise of my beloved parents.

It was him all along, and I remained oblivious. He played the part because he found me foólish and gullible, perhaps. I nearly took the life of an innocent man—the father of the woman I love.

God! 

How could I have been so stúpid, so foólish, so iñsane all these years, believing it was Kyle Walker who snatched my parents away from me? 

Why did I even concoct that notion? I can’t seem to recall right now. The only name echoing in my mind is Ivan Morozov.

He erréd in taking my parents from me far too early in life. But his gravest mistake was training me to become the man I am today—the man who will relish the moment when the light dims from his eyes as the cold hands of deàth tightly embrace him.

Ivan Morozov clearly underestimates me, even after all my progress in the underworld of crime. He has no idea what I am capable of, especially not after carrying this mission in my head for over a decade.

No, seriously, it’s been twenty years since that fateful day—the day I watched bulléts tear through my parents’ bodies, blóod gushing like a crimson river. If I don’t give Ivan Morozov the same harrowing experience, then I am not Dominic Morozov, the son of Dennis Morozov.

I will kíll him, but first… I need to apologize to my girlfriend for yelling at her when she was simply concerned about me.

Do I deserve that after plotting to kíll her father? No, of course not. 

I don’t, and it eats away at me just thinking about it. It torménts me to know that my actions have caused her paín.

She’s ignoring my calls and texts, and I feel sick about it, even though I initiated the conflict.

I needed help, but unfortunately, the one person who is tolerable wasn’t reachable. That left me with the only option—someone utterly intolerable.

“What do you want?” Adrianna’s voice cut through the line, sharp and immediate.

“Wow, hello to you too,” I said, forcing a grin she knows all too well to be fake. “How are you? It’s so nice of you to ask first.”

“Hahaha, look at you being funny. I don’t like that.” 

“I’m not surprised. You don’t like many things.” 

I could practically see her rolling her eyes in exasperation before she asked, firmer and meaner this time, “What do you want, Dominic?” 

“Genevieve is upset with me and isn’t speaking to me,” I tried to explain, but she cut me off rudely.

“Oh, I am so, so surprised.” Her sarcasm was like a sharp needle, pricking my already fragile state. “What did you do?” 

“Why did you just assume I’m at fault?” 

“Because if Vie was in the wrong, she’d apologize. And you wouldn’t be calling.” She replied, her tone dripping with disdain. “Oh, and you’re a díck.”

Right. 

How could I ever forget that she tells me that every time we see each other? 

I exhaled slowly, holding back the annoyance that threatened to bubble over. “Can you help me?” 

“It depends.” Adrianna retorted. “What did you do?” 

I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth—she wouldn’t help me if I did. So, I cleared my throat, searching for a lie.

“Dominic, don’t conjure up a lie because you know I won’t fall for your lame excuses.” She added, her voice harsh and piercing. “You know what? I don’t care; just tell me what you need.” 

A relieved smile graced my face at her willingness. “Great, thanks. Tell Genevieve to meet you somewhere, and I’ll be there instead of you.” 

“Where?” 

“I’ll text you.” 

Adrianna groaned, then feigned cheer. “Yay.” The falseness of it was blindingly obvious. “Remember what I told you, Dominic?” 

I can’t forget. 

Almost two years ago, Adrianna Carrington looked me straight in the eyes and said, “If you break my sister’s heart, I will come for you.” 

If she weren’t my Vixen’s sister, I would have put a bullét in her head right there. I don’t do well with threàts; I prefer to be the one giving them, not receiving. But I didn’t pull the trígger because I’m not ready to dié just yet. 

And yes, I am scared of my girlfriend. You better believe it.

So, I reserved an entire restaurant for Genevieve and me to meet. The atmosphere was carefully crafted—soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the elegantly set tables, the air filled with the rich aroma of gourmet dishes simmering in the kitchen. I could already envision the evening unfolding, hoping it would mend the rift between us.

Adrianna texted me that Genevieve was ten minutes away. I sat at a secluded table, the plush fabric of the chair cradling me, but I felt anything but comfortable. Each tick of the clock echoed in my ears, amplifying my anxiety as I waited. 

Then, precisely ten minutes later, she walked in, exuding an aura that demanded attention. Genevieve entered like she owned the place, her dazzling blue eyes scanning the room before locking onto mine. The moment our gazes met, she rolled her eyes, a gesture that sent a pang of regret through me.

I expelled a shaky breath, shoving my worries into the darkest corners of my mind for the moment. Right now, I needed to focus on the one thing that seemed to be slipping through my fingers—the woman standing before me, radiating a mix of angér and defiance.

I moved toward her, my heart racing with each step. Thankfully, she didn’t back away, though the spark of rebellion in her eyes suggested she wanted to. I reached her, offering my best attempt at a smile, desperate to convey sincerity.

“What are…” 

“Can we sit first?” I interrupted, my voice calmer than the storm brewing inside me. She frowned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, a barrier between us. “Please?”

“I don’t want to sit. What are you doing?” Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the tasteful decorations and the soft music that played in the background, a stark contrast to the tension that hung between us. “What is this?”

“An apology,” I replied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“For?” Genevieve asked, her tone laced with annoyance yet oddly calm. “Which part exactly are you sorry for?”

She was looking at me, expecting an answer, her gaze serious and piercing. Her head tilted slightly, waiting for my response, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

I knew her too well; this was a rhetorical question.

“Is it the part where you snapped at me at the Base? Or the other part where you ignored me for three days? Or the part where you said you don’t want this relationship anymore?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the tension in the air like a kñife. “Huh? Which one?”

I could sense the weight of her unvoiced thoughts, the things she held back that could shatter us both. But how could I make her understand that it was too late for such reflections? 

I was already a broken man. My uncle—my father’s brother—was the one responsible for my parents’ deàths, and I held the evidence in my hands. Soon, I would drag her down with me, if I hadn’t already.

“Everything. I am apologizing for everything. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

“Sorry?” Now her anger flared like a wildfire. “If I said, ‘I hàte you and I wish you had never come into my life,’ and then told you sorry, would you accept that?”

I was left speechless, utterly taken aback. Out of everything I had anticipated her to say, that was the least expected. 

“Dominic, you said you don’t want this anymore, and you think sorry can fix it?”

“What can I do then?” My voice came out strained, a plea wrapped in desperation.

“Tell me what is bothering you.” Her eyes were fierce, demanding the truth.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

Both!

I couldn’t tell her that my only family that she knows was linked to the very man who had takén my parents from me. Infact, he is the very reason. She may have been polite with him, but deep down, her heart and soul rejected him. 

Yes, she maintained a friendly façade, but that was all it was.

I also feared revealing the truth because one revelation would lead to another, and she would discover that her father was my target. She would never forgive me for that.

She would hàte me.

“Genevieve, please, let’s sit.”

She stepped back, her frustration palpable. “I said I don’t want to sit.” I blinked, surprised. “What is so difficult for you to tell me? Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is?” When I remained silent, she snapped, “Dominic.”

“Baby, please, let’s just sit and have dinner.” My voice was laced with desperation.

“No. I don’t want to sit, and I don’t want to have dinner with someone who hides things from me and doesn’t trust me.” Genevieve’s expression was resolute, her displeasure evident.

“I trust you.” I exhaled, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. “Of course, I trust you. I just… you know what, why don’t I tell you later?”

“Later?” I nodded, hoping my resolve would hold. “So, you will tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

Knowing I was lying, I nodded again. “Promise.” The deceit felt like a dagger to my heart. “Now, dinner?”

Genevieve studied me, her gaze lingering as if she were attempting to decipher my unspoken fears. Her eyes brimmed with questions—questions I knew I couldn’t answer.

“Please, Vixen. I am sorry. Won’t you forgive me?” 

“Fine.” Her response was simple but heavy with unspoken weight.

“Fine?”

She shrugged, the gesture almost dismissive. “Yeah.” Then she sighed, a sound full of worry. “You know, I was really scared when you said that. I… I thought… I thought that…”

I cupped her face in my hands, my voice dropping to a soothing whisper, a desperate attempt to convince both of us that everything would be alright. “I really love you, like a lot a lot, so whatever you are thinking isn’t going to happen. We are stuck together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Her reply was small, uncertain. “And I love you too.”

TBC

Next Episode 

Previous Episode 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings – Episode 86

Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

~ Dominic ~

Guess what? 

I’ve been blatantly lied to my entire life by the one person I trusted not to vanish after the tràgic démise of my beloved parents.

It was him all along, and I remained oblivious. He played the part because he found me foólish and gullible, perhaps. I nearly took the life of an innocent man—the father of the woman I love.

God! 

How could I have been so stúpid, so foólish, so iñsane all these years, believing it was Kyle Walker who snatched my parents away from me? 

Why did I even concoct that notion? I can’t seem to recall right now. The only name echoing in my mind is Ivan Morozov.

He erréd in taking my parents from me far too early in life. But his gravest mistake was training me to become the man I am today—the man who will relish the moment when the light dims from his eyes as the cold hands of deàth tightly embrace him.

Ivan Morozov clearly underestimates me, even after all my progress in the underworld of crime. He has no idea what I am capable of, especially not after carrying this mission in my head for over a decade.

No, seriously, it’s been twenty years since that fateful day—the day I watched bulléts tear through my parents’ bodies, blóod gushing like a crimson river. If I don’t give Ivan Morozov the same harrowing experience, then I am not Dominic Morozov, the son of Dennis Morozov.

I will kíll him, but first… I need to apologize to my girlfriend for yelling at her when she was simply concerned about me.

Do I deserve that after plotting to kíll her father? No, of course not. 

I don’t, and it eats away at me just thinking about it. It torménts me to know that my actions have caused her paín.

She’s ignoring my calls and texts, and I feel sick about it, even though I initiated the conflict.

I needed help, but unfortunately, the one person who is tolerable wasn’t reachable. That left me with the only option—someone utterly intolerable.

“What do you want?” Adrianna’s voice cut through the line, sharp and immediate.

“Wow, hello to you too,” I said, forcing a grin she knows all too well to be fake. “How are you? It’s so nice of you to ask first.”

“Hahaha, look at you being funny. I don’t like that.” 

“I’m not surprised. You don’t like many things.” 

I could practically see her rolling her eyes in exasperation before she asked, firmer and meaner this time, “What do you want, Dominic?” 

“Genevieve is upset with me and isn’t speaking to me,” I tried to explain, but she cut me off rudely.

“Oh, I am so, so surprised.” Her sarcasm was like a sharp needle, pricking my already fragile state. “What did you do?” 

“Why did you just assume I’m at fault?” 

“Because if Vie was in the wrong, she’d apologize. And you wouldn’t be calling.” She replied, her tone dripping with disdain. “Oh, and you’re a díck.”

Right. 

How could I ever forget that she tells me that every time we see each other? 

I exhaled slowly, holding back the annoyance that threatened to bubble over. “Can you help me?” 

“It depends.” Adrianna retorted. “What did you do?” 

I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth—she wouldn’t help me if I did. So, I cleared my throat, searching for a lie.

“Dominic, don’t conjure up a lie because you know I won’t fall for your lame excuses.” She added, her voice harsh and piercing. “You know what? I don’t care; just tell me what you need.” 

A relieved smile graced my face at her willingness. “Great, thanks. Tell Genevieve to meet you somewhere, and I’ll be there instead of you.” 

“Where?” 

“I’ll text you.” 

Adrianna groaned, then feigned cheer. “Yay.” The falseness of it was blindingly obvious. “Remember what I told you, Dominic?” 

I can’t forget. 

Almost two years ago, Adrianna Carrington looked me straight in the eyes and said, “If you break my sister’s heart, I will come for you.” 

If she weren’t my Vixen’s sister, I would have put a bullét in her head right there. I don’t do well with threàts; I prefer to be the one giving them, not receiving. But I didn’t pull the trígger because I’m not ready to dié just yet. 

And yes, I am scared of my girlfriend. You better believe it.

So, I reserved an entire restaurant for Genevieve and me to meet. The atmosphere was carefully crafted—soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the elegantly set tables, the air filled with the rich aroma of gourmet dishes simmering in the kitchen. I could already envision the evening unfolding, hoping it would mend the rift between us.

Adrianna texted me that Genevieve was ten minutes away. I sat at a secluded table, the plush fabric of the chair cradling me, but I felt anything but comfortable. Each tick of the clock echoed in my ears, amplifying my anxiety as I waited. 

Then, precisely ten minutes later, she walked in, exuding an aura that demanded attention. Genevieve entered like she owned the place, her dazzling blue eyes scanning the room before locking onto mine. The moment our gazes met, she rolled her eyes, a gesture that sent a pang of regret through me.

I expelled a shaky breath, shoving my worries into the darkest corners of my mind for the moment. Right now, I needed to focus on the one thing that seemed to be slipping through my fingers—the woman standing before me, radiating a mix of angér and defiance.

I moved toward her, my heart racing with each step. Thankfully, she didn’t back away, though the spark of rebellion in her eyes suggested she wanted to. I reached her, offering my best attempt at a smile, desperate to convey sincerity.

“What are…” 

“Can we sit first?” I interrupted, my voice calmer than the storm brewing inside me. She frowned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, a barrier between us. “Please?”

“I don’t want to sit. What are you doing?” Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the tasteful decorations and the soft music that played in the background, a stark contrast to the tension that hung between us. “What is this?”

“An apology,” I replied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“For?” Genevieve asked, her tone laced with annoyance yet oddly calm. “Which part exactly are you sorry for?”

She was looking at me, expecting an answer, her gaze serious and piercing. Her head tilted slightly, waiting for my response, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

I knew her too well; this was a rhetorical question.

“Is it the part where you snapped at me at the Base? Or the other part where you ignored me for three days? Or the part where you said you don’t want this relationship anymore?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the tension in the air like a kñife. “Huh? Which one?”

I could sense the weight of her unvoiced thoughts, the things she held back that could shatter us both. But how could I make her understand that it was too late for such reflections? 

I was already a broken man. My uncle—my father’s brother—was the one responsible for my parents’ deàths, and I held the evidence in my hands. Soon, I would drag her down with me, if I hadn’t already.

“Everything. I am apologizing for everything. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

“Sorry?” Now her anger flared like a wildfire. “If I said, ‘I hàte you and I wish you had never come into my life,’ and then told you sorry, would you accept that?”

I was left speechless, utterly taken aback. Out of everything I had anticipated her to say, that was the least expected. 

“Dominic, you said you don’t want this anymore, and you think sorry can fix it?”

“What can I do then?” My voice came out strained, a plea wrapped in desperation.

“Tell me what is bothering you.” Her eyes were fierce, demanding the truth.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

Both!

I couldn’t tell her that my only family that she knows was linked to the very man who had takén my parents from me. Infact, he is the very reason. She may have been polite with him, but deep down, her heart and soul rejected him. 

Yes, she maintained a friendly façade, but that was all it was.

I also feared revealing the truth because one revelation would lead to another, and she would discover that her father was my target. She would never forgive me for that.

She would hàte me.

“Genevieve, please, let’s sit.”

She stepped back, her frustration palpable. “I said I don’t want to sit.” I blinked, surprised. “What is so difficult for you to tell me? Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is?” When I remained silent, she snapped, “Dominic.”

“Baby, please, let’s just sit and have dinner.” My voice was laced with desperation.

“No. I don’t want to sit, and I don’t want to have dinner with someone who hides things from me and doesn’t trust me.” Genevieve’s expression was resolute, her displeasure evident.

“I trust you.” I exhaled, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. “Of course, I trust you. I just… you know what, why don’t I tell you later?”

“Later?” I nodded, hoping my resolve would hold. “So, you will tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

Knowing I was lying, I nodded again. “Promise.” The deceit felt like a dagger to my heart. “Now, dinner?”

Genevieve studied me, her gaze lingering as if she were attempting to decipher my unspoken fears. Her eyes brimmed with questions—questions I knew I couldn’t answer.

“Please, Vixen. I am sorry. Won’t you forgive me?” 

“Fine.” Her response was simple but heavy with unspoken weight.

“Fine?”

She shrugged, the gesture almost dismissive. “Yeah.” Then she sighed, a sound full of worry. “You know, I was really scared when you said that. I… I thought… I thought that…”

I cupped her face in my hands, my voice dropping to a soothing whisper, a desperate attempt to convince both of us that everything would be alright. “I really love you, like a lot a lot, so whatever you are thinking isn’t going to happen. We are stuck together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Her reply was small, uncertain. “And I love you too.”

TBC

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