Page 88 of Phantom Flower

My heart clenched painfully.

He leaned down and kissed me. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“You’re not a chore, Rei,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes, letting his words sink into me.

In that moment, watching him cook for me with such focused care, remembering every small detail about me when no one else ever had, one clear thought rose above everything else.

I was so fucking lucky to have him.

Even if he was dangerous.

Even if he was obsessed.

Even if he might destroy me one day.

I was still so incredibly lucky.

After he finished, we sat across from each other at the long dining table. I picked at my food for a few minutes, but eventually, I could not hold the question in any longer.

“Did… you find the person?” I asked quietly, not looking up from my plate. “The one who put the… fingers in my locker.”

Dimitri’s fork paused mid-air. He set it down slowly, his eyes lifting to meet mine.

“Not yet,” he admitted. “Ilya is still digging. It’s layered deep. Whoever did this covered their tracks well. But we’re getting closer. I promise you, Rei. When I find them, they will suffer.”

I swallowed, nodding slightly. The memory of opening that locker still made my stomach turn. The blood. The severed fingers. The flashbacks. It all came rushing back too easily.

Dimitri watched me carefully, reading every micro-expression on my face. He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

“Hey,” he said, voice softening in that way it only did for me. “Don’t go back there. Stay with me.”

I gave him a small, tired smile. “I’m trying.”

He squeezed my hand, then leaned back in his chair, clearly trying to shift the mood. A mischievous glint entered his eyes, the one that usually meant he was about to tease me.

“You know,” he started, picking up his fork again, “I’ve been thinking. You’ve been eating my Russian food without complaint for days now. Be honest. Which one is your favorite? The pelmeni or the borscht? I need to know if I’m winning you over properly.”

I let out a soft laugh, grateful for the distraction. “You’re really asking me this right now?”

“Of course I am,” he said, smirking. “My ego is fragile when it comes to you. I need validation, little fairy.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “The pelmeni are really good. The filling is… surprisingly perfect. But the borscht is a little too beet-heavy for me.”

Dimitri gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like I had wounded him. “Too beet-heavy? That’s a crime. My babushka would be rolling in her grave right now. I should disown you for that comment alone.”

“You can’t disown me,” I shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You kidnapped me, remember? I think I’m stuck here.”

His smirk turned darker, more possessive. “Damn right you are. And I have zero plans of letting you go. Ever.”

I took another bite of my food, feeling a little lighter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only with you,” he replied smoothly. “Now tell me — if I made you Japanese breakfast tomorrow, would that earn me forgiveness for the borscht?”

I pretended to think about it, tapping my chopsticks against my lip. “Maybe. If you make tamagoyaki the way I like it. And no overly sweet pancakes this time.”

Dimitri leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, watching me with open adoration. “You drive a hard bargain, baby. But fine. I’ll make it savory. Just for you. I’ll even add extra scallions because I know you like them, even though you pretend you don’t.”