A week of silence and I'm losing my fucking mind.
A week since the library. Since I saw the hunger flicker behind those ice-blue eyes before he could hide it again. Since I watched his control crack just enough to let me see the monster underneath. Since I walked away knowing I'd found something worth claiming, something worth breaking myself against.
A week of unanswered texts. Ignored calls. Empty spaces where Noah Aslanov should be. A week of feeling like I'm coming apart at the seams, like something vital has been carved out of my chest and left to rot. I can't eat. Can't sleep. Can't think about anything except the way he looked at me in that library - like he wanted to devour me as much as I wanted to devour him.
He's lucky I haven't come and taken what I want. Lucky I decided to give him time to come to terms with the fact that he's mine. Time to stop fighting what we both know is inevitable. Time to accept that this thing between us isn't going away just because he wants it to.
But the waiting is killing me. Every hour without him feels like drowning. Every day of silence feels like dying.
And what does he do with that time? He starts being seen around campus with some girl.
The betrayal tastes like blood in my mouth. Like poison spreading through my veins. Because Noah Aslanov, the boy who won't let anyone close, who flinches away from casual touch, is letting some random girl into his space. Letting her laugh at his quiet words. Letting her think she has a chance at something that belongs to me.
Not only is he not responding to me, but his dick of a cousin is texting me to stay away. Like Luka Aslanov has any fucking say in what I do. Like anyone has the right to keep me from what's mine.
I'm sprawled across my bed, staring at my phone like it might spontaneously combust. The screen shows our last exchange. Three messages that tell the whole story of my destruction.
Missing you, beautiful.
Stop.
No.
Then nothing. Radio silence. Like he fell off the fucking planet.
My ribs ache from last week's fight. Split knuckles throb under fresh bandages. But the physical pain is nothing compared to the rage eating me alive from the inside out. Because Noah Aslanov isn't just ignoring me. He's making me invisible. And I've never been invisible a day in my life.
The bruise on my jaw has faded to yellow-green. Matteo keeps shooting me worried looks across our shared study space. Valentina's been texting every few hours: You alive?Stop brooding.Come get food.
But I can't move. Can't think about anything except the way Noah's voice sounded when he said my name. The way his breath hitched when I touched his face. The way he stood there and let me claim him for one perfect moment before he remembered he was supposed to hate me.
My phone buzzes. Not Noah. Never Noah.
Marco: You need to see this.
Attached is a photo. Grainy, taken from a distance, but clear enough. Noah walking into Rosetti's, that upscale Italian place off campus. Not alone. There's a girl beside him. Brunette, petite, laughing at something he said. She's close enough to touch him. Close enough that it looks like they're together.
The world goes red.
Every rational thought evacuates my brain. Every carefully constructed plan evaporates. Every ounce of control I've spent twenty-two years building crumbles into ash.
Some other person is touching what's mine.
Some other human being is making Noah smile.
Some other fucking individual is getting what I've been fighting for.
The phone slips from my hands. Hits the floor with a crack that echoes through the empty dorm room. The screen spiders but doesn't go black.
"Enzo?" Matteo's voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. "What happened?"
I can't answer. Can't speak through the rage choking me. Can't explain that I'm dying. That something vital has been ripped out of my chest and I'm bleeding to death on our dorm room floor.
"I have to go," I manage, grabbing my jacket.
"Enzo, wait—"
But I'm already moving. Already crossing campus with murder in my heart and Noah's name burning on my tongue.
Rosetti's is exactly the kind of place Noah would bring a date. Expensive, quiet, the type of establishment that caters to people with money and secrets. I position myself across the street where I can see through the windows but stay hidden in the shadows.
There he is. Sitting at a corner table, back straight, that same careful control he always maintains. But he's smiling. Actually fucking smiling at whatever the girl is saying. She reaches across the table and touches his hand, and I watch Noah's fingers twitch but he doesn't pull away.
He doesn't pull away.
The rage in my chest turns molten. Spreads through my veins like poison. Because Noah Aslanov, the boy who flinches when strangers get too close, who builds walls around himself like a fortress, is letting some random girl touch him.
I wait. Watch them order. Watch her laugh at his quiet responses. Watch him nod politely when she talks. Watch him play the perfect gentleman while I'm dying across the street.
Forty-five minutes. That's how long I stand there, hands clenched into fists, vision blurring with the need to cross that street and drag him away from her. Forty-five minutes of torture before Noah excuses himself and heads toward the back of the restaurant.
Bathroom break.
I move without thinking. Cross the street, slip through the restaurant's side entrance like I own the place. The hostess opens her mouth to stop me but something in my expression makes her step back.
The bathroom is at the end of a narrow hallway. Private. Perfect.
I push through the door just as Noah is washing his hands. He sees me in the mirror and goes completely still. Those ice-blue eyes meet mine in the reflection, and for a second, I see something flicker across his face. Fear? Anticipation? Want?
"What are you doing here?" His voice is steady but I can hear the tremor underneath.
I step closer. Close enough to smell that clean, winter scent of him. Close enough to see the way his pulse jumps at his throat.
"You know damn well why I'm here."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't." I move closer. "Don't fucking lie to me, Noah."
He turns around, back pressed against the sink. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Just him and me and the truth hanging between us like a blade.
"You have no right to be here," he says quietly. "No right to follow me."
"I have every right." I step closer. So close now that he'd have to push me away if he doesn't want me here. "You're mine."
"I'm not—"
I move faster than he can react. One hand around his throat, pressing him harder against the sink. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to make my point. His eyes go wide but he doesn't struggle. Doesn't try to push me away.
"You are," I whisper against his ear. "You've been mine since the moment you looked at me in that basement. Since the moment I saw the hunger in your eyes."
His breathing hitches. I can feel his pulse racing under my palm. Can feel the way his body responds even as his mind tries to resist.
"Let go of me," he says, but there's no conviction in it. No real fight.
Instead of letting go, I tighten my grip slightly. Press closer until there's no space between us. Until he can feel every inch of me against him.
"Tell me you don't want this," I murmur. "Tell me you don't think about me when you're lying in bed at night. Tell me you don't dream about what it would feel like to stop fighting."
He opens his mouth to answer but I don't let him. Because I've waited a week for this. A week of silence and rejection and watching him pretend he doesn't feel what I feel.
I kiss him. Hard and desperate and completely without permission. Claim his mouth the way I've been dying to since the library. Pour every ounce of my obsession into the contact.
For a second, he's frozen. Completely still against me. Then his lips part and he kisses me back with a hunger that matches my own. His hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
This. This is what I knew was there. This desperate, violent need that he's been hiding behind his perfect control.
I deepen the kiss, press him harder against the sink. Taste the surrender on his tongue. Feel the way he melts against me like he's been waiting for this as long as I have.
Then reality crashes back in and he shoves me away. Hard.
"Don't," he gasps, chest heaving. "Don't do that again."
"You kissed me back."
"I didn't—"
"You did." I step back but I don't retreat. Can't retreat when I've finally gotten a taste of what I want. "You want this as much as I do."
"You're delusional."
"Am I?" I run my thumb across my bottom lip, still tasting him. "Then why are you still standing here? Why haven't you run?"
He doesn't answer. Can't answer. Because we both know the truth now.
"Lose the chick," I tell him quietly. "Don't let me tell you again."
"You don't get to make demands."
"I just did." I move toward the door, pause with my hand on the handle. "She can't give you what I can, Noah. Can't match the darkness you're hiding. Can't feed the monster you pretend doesn't exist."
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know everything about you." I turn back to look at him one last time. Hair mussed from my hands, lips swollen from my kiss, chest still rising and falling too fast. "I know you'll think about this kiss for the rest of the night. I know you'll touch yourself and imagine it was me. I know you'll hate yourself for wanting more."
He flinches like I've hit him.
"And I know," I continue, "that next time I come for you, you won't tell me to stop."
I leave him there. Walk out of that bathroom and through the restaurant without looking back. But I can feel his eyes on me the entire way. Can feel the weight of everything that just changed between us.
Outside, the night air tastes like victory.
By the time I make it back to campus, my hands are shaking. Not from fear or adrenaline. From need. From the memory of Noah's mouth on mine, the way he kissed me back like he was drowning and I was air.
I need to hit something. Need to feel bones crack under my fists. Need to drown out the voice in my head that keeps replaying that kiss on repeat.
"I'm going to the Pit," I announce, bursting into our room.
"No." Matteo doesn't even look up from his textbook. "You're still healing from last week."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're barely holding yourself together." Now he does look at me, and his expression is half concern, half exasperation. "You need to let your ribs heal before you go another round."
"I need to hit something."
"Then let's get drunk instead." Matteo pulls out his phone. "I'll text everyone to meet at The Anchor. You can punch someone there if you really need to."
"Fine," I snarl. "But I'm getting completely fucked up."
"I'd expect nothing less."
The Anchor is exactly what I need. Dark, smoky, filled with people who don't know my name or care about my problems. The kind of place where you can disappear into the bottom of a bottle and nobody asks questions.
Valentina's already there when we arrive, along with Marco and a few of the other cousins. She waves us over to their corner table, eyes immediately scanning my face for damage.
"You look like shit," she announces cheerfully.
"Thanks. You're a ray of fucking sunshine."
"What happened?" She slides a drink toward me. "And don't say nothing. I can smell the violence on you."
I down the drink in one swallow. Signal the bartender for another. "Noah happened."
"Ah." She nods like that explains everything. "Want to talk about it?"
"I want to get drunk enough to forget his name."
"That's not happening, but we can try."
The alcohol helps. Burns away the sharp edges of memory, dulls the ache in my chest. By my fourth drink, I can almost pretend the taste of Noah's mouth isn't still on my tongue.
Almost.
That's when I see him.
Noah. Standing near the entrance, scanning the crowd. Still beautiful. Still devastating. Still the only thing in this bar worth looking at.
But he's not alone. Luka's beside him, that protective scowl already in place. Mikhail's there too, along with a couple other Russian cousins I recognize. They move as a unit, claiming territory just by existing.
Noah's eyes find mine across the crowded bar. For a moment, everything else fades away. The noise, the people, the alcohol burning in my veins. Just him and me and the memory of what happened in that bathroom.
Those ice-blue eyes still hold that glassy, unfocused look from after I kissed him. Like he's still tasting me on his tongue. Like he's still feeling my hands on his throat.
The rage in my chest turns molten. Not because he's here - because he came here after what we did. After he kissed me back like he was dying for it. After he let me claim him against that sink.
He came here with them instead of coming to me.
"Enzo." Matteo's voice is sharp with warning. "Don't."
But I'm already standing. Already moving. Already crossing the distance between us like a man possessed.
Because Noah Aslanov belongs to me. And it's time everyone in this bar knew it.
Whether he wants them to or not.