Hateful obsession

Chapter 20

Melissa
"What the hell happened yesterday?"

I stirred, caught between the end of the dream and the dim, early morning light filtering into the room. My dream was soft, filled with warmth, as if I had never experienced the pain of a broken heart. A dream in which love was simple and healing came naturally, erasing every scar left behind.

I floated in that sensation for a few blissful moments until reality began to pull me back. The softness and hardness beneath my cheek was no longer imaginary; it was warm and steady, rising and falling rhythmically.

But my body felt like it had been run over by a train. It's weird. I didn't do anything to make it hurt like that.

My eyes flew open, squinting in the unfamiliar light. I was sprawled across a bare chest. A very male, very familiar chest. I was lying on Roman. Damn. Kirillov.

The peace was broken.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding in my ribcage as I sat up straight, trying not to move too quickly. My head was pounding in dull pulses, and my mouth was dry, the taste of last night's whiskey still lingering on my tongue. I groaned inwardly. I couldn't handle alcohol-I never could.

Every time I drank it, I might not feel sober, but my memory would fade until the haze cleared hours later, leaving only questions and regrets. Usually the next morning. If I drank the night before. Hell. This is why I don't drink alcohol at all. Almost.

Now, as I surveyed the scene, fear churned in my stomach. I was naked. Not only that, Roman was naked, too. His dark hair fell untidily across his forehead, his face peaceful in sleep. But it didn't matter-all that mattered were the tangled sheets, the sharp scent of sweat and lust in the air, and the clear implication of what had happened.

Fuck my life. I...drank whiskey...I remember this because I watched this asshole calmly let himself be touched. And now...what now? I needed liquid courage to watch this and not ruin the mission and then kill Roman. But...ahem...it seems like something went wrong right?

I climbed out of bed slowly, every movement deliberate, as if I was trying to pick up the pieces of last night. My dress, the one I'd been wearing when I'd walked into the casino with Dean, was nowhere to be seen. Panic clawed at my chest until I saw it crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed. Torn. Completely ripped apart at the sides. I suppressed a gasp of horror. That bastard.

Not wanting to dwell on what might have happened-or how aggressively it had happened-I spotted my panties nearby, grabbed them, and quickly pulled them on. At least they were intact. My next target: Roman's shirt, discarded on the floor next to the bed. I pulled it over my head, letting it fall freely until it was long enough to cover me to my knees. That would have to be enough.

I glanced at Roman, still sound asleep, and made a silent decision. I wasn't going to stick around to answer questions I didn't even know the answers to and didn't want to know. Not from him. I wasn't even going to wake him up to face him. Not yet. Preferably never. I felt my dignity shrinking at being in the same room, in the same bed, with him after what seemed to have happened.

I crept up to the door, wrapping my hand around it carefully. Just as I was about to turn it, a loud creak echoed through the room and my body froze. The last thing I needed was for Roman to wake up and start a conversation I was completely unprepared for. I stepped back, looking around for another exit.

My gaze fell on the sliding glass door that led out onto the balcony. A crazy idea popped into my head. Was it possible? Was I seriously considering escaping ten stories up a cliff? My heart pounded harder, this time more from the madness of the plan than from any remaining anxiety. But I was desperate, and the alternative seemed even worse.