Page 24 of Gilded in Blood

And how badly I wish he had stayed.

For the next couple of days, we avoid each other like the plague.

At least, he avoids me. I barely catch glimpses of him around the penthouse. He’s clearly here, I hear the occasional door, the low murmur of his voice on phone calls.

But the moment I enter a room, he finds a reason to leave. Does he regret what happened in my room?

God, I can’t stop thinking about it. The way he stood there watching me, voice low and filthy as he told me exactly how to touch myself. The way he made me put on that sheer black lace set.

And then… the way he took my slick fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean with that deep, satisfied hum.

Every single night since, when I lie in bed and slide my hand between my thighs, it’s his mouth I imagine. Not on my fingers.

Licking, sucking, devouring me. The fantasy is so vivid it leaves me gasping and frustrated, even after I come. I’ve never wanted a man’s mouth on me so badly in my life.

I’m slowly losing my mind.

Maybe I should be grateful he’s avoiding me. I have no idea how I’d react if I actually came face-to-face with him right now. Every time I close my eyes, he’s there. In my dreams. In my fantasies. Everywhere.

I still cook for both of us every day. It’s not like I can make food for myself and ignore him completely. That would feel petty. So, I always make extra.

When I come back later, his plate is always gone and the dishes are washed and put away.

Cooking, classes, and my studying are the only things keeping me sane right now.

I’m in the kitchen making breakfast. Scrambled eggs with spinach and feta, avocado toast with chili flakes, and fresh fruit on the side.

The smell fills the apartment and comforts me a little. I plate my own portion and leave his in the warmer.

I sit at the island, eating slowly while going over my plans for the day. I have a couple of pro bono cases I’m working on, trauma documentation for abuse survivors, and an online class later.

Since Ilya finally gave me back my phone with heavy encryption and anti-tracking software installed, I’ve been able to talk to Calina and my sisters-in-law, but it’s not the same.

I miss our brunches, our laughter, the way we could spend time together. Now everything feels heavy. Serious. Calina is still in the city with Maxim, refusing to hide, but Ilya won’t let me go see her. “Not safe,” he says.

So here I am. Under luxurious house arrest with a man who sets my body on fire and then pretends I don’t exist.

I finish eating, clean my dishes, and head to my bedroom to prepare for my classes. As I settle at the desk with my laptop, I can’t help but wonder where he is right now. Is he thinking of me too?

Get a grip, Milana. Focus.

After my last online class ends, I close my laptop and stretch, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness.

I open my secure video call platform and log into the victim advocacy center’s portal. Today I have a session with Maria, my newest and most difficult case.

She joins the call a few minutes late, looking exhausted. Her face is pale, dark circles under her eyes, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder like she expects someone to walk in at any moment.

“Hi Maria,” I say gently, offering her a warm smile. “How are you feeling today?”

She hesitates, fingers twisting the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. “Not great. I wish this nightmare would end already.”

My stomach tightens, but I keep my voice steady and professional. “Remember, one day at a time. Can you tell me what happened?”

Maria’s voice trembles as she speaks. She met her ex, Damien, three years ago. At first he was charming, flowers, attention, promises of a better life.

Then he introduced her to drugs to “help her relax.” It started small, but soon she was dependent, and he used it to control her completely.

When she tried to leave, he became violent. And threatened to expose her addiction to her family. He’d disappear for weeks, then show up high and furious, convinced she was cheating on him.