Page 60 of The Don’s Virgin Obsession

He stepped back immediately.

“Milan.” Warning in his voice now.

I stared at him for a second before shaking my head slowly.

Sex used to control Vaughn.

I used to control Vaughn.

Now neither one worked.

“You don’t want her,” I said finally. “You want whatever version of yourself you think she sees.”

I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” I said before leaving. “Keep playing with me, and I’ll remind social media exactly who the fuck Vaughn St. Clair used to be.”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there quiet while I left.

And honestly?

That silence pissed me off more than anything else.

V Saint

“Addiction don’t disappear… it just learn how to dress better.”

After Milan left, I just stood there in the kitchen for a minute staring at nothing.

My whole mood was fucked up now.

I grabbed my blunt off the counter out of habit, looked at it, then threw it back down. I didn’t even want to smoke anymore. Didn’t want liquor either. I just wanted the noise in my head to shut the fuck up.

Milan always knew how to do that.

Get under my skin and leave fingerprints on my mood after she was gone.

I walked to my room, changed into black sweats, threw on a hoodie, grabbed my 10-speed bike, and headed downstairs. I stopped and talked to my security. Told them to never let Milan up again.

Ten minutes later, I was riding through L.A. with my Beats headphones loud as fuck in my ears, playing “Dog’s Gonna Get Cha” by Snoop Dogg.

The wind hit hard against my face while I weaved through traffic like I had no sense.

Cars honking.

People yelling.

One nigga rolled his window down, calling me crazy while I cut across traffic.

I ain’t even look back.

The music blasted louder while my legs burned, pushing faster down the street. This was the only thing that usually calmed my mind besides weed and women.

Movement.

I stayed moving because sitting still for too long always became mentally dangerous for me.