Page 103 of Cruel Obsession

“Then you’d better start now.”

I turn to leave, but her voice stops me.

“Arkady.” The use of my first name rather than ‘sir’ pulls me back around. “This isn’t realistic.” She crosses her arms over her chest, stance widening slightly. “Even if I work the whole day, I can’t do all this alone. Food for seven men, seven rooms cleaned—”

“What the fuck has happened to you?” I cut her off, frustration bleeding through. “When you started this job, you moved like lightning. Now you drag around like you’re carrying weights.” I step closer, studying the changes in her face. “Are you sick?”

Color floods her cheeks. “I’m not sick.”

“Then what is it?” I press, suddenly needing to know, even though I have a thousand other priorities right now.

“I’m just—” She stops herself, then adds limply, “I’m tired, that’s all.”

Bullshit. There’s more she isn’t telling me. But my patience is running dangerously thin. The timing of this resistance couldn’t be worse—not with Operation Blackout 2.0 hanging in the balance, not with those girls waiting for rescue.

“I don’t have time for this.” My voice drops lower, each word precisely controlled. “I need the house ready by four. Make it happen.”

“I’m not just your housekeeper,” she says quietly, eyes not leaving mine. “Or did you forget that?”

The words stop me short. Every muscle in my body tenses. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry.” Her face drains of color, but her chin remains up. “That was out of line.”

Something about her defiance, even as she apologizes, stirs both admiration and frustration. Any other employee who defied me this way would be fired on the spot. But Mirabel isn’t just any employee—hasn’t been for a while. Probably never has, if I’m honest with myself.

“Today,” I tell her, moving close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat, “that’s exactly what you are. And I need you to do your job without questions or complaints.”

Her throat works as she swallows. “Why today? What’s happening, Arkady?”

The fact that she can read me so easily is both infuriating and intoxicating. For a second, I consider telling her everything—about my father, about the warehouse, about the rescue operation. But knowledge is danger in my world. The less she knows, the safer she is.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Hurt flashes across her features before she masks it. “Fine. I’ll take care of everything.”

The anger drains from me as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a hollow ache. I’m not angry at her—I’m angry at my father, at the situation, at the danger these girls are in. Mirabel is just the closest target, and I’ve lashed out at her unfairly.

“Good.” I pull out my wallet and hand her a thick stack of bills. “For supplies. Don’t skimp on anything.”

She accepts the money, her fingers brushing against mine. For a moment, something electric passes between us. Heat rushes through my veins, inappropriate and inconvenient. I want to pull her against me, lose myself in her for a few precious moments before returning to the violence that awaits.

Instead, I step back, forcing myself to focus. There will be time for that later. Right now, I have a rescue operation to plan and innocent lives to save from my old man’s cruelty.

“I’ll make it work,” she says quietly, her eyes holding mine a beat too long.

She knows something is wrong. She always knows.

I give her a curt nod and stride out of the library. My phone vibrates in my pocket—Alexei, confirming surveillance is in place. Good. The operation is underway.

My father thinks he can restart his trafficking business right under my nose. He’s forgotten who taught me to hunt, to kill, to survive. He’s about to learn exactly how well I absorbed those lessons.

By this time tomorrow, those girls will be free, and Gavriil Laurov will understand once and for all—I am not my father’s son.

I am far, far worse.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Mirabel