Page 81 of Toxic Temptation
I’m merely a puppet whose strings are being pulled by a master.
“I know you’re upset, but?—”
“‘Upset’?” He whirls on me, and for a second, I see something feral flash across his face. “I’m notupset, Dr. Fairfax. I’m ready to burn the fucking world down.”
“Y’know, funny enough, I can see that.”
“Then maybe you should shut your mouth before I say something we’ll both regret.”
He stalks into my bedroom, and I stand there staring after him like an idiot. Like someone who thought she mattered to him.
I take a long time to finish my coffee while standing at the sink, watching rain streak down the window. By the time I dare toventure into the bedroom, Kovan is already in bed, phone in hand, studiously ignoring me and the rest of the world.
He doesn’t apologize.
He doesn’t explain.
He doesn’t even acknowledge I exist.
I get ready for bed in silence. The whole time, I’m waiting for him to say something. Anything, goddammit. But he just keeps staring at that screen, his jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth.
I give up. I climb into bed and align myself against the far edge of the mattress, as far from him as I can get without falling off.
He turns off the light without asking. Neither of us says goodnight.
His fingers fly across his phone in the dark, the blue glow casting harsh shadows on his face.
I want to rip that phone out of his hands. I want to demand he talk to me like I’m a person instead of a prop in his little performance. I want to ask him about last night, about the quiet intimacy we shared, about whether any of it was real.
But I don’t.
Because this is my reality check. This is who Kovan Krayev really is when the charm drops away. Cold. Distant. Utterly indifferent to anything that doesn’t serve his purposes.
I’m not his partner. I’m not his friend.
I’m a convenience. A means to an end. I don’t matter to Kovan Krayev and I never will.
And the sooner I remember that, the better off I’ll be.
Even if forgetting feels impossible when he’s lying twelve inches away from me. Close enough to touch, but farther away than ever.
28
KOVAN
THREE DAYS LATER
“Where the fuck is she?” I bellow.
“Who?” Osip’s nasally voice grates against my nerves like sandpaper.
“Don’t play stupid with me.” I slam my fist against the kitchen counter. “Vesper. It’s been three days, Osip. Three goddamn days without coming home.”
“She’s been pulling doubles at the hospital,” he says with a shrug. “I told you?—”
“She has to sleep sometime, doesn’t she?”
“Sure,” he agrees, “but they have rooms for that. If you want, I can check which call room she’s hunkered?—”
