INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 92
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
The metallic taste of blóod coated my tongue, a sharp, bitter irritation as I licked the bleedíng corner of my mouth. The tang clung to my taste buds, a reminder of the chàos that had just unfolded.
“Ugh, you’re bleedíng.” Love cringed, her face scrunched up in disgust—definitely not concern.
“I wonder why,” I retorted, my voice laced with sarcasm.
“Hey!” she snapped, her tone sharp. “You kissed me! What was I supposed to do? Kiss you back? Ew! I’d rather swim in sewage than do that.”
“Gee, thanks,” I replied dryly.
“Don’t worry; it’s not your fault that you’re not my type.”
“I should kíll you right now,” I growled, the tension in the air crackling around us.
She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But you won’t.”
“What’s up, sis and guy I’d rather not talk to?!” Dexter burst into the room, his voice booming like thunder as he swung the door open.
I was the guy he’d rather not talk to. He was furious because I had ended my relationship with Genevieve. In fact, the entire Base had been shrouded in a sour mood since the breakup, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them.
Dexter’s gaze locked onto my face, and in an instant, his annoyance morphed into concern. “Why are you bleedíng?”
“I slapped him,” Love beamed, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes, as if she would relish the chance to do it again.
“Really?” Dexter’s tone shifted, mirroring her enthusiasm. “Why? Apart from him being a complete idíot?”
“He kissed me. Can you believe that?” Love’s voice dripped with disbelief.
“Disgustíng!”
“I know!” She scowled, clearly sharing my disdain. “That’s what I thought too.”
My exasperated sigh seemed to draw Dexter’s attention back to me. “Why did you do that?”
“Genevieve was here,” I murmured, my reply barely above a whisper. “Trust me, I have no intention of kissing your sister.”
“You’re spoiling every chance of getting Genny back.”
“Maybe because I don’t want to get her back.”
“You and I both know that’s nothing but a fuckíng lie.”
“Genny—Genevieve King, the girl you’re dating that Rory won’t stop eating up my ears with—you broke up with her?” Love interjected, her disappointment palpable. “How could you screw that up so badly?”
They don’t understand.
No one understands me.
They can’t see it from my perspective; they can’t grasp the weight of the hatréd in her eyes that I would bear.
Dexter doesn’t understand, nor does his sister, and certainly no one at the Base comprehends, not even my own sister.
She had confronted me that night after I stormed in, soaked and heartbroken.
“You broke up with her?!” Rory exclaimed, her disbelief echoing in the small room. “What do you mean you broke up with her, Dominic?”
“It means exactly what you heard. I put an end to it,” I sighed, feeling dull, lifeless.
“Why? Why did you do that?” Her voice was tinged with urgency. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around why he hid the truth that Uncle Ivan was our parents’ killér from me, only for you to do this. Why?!”
“Because I needed to.”
“I don’t see the reason. I don’t see why you ‘put an end’ to the best thing that has happened to you since Mum and Dad díed. Dominic, how could you do that to yourself?”
How can I explain that I didn’t do it because I wanted to?
If I hadn’t acted, Genevieve would find out that her father was my target, and I would have killéd him without a second thought—regardless of how it would have shattered her. And that… that would destroy her. She would hàte me.
I can endure anything the world throws at me, but Genevieve’s hatréd? God, I would die if I ever saw that loathiñg reflected in her eyes.
“I saw you genuinely smile—laugh—only after she came into your life. You brought her into this place you considered home, made her mum’s strawberry milkshake, cooked for her. Dominic, she was your first kiss. The first girl you let touch you without feeling disgústed. She flew across an ocean to get you when you were in Russia, in the deàd of night, not caring about the brutal winter there.” My little sister, the one I confide in, shook her head, disappointment and concern etched across her features. “How could you rúin what you two have?”
“She will never forgive me if she finds out.”
“You should let her decide that,” she snapped, her voice rising in frustration. “She has the right to make that decision, Dominic. Gosh, you’re unbelievable.”
“Rory, please, can we not?” I pleaded, weariness seeping into my bones, an overwhelming desire to retreat to the sanctuary of my room. “I am not in the mood.”
“Of course, you’re not in the mood. You let the best thing that has ever happened to you walk away.” Her words were sharp, cutting through the haze of my despair. “You’re such a big fóol.”
I truly am.
That was the aftermath of my decision—the fallout from the moment she learned of the breakup. She was still angry with me, and I was fortunate she was even speaking to me at all, though her words felt like a daggér piercing my heart.
I was exhausted from everything. The life I had grown accustomed to had slipped through my fingers like grains of sand, and I felt powerless to reclaim it.
Genevieve was gone, perhaps forever. If there had been any hope of rekindling our relationship, I had just dashed it by kissing Lovelyn.
It was over for good, and the thought of never crossing paths with her again was suffocatiñg.
☆☆☆☆
Life is tragically dull without the one who completes me, who makes me whole.
Days stretched into weeks without her, and the emptiness gnawed at me until I barely functioned. She was absent from my life, and she was far from England.
She had transferred to China for school, making a clean break from me. I deserved it; I truly did.
Not only had I wounded her with my harsh words, but I had compounded the paín by kissing another girl. God, the memory of her face still hauntéd me in the quiet of the night.
The resignation, the betràyal, the unmistakable “it’s really over” look that flickered across her expression—it was all seared into my memory. She was done with me, and it was paiñfully clear.
But I am fine now.
Kidding!
I will never be fine without my Vixen in my life. Each morning, I rise from restless nights that barely grant me two hours of sleep, and I stand before the mirror, forcing a lie past my lips: “I am fine.”
I thought that by repeating those words, I could somehow coax the hollowness in my heart to fill itself or, perhaps, banish the melancholic moñster that has taken residence within me.
Oh, how lamentably wrong I was!
For the first three hundred and sixty-five days, it was a futile effort. I busied myself with work, thinking that by ignoring the paín, it would simply fade away.
It didn’t.
Another three hundred and sixty-five days rolled in, and the mantra in the mirror still did not work. I needed something—no, someone—better.
And the only thing I could think of wasn’t a thing at all; it was a person I could no longer have.
She thrived in her new life, far away from me, her radiant smile lighting up her Instagram posts. She had moved on, but did she truly?
Was our love so fickle that she could erase it from her heart that quickly?
Unbelievably, I continued to exist for another three hundred and sixty-five days. Life was good, and I was good too.
No, truly, I was.
I transitioned from barely sleeping to managing three to four hours of rest. The nightmares still lingered, but they no longer haunted me as they once did.
I no longer saw Ivan’s lifeléss body or relived that night of our breakup with the same intensity. I was finally fine.
But was I really? No.
I was missing one crucial thing—one person—who had seemingly found her place in the world.
Genevieve walked the streets of Beijing with a smile, stepped out of her car with a grin, and glided through her university halls with a brightness that suggested she was genuinely happy to be alive.
I was happy for her; truly, I was. Yet, as I mentioned earlier, that melancholic moñster still lurked in the shadows.
Yep, it is still there.
My heart hasn’t healed yet.
Today marked the fourth three hundred and sixty-five days since I’ve survived without her presence in my life. But suddenly, here she was, standing in the same elevator with me.
When I woke up this morning and sluggishly dressed as I did every day, I never expected to lock eyes with Genevieve King.
I won’t lie; I knew she was back. I had kept tabs on her every move. However, I didn’t anticipate her arrival at my company, wearing a smile too perfect to be genuine.
It looked rehearsed, and I have memorized those smiles, tattooing them into my memory to discern which were real and which were not.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice a melodious chime that sent my mind racing, urging me to respond in kind.
Yet, I was distracted. Distracted by the depth of her eyes, which had darkened to a shade of blue I had never seen before. I had never forgotten the color of her eyes, but seeing them now made me feel as though I had.
They were different now—distant, yes. They bore into me, as if I were a stranger.
She noticed the surprise etched on my face and produced a sleek black card, extending it towards me. Taking it from her, I felt the cool, glossy surface beneath my fingertips as my eyes skimmed the embossed words.
Genora Designs. A peculiar logo. Genevieve Dove King. Two different phone numbers.
The realization struck me like a thunderclap: this card indicated that she would be overseeing the “little renovation here and there” that Rory had arranged.
Dàmnit!
“The person, Cora, isn’t available. I will be in charge of the renovation, if you don’t mind.”
Mind?!
Of course, I fuckíng mind.
Genevieve King stood less than six feet away from me, and the impulse to pull her close was overwhelming. Now she was telling me this arrangement would last for a month?
Héll no!
Then, I realized I hadn’t uttered a word and was merely staring at her. But before I could gather my thoughts, the elevator doors slid open.
“You’re not getting out?” Genevieve asked as she stepped out, her tone casual.
Right, I need to get off.
The walk to my office was silent and awkward, at least for me. She appeared neutral, as though she didn’t mind my presence, treating me like a stranger.
I hatéd it.
“Dominic!” The excited shout of my name halted my steps. I turned to see the source of the commotion, grinning wide.
Lovelyn.
An automatic smile crossed my lips, mirroring hers before her gaze shifted to Genevieve, and her smile faltered.
Genevieve, on the other hand, regarded her with a cool, nonchalant observation, her expression unreadable.
“Love,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “this is Genevieve.” I paused, feeling the weight of the moment. “She’s going to be in charge of the renovations.”
“Oh. That Genevieve,” Lovelyn muttered, her tone laced with a hint of recognition that was all too audible. Then, she forced her smile back into place. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Genevieve replied, her voice begrudgingly polite.
“See you later, Love,” I murmured, my gaze lingering on Lovelyn as I walked toward my office, leaving the tension of the moment behind me.
Once inside, we were alone again, and I still hadn’t found the words to break the silence. This time, I allowed my gaze to traverse her form.
Genevieve was clad in a fitted black turtleneck long-sleeve top, paired with a black skirt that hugged her hips with a subtle elegance. Gold rings adorned her fingers—four in total, two on each hand—catching the light as she moved.
She seemed taller than I remembered, though it may have been the black heels accentuating her long legs. Her hair fell straight and silky, framing her face and enhancing her striking beauty.
Genevieve King was twenty-four years old and looked every bit the queen she was.
I realized I was staring again and quickly cleared my throat, breaking the spell that had momentarily entranced me. “Um, Cassidy moved, so she’s her replacement.”
“I know,” she replied, her tone steady, as if she had anticipated this moment.
I exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment hanging in the air. “So?”
“Right. Like I mentioned earlier, I will be overseeing this project instead of Cora because she is currently unavailable.”
“And why is she unavailable?” I inquired, my tone deliberate. “The contract explicitly states she would be the one here.”
“I understand that, but unfortunately, she is preoccupied with other commitments. As an equal partner in Genora Designs, I assure you that I am fully capable of managing what she can handle.”
“Hmm.” I lowered myself into my chair, the leather cool against my skin. “So, Ms. Song has abandoned my project for something else.”
“There’s no abandonment involved, Dominic. I will handle your project with the utmost care and professionalism.”
“Aren’t you a lawyer?”
“Yes, and?”
“I’m not sure I want to entrust the renovations of my company to someone who knows next to nothing about design.”
“Then we can simply cut it off—the contract.”
“That would be a breach, and it comes with a hefty price.”
“I have money.”
“Yes, I know that. But does Ms. Song?”
I could see Genevieve teetering on the edge of frustration, her composure nearly cracking under the pressure. But she swallowed her irritation, forcing another smile that felt rehearsed. “Listen, I can show you some of my designs, and then you can decide whether you want to proceed.”
“Hmm.”
Seven minutes drifted by as she presented a series of impressive interior designs, her passion evident in her voice. She stood beside me, her scent—sweet yet unfamiliar—wrapped around us, a subtle reminder of the connection we once shared.
“So, what is your decision?”
A simple “yes, you’re accepted” would only deepen the ache within me, as I would have to endure her cool indifference daily.
A “no, I don’t accept” would mean losing her presence altogether. You can already guess which path I’d take.
I cleared my throat, the tension palpable as I finally said, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Genevieve’s confusion was almost palpable, and a flicker of satisfaction coursed through me. It felt good to see a different emotion in her eyes—one that wasn’t wrapped in that icy mask of indifference. “Okay what?”
“Let me see what you can do; I accept.”
“Lovely.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm, yet I couldn’t help but relish the shift in our dynamic. “I can’t wait to start working on this.”
“Good.” I responded, feigning ignorance to her sarcasm. “I’m also eager to see what you can bring to the table, Genevieve.”
“Ms. King.”
“What?”
“It’s Ms. King to you, Mr. Morozov.” Her voice was sharp, loud, and clear, cutting through the tension like a kñife. “See you tomorrow.”
As the doors clicked shut behind her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this arrangement would challenge me in ways I had never anticipated. The specter of our past loomed large, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was ready to face it head-on.
TBC📖✍️
