Page 74 of Mutual Desire

“No,” Nabokov answered simply, without a flicker of emotion.

Damien felt his temper rising. “When will you give it back, then?”

Nabokov leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as if settling into a game only he understood. “I don’t plan to return it. I’ll sell it to the highest bidder.”

Damien stared, dumbfounded. “You’re going to sell my Mac?”

“That’s right,” Nabokov replied matter-of-factly.

The sheer absurdity of the situation hit Damien like a slap. He shook his head, trying to contain his frustration. “It’s my Mac, Alexander. I never gave you permission to sell it.”

Nabokov shrugged, a flicker of boredom passing over his face. “It’s not yours anymore. You left it behind—so now it’s mine.”

Damien’s hand clenched on the bottle of wine, the weight of Nabokov’s manipulation pressing down on him. The man had a talent for pushing Damien just to the edge of reason—and enjoying every second of it.“I didn’t leave it. I forgot it,” Damien argued, but his words sounded weak, even to his own ears.

Nabokov gave him a lazy smile, as though indulging a child throwing a tantrum. “Same thing. Finders keepers”

Damien chuckled darkly, the sound devoid of humor. This whole conversation was a farce—a dance meant to leave him spinning.“So, what are you planning to do with the money, huh? Buy a donkey or something?”

“Now that you mention it, that’s not a bad idea,” Nabokov said with a playful smirk.

Damien rolled his eyes, done with the game. It was time to call it for what it was.“Listen, you know where I live,” Damien snapped. “I want my Mac delivered to me tomorrow.”

Nabokov’s eyebrow arched, his amusement barely concealed. “Or what?”

Damien let out a sharp laugh. He was running out of patience, and Nabokov’s insufferable calm was pushing him to the brink.“You really are out of ideas, huh? Kidnapping me wasn’t enough—now you’re holding my laptop hostage and blackmailing me with it?”

Nabokov leaned back, completely at ease. “It’s not blackmail. I just thought I’d keep you updated on what I’m doing with your things. If you’re unhappy, you can always report it to the police.”

Damien threw his hands up in exasperation. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll take me seriously when I tell them a billionaire stole my laptop.”

Nabokov’s smirk grew. “Well, it’s not theft. But you can give it a shot.”

Damien shook his head, bitterness welling up in his chest. “You’re punishing me, aren’t you? Just because I want to stay faithful to Craig.”

“I can’t punish you for something you didn’t succeed at,” Nabokov said softly, his words cutting deep.

Damien’s laugh was brittle, on the edge of breaking. “And let me guess—you take no blame in any of this?”

Nabokov’s gaze sharpened, his smirk fading into something darker. “Blame me? For craving you?”

Damien’s patience snapped, and with a surge of fury, he hurled the bottle of wine to the ground. Glass shattered, wine splashing across the floor in crimson streaks.

“You don’t want me!” Damien shouted, his voice hoarse with rage. “You only want the thrill of chasing something you can’t have!”

Nabokov stared, unmoving, as if the outburst were exactly what he had been waiting for. And that was what terrified Damien the most—Nabokov’s unyielding gaze, watching him as if he already owned every piece of him.

Damien’s outburst left a tense silence in its wake, the shattered glass and spilled wine spreading like a red stain on the moment. Nabokov remained still, his expression eerily calm, as though the chaos meant nothing to him.

“Actually,” Damien continued, breathing hard, rage simmering beneath his skin, “that's all this is to you, isn’t it? I'm just a prize, a forbidden fruit you can’t have. The second you get what you want, you’ll toss me aside like I never mattered.”

Nabokov tilted his head, observing Damien with that unsettling, calculated gaze. The kind of gaze that saw through masks and into the cracks of a person’s soul.

“You’re only right about one thing,” Nabokov said softly. “It’s true that I enjoy working for the things I want. But Damien—” he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper— “you should know me better than that. If you think I’ll lose interest once I have you... you underestimate me.”

Damien’s stomach twisted, a cold knot forming in his chest. He was out of his depth, drowning in a battle of wills that he knew he couldn’t win.

“You know what?” Damien muttered, stepping back with a bitter smile. “Keep the fucking Mac. Burn it, crush it, I don't care. Tonight, I'm going to the police to file a restraining order against you.”

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