Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I… ah…” I return my eyes to Mikhail, and for a brief moment, understanding passes between us. It confirms my decision to leave was right and provides the farewell I was denied years ago. “I shouldn’t have come. I don’t belong here.”
Pain stabs my chest when Mikhail briefly dips his chin, agreeing with me, before he watches me exit without so much as a backward glance.
Chapter 2
Mikhail
“What did I miss?”
After plucking Zoya from her seat, Andrik, my brother, wraps his arm around her ballooning midsection and tugs her back until she lands on his lap with a moan.
No, you didn’t hear me wrong. You need to wash the filth from your eyes anytime Andrik and Zoya are in the same room, both in business and private settings.
It’s gross when you learn they are parents to a five-year-old. Alas, a man forced to hold back his desires for even a second must make up for the injustice with ten times more effort.
That’s why I’m so shocked about my muted reaction to Emerson’s resurrection in my life.
I hadn’t expected to see her today, but even if I had, I could have never comprehended this was how our reunion would turn out.
There should have been shouting, yelling, and a heap of cuss words that can only be forgiven in one way—with fire-sparking makeup sex.
That’s how Emerson and I operated. Our chemistry was insane, but we clashed heads as often as expected when two people with mile-long stubborn streaks couple.
Our fights were foreplay… until they weren’t.
With his hand possessively cradling Zoya’s stomach, Andrik strays his eyes to me. Zakhar, their son, had a cardiologist’s appointment at the same time as our grandfather’s will reading, so Andrik suggested Zoya take his spot.
His efforts to fix his wrongs extend to all regions of his life. He is no longer a billionaire playboy with a long list of enemies. He’s a husband and a father. The very man I thought I would become while pinning a corsage to the lapel of a recently purchased tuxedo and polishing dress shoes like they weren’t brand new.
We appear to have switched roles.
The playboy title isn’t the only thing Andrik has handed over. He is no longer a Dokovic, either. His wife and children will never be so fortunate as to escape the stigma associated with the name.
Only months ago, someone tarnished them with the same brush that painted my life picture thirty-two years ago. The strokes are a little less faded because the painting happened after my grandfather’s death, but Andrik will need a lifetime to correct the imperfections they will inevitably cause.
I don’t think he cares.
Obsession is given a new definition when Zoya enters Andrik’s realm.
It was once the same for me with Emerson.
Once.
“Mikhail?” Andrik murmurs, drawing my focus back to him.
With my mind a whirlwind of emotions I have no fucking clue how to handle, I dump the task of easing Andrik’s inquisitiveness onto Zoya.
The words of the lawyer dividing my grandfather’s estate between multiple organizations, charities, and people I’ve never met before today fade into the background when I move to a window stretched across one wall of the conference room.
My heart rate kicks up when I spot Emerson’s race across the packed parking lot. The wish to leave is all over her face. It starkly contrasts the expression reflecting off the tinted window of the conference room.
Ten years have passed, yet my feelings remain as strong as ever.
When Emerson’s brisk flee sees her losing her grip on her handbag, she curses into the cool afternoon air before she bends down to collect her belongings.
I use the delay in her departure to drink her in. She looks just as I remember, yet different. More poised, more mature. More beautiful. But also more distant.
I never thought Emerson would be a woman who’d hide behind others. She used to come out swinging, no matter the crowd.
I guess even the best fighters lose strength when they realize their opponent isn’t worth the effort.
Sensing my turmoil, Andrik joins me at the window. Air whizzes from his nose when he spots the cause of the angst on my face. Then words slowly trickle from his hard-lined mouth. “Emerson Morozov. I never thought I’d see the day.” I exhale harshly, forcing his eyes on me. “Do you know why she’s here?”
I half shrug and half shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. The weight of ten years of memories, unspoken words, and a feeling that will never fade hangs heavily on my chest.
Andrik gives me a sympathetic look. He knows how much Emerson once meant to me—how much she still means to me—because he was the first to voice concern about our plans to wed mere weeks after my twenty-first birthday.
His worries had more basis than I could have ever imagined, but at the time, I hated him for them. I didn’t want to be told who I could or could not love. I loved Emerson and wanted her to be my wife and, one day, the mother of my children.