Insatiable Cravings - Episode 96

  

 

INSATIABLE CRAVINGS

Insatiable Cravings - Episode 96

Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game} 

TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.

Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.

By: Chukwuma Rejoice 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Dominic’s POV

I was pushing her toward the edge, and it was working. I knew because I could see it—the tiny fractures forming in her carefully maintained facade, the way her fingers clenched at her sides, how her breath came just a little too fast.

My dear, darling Genevieve was breaking. And all because of me. Because I was acting like a dàmn child.

Who knew that would come in handy? Certainly not me.

"Now," she breathed out, her voice a practiced calm, but I caught the slight tremor beneath it. "Get out of my way."

Still professional, but there—just beneath the surface—was Genevieve.

I felt my lips stretch into a grin, one I knew dàmn well was mischievous as héll. I already knew what was about to leave my mouth. And so did she.

"No."

Annoyance finally flared in those gorgeous blue eyes, and she snapped. "Dominic!"

Ah, there it was. The moment she realized I had won.

Then came the sigh—deep, exhausted, like she was carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things.

My name. She said my name.

It had been one, two, three, four… one thousand four hundred and sixty-five days since I had last heard it from her lips.

And God, it hit me like a drúg. A dizzying high. My heart thundered against my ribcage, overloaded with something too wild to name. Bliss? Fulfillment? A twisted kind of triumph? Whatever it was, it sent a rush through me, widening my grin as I replied,

"Yes, Vixen."

I said it to get a reaction. But also, because I missed calling her that.

Instantly, she flared up—just as I knew she would. Her ocean-blue eyes burnéd with barely contained rage.

"No!" she snapped, her voice sharp and furious. "No, you do not get to call me that."

This. This was infinitely better than the cold indifference she had been giving me. That detached professionalism had been unbearable.

"What is this, Dominic?" Her voice was low, edged with something raw. "What are you playing at?" 

I shrugged. "I’m not playing at anything."

"Liar." Her laugh was humorless. "You’re pretending to be clueless, pretending like nothing changed. Like you aren’t the reason for that change." The emphasis on you stung more than it should have. "You’re acting as if everything is fine between us, when you know dàmn well it’s not."

"Gen—" I reached for her without thinking. A mistake. She recoiled instantly, as if my touch repulsed her.

"You also do not get to touch me, Dominic." Her voice wavered—just slightly—but I caught it.

My jaw clenched.

"What do you want?" she demanded, frustration bleéding into her tone. "What is this? What exactly do you think the end result of whatever this acts is supposed to be?"

I said nothing. Answered none of her questions. Just looked at her.

That pissed her off even more.

"Huh?!"

When I finally opened my mouth, I was grateful my voice still worked.

"What acts? All I've been trying to do for the last three days is get you to talk to me like I'm not a blóody stranger."

"But you are." The words sliced through me. "I don’t know you anymore, Dominic."

"That’s not true."

She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Prove me wrong."

"What do you mean—?"

"It means," she cut in, her voice quiet but firm, "that I. Don’t. Know. You. Or do I?"

"Genevieve, I know you’re màd at me, but—"

She stepped forward so fast I barely had time to brace myself.

"No," she said, and the word came out like a blade. "No, this isn’t a therapy session, Dominic. I hàte you."

No.

That is not what I wanted to hear.

She held my gaze, unwavering, and repeated, "I. Hàte. You."

Each word was a stone hurled at my already fractured heart.

"I hàte you so much that it’s hard to believe I ever loved you. In fact," she let out a hollow laugh, "it’s safe to say you were the biggest mistake of my life."

I exhaled sharply, the breath caught in my throat.

"Y-you…" The words tangled, choked me. I shook my head and tried again. "You don’t mean that."

"I do."

"No." My voice came out sharper this time. "You don’t. You can’t just say that like—like it means nothing."

"News flash—I did."

She inhaled, then exhaled, like she had regained control of herself, like the fíre had burñed out, leaving only the professional, composed Genevieve standing before me.

"Listen," she said, quieter now, "let’s not do this. It won’t fix anything. Let’s just drop it."

And just like that, she was gone again. The fíre, the angér, the realness of her—gone, locked away behind that cold, distant mask.

"Genevieve," I tried, knowing it was pointless.

Her eyes turned to ice.

I sighed. "Sorry."

I forced myself to release my grip on the doorknob, stepping back. The moment I did, she smoothed down her outfit, adjusting herself like I was nothing more than an inconvenience in her day.

"The next time you try this, I won’t hesitate to leave this job." Her voice was level, unwavering. "And I won’t care how much money Genora Designs will lose."

A small smirk played on her lips as she added, "I am not in need of your money, Dominic. You should know that." 

And with that, she turned and walked away.

Leaving me standing there—speechless, breathless, utterly wrecked. 

"Vie!"

A loud voice—one I knew all too well, though not by choice—rang out so forcefully that I heard it from the room I was in.

"It's really you!"

Dexter.

I stepped out, my hand gripping the doorknob, and froze the moment my gaze landed on them.

Dexter and Genevieve—hugging.

And she wasn’t just tolerating it. No, she was bloódy well enjoying it, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. 

My so-called friend and brother from another mother was looking at her like she was his long-lost sister.

She wasn’t.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he said, his voice a little too blissed for my liking.

"I missed you too, Dex."

Dex?

Dex?!

The f+ckiñg nickname stuck even after four years?!

I might as well have been invisible. All he had to do was lift his gaze a couple of inches to see me standing right there. But no—he was far too occupied with the view in front of him.

"I didn’t know you had plans on coming back," he went on.

"Well," Genevieve replied, her voice dipping into something weary. "Things happen. I had to come because of..." She hesitated, shook her head, and dismissed the thought entirely. "Forget that. How are you?"

"Good, now that I’ve seen you." He grinned. "I think we should hang out someday; I’ve missed talking to you."

"Sure, we can hang out," she agreed all too eagerly. "Text me the time and place, and if my schedule is free, I’ll meet up with you."

"Kk. Can I bring the gang along?"

The gang he meant was the handful of people Genevieve had actually been comfortable with among my móbsters—Blade, Sal, and Echo.

"We already made plans to meet on Friday, but—"

Excuse me?!

"What?" My voice sliced through their conversation, finally dragging their attention to me. "And why am I just finding out about this?" The words hadn’t formed fast enough, so I waved a hand between them in exasperation.

"Because it’s none of your business," Genevieve shot back instantly.

I scoffed. "What my móbsters do is my business. Just telling you in case you didn’t know."

"Oh, do they know that?" Her glare was ice, but there was something deeper in her expression, something that twisted something sharp in my chest. "Because they messaged me first."

Then she went for the kíll.

"It’s not like I’m interested in having anything to do with you or anyone remotely connected to you."

My jaw tightened.

"Ouch, Genny," Dexter cut in, his voice laced with amusement, as if he wasn’t standing in the middle of a warzone. "Me too?"

Genevieve turned to him, and just like that, her eyes softened. "Sorry," she murmured, her voice dipping into something quiet, almost affectionate.

Then, as if remembering I was still there, she turned back to me.

The warmth vanished.

Her expression hardened.

"I’ll be going now."

And with that, she walked away, leaving me standing there. Staring. Burníng. 

As soon as she was more than a mere couple of feet away, my betrayer murmured to himself, “Oh, she’s livid with you.” Then, snapping his head towards me, he added, “She absolutely despisés you.”

My heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, missing a beat. My frown deepened, my irritation sharpening like a blade. “Oh, really? I had no idea. Thanks ever so much for the update.” Sarcasm dripped from my words, yet my aggravation only grew when I caught the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

“May I say something?”

“No.” My response was instant, clipped.

He pressed on regardless. “Why are you angry with me? I didn’t tell you to end things with her, did I? That was entirely your decision, so own it.”

I was perhaps an inch or two taller than Dexter, but that was irrelevant. What mattered was that I was his superior—especially when in a foul mood. And right now, I was in a very foul mood.

A wicked smile tugged at the corner of my lips, bordering on a smirk. “Lecture me one more time, Dexter,” I said, my tone razor-sharp. “Go on. I dare you.”

Silence. At last, some sense in him. I thanked the Almighty that, for once, he had the wisdom to read the room.

I wasn’t in the mood for his antics. In truth, I wasn’t in the mood for anything—least of all a reminder that I was a fóol for letting go of the only woman I had ever truly loved.

I exhaled sharply. “Why are you here, anyway? When did you return? And why the hell didn’t you inform me?”

He should have been in Russia, overseeing a crucial partnership on my behalf. Yet here he was—sulking.

No, really. He was sulking. Pouting, even. Like a petulant child, all because I had put him in his place.

“Which one shall I answer first?”

“All of them.”

“I finished the job early and was bored out of my mind. Then last night, I saw the news—Genny was back. So I got on the first flight.” A slow smile spread across his face at merely saying her name. “Why didn’t I tell you?” He gave an insufferably casual shrug. “Didn’t feel like it.”

I gave him one last withering look before hissing under my breath, shaking my head, and striding away. Predictably, he failed to take the hint to sod off, catching up in mere seconds to walk beside me.

We moved in silence. A blessed, much-needed silence.

I appreciated that he knew better than to speak when my heart was still raw from Genevieve’s… rejection? Her actions? I wasn’t even sure anymore. All I knew was that my chest ached like hell, and I wanted it to stop.

But, of course, I’d spoken too soon.

The moment we stepped into my office, before I had even reached my chair, he opened his damned mouth.

“Did you notice the necklace she was wearing?”

I didn’t need a genius to tell me he meant Genevieve.

Involuntarily, my mind began to retrace every second, every detail of our brief encounter, scouring for the memory of a necklace around her throat.

Nothing. My thoughts came up blank.

“Well, she was wearing one,” Dexter continued, his voice laced with something unreadable. “A plane-shaped pendant. And guess who is a pilot?”

He let the words hang between us. Our eyes met. His gaze was expectant, waiting for me to catch up.

And then it hit me.

A pilot. Liam.

The pàin in my chest twisted, deepened—became unbearable.

My vision blurred, though whether from fury or something daṅgerously close to tears, I wasn’t sure.

How… how could she?

Yes, I had made a mistake. I had broken up with her. But I hadn’t left my heart behind—I couldn’t have, even if I had tried. And fine, she had every right to move on. To forget me. To be with someone a million times better than me.

But that necklace—the one I gave her, the one she had sworn never to take off—she had replaced it. And not even with something finer, something meaningful on its own merit. No. She had replaced it with his.

That bàstard’s.

Liam. That insufferable, undeserving imbemécile.

What does he know about loving Genevieve?

I do. I know what it means to love her. It was, without a doubt, both the easiest and the hardest thing I have ever done—admitting, even to myself, that I loved her at all.

And I still do.

But she doesn’t love me.

She said it. She declared it with her own lips. She hatés me.

My fingers twitched before lifting of their own accord. I felt them brush against the chain at my neck—the same one she had given me, all those years ago.

The one I had never taken off.

“Leave.”

One word.

A command.

An order.

My voice was déathly calm.

Because, for the first time, I truly understood.

I had lost her.

For good.

TBC📖✍️

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