INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 94
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 expression on her face had been a riddle wrapped in shadows, yet the unmistakable glow of boredom flickered in her eyes, as if she would rather have been anywhere but here—here with me.
It infuriated me that she was not the Genevieve I once knew. Back then, I could decipher her thoughts with a mere glance. Now, no matter how deeply I searched her eyes, all I found was that same tired disinterest, a chilling nonchalance that sliced through me.
It had been exhaustingly paínful, and it had only been two days.
I shifted my gaze from the heavy door my sister had just gone through to Genevieve, only to find her rolling her eyes and reaching for her tablet.
“I apologize on her behalf for touching your…”
She whipped her head up, cutting me off. “It’s fine.” The words came out almost like a snap. Then, with an effort, she plastered a smile onto her face. “It’s totally fine.”
Yeah, by her strained, forced tone, she didn’t sound fine at all. She had never been known to fake her feelings, but now she was doing it for me—all in the name of professionalism.
F+ck professionalism.
I slowly nodded and decided to speak the next words that came to my mind. “She is my…”
“Mr. Morozov,” she interjected, her tone firm yet surprisingly calm. “I don’t care about what goes on in your life. So, with all due respect, don’t. I’d prefer being spared the details.”
I could have pretended her first twelve words didn’t húrt, as if they hadn’t shót straight into my heart like an arrow, leaving a gaping hole for the melancholic mónster to dwell within. I could have concealed the expression that crept onto my face, perhaps masked my emotions long enough for her not to notice. But it was too late—I had already shown my pàin, and she had seen it.
And she didn’t give a dàmn, because her eyes betrayed not a hint of concern, nor did her expression flicker with any sign of empathy. And I couldn’t really blame her.
“I think there is a misunderstanding.”
The way she had seen Aurora and me was misleading to someone unaware of our relationship. She just happened to fall into the category of those who didn’t know I had a sister.
Except, in truth, I suspected she already did.
Genevieve tilted her head, feigning interest that was obviously insincere. “You do?”
Even though I recognized her curiosity was fabricated, a fóolish part of me still wanted her to understand me, just this once, even if I didn’t deserve it.
I was willing to play the dévil in her story, but not if it meant misunderstandings would cloud her judgment of me.
“Yeah. You’re misunderstanding me,” I replied, instinctively stepping two paces closer.
She noticed my movement and paused, her silence stretching between us. Perhaps the distance still felt too significant, or maybe she just didn’t care.
“Am I?”
Even a five-month-old baby could discern the heavy sarcasm in her tone.
“Yes.”
“Hmm, really?”
She did it again.
“Can you stop?”
For an instant, Genevieve appeared utterly confused, and then, to my surprise, she laughed—a sound that rang with unmistakable mockery. “Stop what?”
I couldn’t fathom why I was surprised; I knew exactly who I was dealing with. The woman standing before me wasn’t my Vixen, my Love, or Baby; she was Genevieve King.
And she had chosen to tortúre me with her relentless coldness and indifference.
Annoyance, which I knew I shouldn’t feel, began to pulse through my veins. My trembling fingers instinctively raked through my hair before they found their way into my pockets—all ten of them. “That,” I blurted out, frustration leaking from my voice.
Well done, Dominic. Just rúin it further.
She remained unimpressed, visibly bored by my presence. A tired sigh escaped my lips, and I spoke again, calmer this time. “Stop giving me two-word replies. And stop being like that.”
A thought flickered in my mind: Would she make another snarky retort? However, to my astonishment, she responded with words even more húrtful.
“You’re not in a position to request that of me.”
They say to be careful what you wish for. Well, I had learned my lesson.
Her slender fingers brushed through her long, silky hair before she added, “And the only thing I am being is professional. Unlike you, I don’t have multiple lovers in my workplace.”
Dumbfounded, I repeated her words as if they hadn’t quite registered. “Lovers?” I scoffed. “You think they are my lovers?”
It didn’t matter that I had kissed Lovelyn that one time; the thought of being in a romantic relationship with her was utterly nauseating. As for Aurora, she was my biological sister—quite the opposite of lover.
I understood this, they understood this, but the one person I wished to grasp the truth was completely in the dark and didn’t want to be illuminated.
If I said, “That is the reason she’s behaving cold and somewhat rude to Love,” would I sound insàne?
“Like I said before, I have no interest in your life,” she replied.
“You sure seem like you do.”
“I don’t envy your high levels of delusion.”
My brows furrowed, and my tongue felt heavy, rendering me unable to utter another word in her direction. “Have a great rest of your day, Mr. Morozov. I will take my leave.” Her voice was clipped, final. A dismissal.
But when she turned toward the door, my body acted before my mind could catch up. My hand shot out, fingers locking around her wrist. The second my skin touched hers, she wrenched herself free as if my touch burned, recoiling with such force one would think it physically húrt her.
She spun to face me, and the moment our eyes met, the air in the room changed. Her gaze—icy, bottomless, and as rúthless as the Atlantic on a stormy night—clashed against mine. It was bone-chillingly glacial, yet it seared where it landed, branding me in its silent fury.
“This will be the last time you touch me.”
A warning. A promise.
I had no idea why I ever believed I could endure Genevieve’s presence—so close, yet untouchable. The sheer indifference in her posture, the way she carried herself as though I were no more than a stranger in her world, was uncanny. Unfairly paiñful.
I can’t do this.
I won’t be able to resist the pull, the instinct to reach for her, to close the impossible distance between us for an entire month. I’d rather be waterboardéd.
Héll, it feels like I am.
I was drowning beneath her stare, suffócating in the weight of everything unspoken between us. My lungs burnéd with the effort to draw breath, yet air refused to come.
“Is that clear, Mr. Morozov?”
Her voice—hard, controlled—was laced with something I couldn’t name. Resentment? Exhaustion? A test of my willpower?
Silence was my only answer, and she didn’t like that.
“I know for a fact I didn’t just speak in a foreign language,” she pressed, her tone sharpening. “So be kind enough to indicate that my warning was heard, understood, and will not fall on deaf ears.”
She was saying everything but what I wanted to hear. And yet, I wished she would stop. Wished she knew what she was doing to me.
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
It was barely a whisper, my voice raw, unrecognizable even to myself.
And I didn’t know which I was apologizing for—touching her without permission, or being the reason we were here in the first place.
“I don’t need your apology,” she countered, her expression unmoved. “I need you not to do it again.”
“Understood.”
Genevieve’s eyes flickered with doubt. Her raised brows told me she didn’t believe me.
“I promise.”
A scoff.
A slow, humorless smirk.
“Of course you do.”
The sarcasm was deliberate, slicing clean through my chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means”—she stepped forward, her gaze nailing me in place—”I’m curious how long it will take you to break this one.”
Forty-nine seconds.
That was how long it took for the meaning of her words to fully register.
And when it did, it felt like a live wire had been pressed against my ribs, a sharp bolt of electricity streaking straight through my heart.
I was left stunned, rooted in place as she shook her head at me, then turned and walked out of my office without looking back.
She hàtes me for breaking the promises I made to her.
I hàte myself for giving her a reason to.
Because that was the very thing I was afraid of.
And yet, I can’t help but wonder—how much deeper will that hatréd run when she discovers the one truth I never want her to know?
✷✷✷✷
Three days.
Three days of trying to get Genevieve to acknowledge me. Three days of attempting to talk to her, only to be met with sharp retorts about professionalism. Three days of searching for something—anything—to remind her that we once meant something to each other.
Three days of failing. Miserably.
She hàtes me. And she lóathes working for me even more.
I can’t seem to do anything right anymore.
The moment she stepped back into my life, my sanity unraveled, slipping through my fingers like sand.
I can’t think straight.
My eyes track her every movement, desperate for a flicker of recognition, while she avoids mine as if I don’t exist beyond the necessities of our work.
She only speaks to me when she needs an answer about the project, only looks at me when seeking approval.
That’s all.
And in those brief moments when our eyes lock, hers remain vacant. A blank canvas. Unreadable. Indifferent.
It’s killìng me.
Slowly. Painfùlly.
They say words are like kníves, capable of cutting deep and leaving scars.
But no one ever warns you about the agóny of being invisible to the person your heart still bleéds for. No one tells you how it feels to be looked at like you don’t matter.
Like you never did.
And God, does it húrt.
It’s the kind of pàin that crushes your chest, shatters your ribs, and leaves your heart to be trampled underfoot—only to be shoved back into place, still beating, still aching.
And somehow, I know this is just the beginning.
But whatever happened, happened. It would be her decision to make—whatever unfolded in this tangled, complicated mess of a relationship.
Genevieve was downstairs, overseeing the renovation with the same sharp focus I remembered so well. Her team moved quickly, almost effortlessly, under her direction. Efficiency at its finest. I had to admit, Rory had been right when she recommended Genora Designs. They were the best at what they did.
I understood why my sister had done it—why she had insisted on this company. What I didn’t understand was why now.
Genevieve King was happy. At least, that was the story she told. She didn’t need me. She didn’t want me.
My sister, however, refused to believe that. She was convinced Genevieve was putting on a show, that her so-called happiness was nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion.
I didn’t buy it.
Not when she was here every day. Not when she avoided my gaze with calculated coldness. Not when her presence lingered in my space, deliberate yet distant.
I exhaled a slow, controlled breath, rising to my feet. My body moved on instinct, drawn toward her like a starving man chasing the scent of something he’d never taste again.
And then I saw her.
She stood there in a deep red turtleneck, the color hugging her like an unspoken promise. Black fitted jeans molded to her frame, boots anchoring her to the ground in a way I no longer could.
God, I missed seeing her like this.
A smile tugged at my lips—hesitant, fleeting. A moment of stolen warmth.
Until my gaze shifted.
To him.
Liam.
Fuckíng Liam.
A wildfiré of ràge ignited in my veins, scorching through me with brutàl intensity. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. It did nothing to ground me.
Her laughter.
It echoed—light, genuine, carefree—twisting like a blàde between my ribs. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t polite. It was real.
She was laughing with him.
Why?
How the héll could she smile like that, so big, so effortlessly, while I stood there suffocatíng under the weight of everything we had been?
And why did it feel like my chest was caving in?
Then Liam looked up. Green eyes met mine, sharp and knowing.
The first flicker of emotion? Anger.
Then—indifference.
And then, just before the final blow—a victorious gleam.
And a goddamnéd smirk.
Genevieve noticed. She turned, her gaze snapping to me like she already knew what she would see. And just like that, her smile vanished.
Gone.
Wiped from her face as if I had never had the right to witness it in the first place.
Exactly how much did she hàte me?
TBC📖✍️
