INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings - Episode 98
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
I think I’m dyìng.
No, seriously—I think I need an ambulance. Or CPR. Or something. My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frenzied, chaọ́tic rhythm that feels both exhilarating and downright dańgerous. It’s racing, thundering, somersaulting—doing things a heart simply shouldn’t be doing.
And all because Genevieve finally looked at me like I wasn’t a stranger.
Less than six seconds. That’s all it was. But it still counts. She was there. She saw me. 𝑴𝒚 𝑽𝒊𝒙𝒆𝒏.
I think I’m hyperventilating, drowning in the intoxicatị́ng overdose of this moment. It’s joy on sterọ́ids, pure and unfiltered, hitting me in a way that cannot be healthy. Because, God help me, I am teetering on the edge of something ridiculous—something that should be beneath me.
I am this close to squealing and kicking my feet.
Yes, you heard me. Squealing. Kicking. My. Feet.
That’s what she does to me. That’s what she’s always done to me.
And I was so utterly consumed by those fleeting seconds—those precious three to five seconds where our gazes locked—that I almost forgot to be furious about that stúpid text on her phone between her and that ìdiot.
Almost.
Not me, the other one.
Just yesterday, I had torménted myself, wrestling with the brútal truth that Genevieve no longer loved me. I hadn’t slept a wink. And today?
Today, the same Genevieve who had sworn she hatéd me only yesterday had looked at me in a way my Genevieve used to.
My head insisted I was delusional—that after the way I had ended things with her, there was no chance in hell she could still want me.
But my eyes?
My eyes, which were very much not blind, told me something entirely different. Genevieve had given me a look—the kind of look that, for the briefest of moments, screamed 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖. In that millisecond, her gaze had dropped to my lips, her breath had hitched, and the world had seemed to still.
And if this was delusion? Then so be it. I would be the most delusional idiot alive.
••
You wouldn’t believe it, but today, for once, the universe was finally on my side.
It was raining. In fact, it had been pouring for the last three hours—heavily. The kind of downpour that turned roads into rivers, made driving a fóol’s errand, and ensured that no one in their right mind would dare venture outside.
It was that bàd.
Because of the ongoing renovations, my employees were working from home. That meant there was no one here but Genevieve and me.
At that moment, she was on the phone—presumably with Liam. I didn’t know why he couldn’t just leave her the f+ck alone.
“No, no, I don’t think it’s safe to drive in this weather.” A brief pause. “Yeah, it’s best to wait it out.” Another pause. “Oh. It’s that bàd, huh? Alright, talk to you later.”
The moment she lowered the phone from her ear, she spun on her heel—like she knew I had been standing behind her.
I blinked, scrambling to act casual, though I knew I had already failed.
“Eavesdropping?” she asked, her voice light—thankfully nothing like the cold professionalism of yesterday.
“No.” The lie rolled off my tongue effortlessly. “I was just coming back from locking the doors.”
Which, to be fair, wasn’t a lie. I had been on my way back when I spotted her on the phone.
Her gaze flicked to the glass front door—locked—and then back to me. “I know what you did.”
A small chuckle escaped me. “Yeah, I just told you.”
“Drop the act, Dominic.”
Jesus Christ. I had forgotten how good she made my name sound. There was something about the way it rolled off her tongue—intoxicatiñg, maddéning, utterly inescapable.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her blue eyes pierced into me, sharp and unwavering. She took a single step closer, and f+ck, it was intimidating. “I highly doubt that,” she murmured. Then she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and moved closer still, narrowing the distance between us.
“But since you’re so determined to feign innocence,” she continued smoothly, “let me spell it out for you. You blocked the road leading here. With a tree.”
Shít.
“And why, exactly, would I do that?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, tilting her head, “but I do know that you did it.”
“How sure are you?”
“A million times sure.”
“It was the rain.”
“Do not blame the innocent rain for this.”
“It’s a blòody storm out there. The rain is hardly innocent.”
“In this conversation, it is. You are the guilty party. And no amount of denying it will change my mind.”
A faint smile ghosted my lips as I gazed at her, speechless and inexplicably elated.
Well—perhaps not inexplicably. She’s here. With me.
Genevieve’s brows arched slightly, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "What?"
"Nothing," I murmured with a casual shrug.
This moment—right here, right now—would be one of my fondest memories of her, provided things didn’t take a turn for the worse.
"I don’t believe you."
"What is there to believe? I told you I am innocent of the baseless accusation you flung at me, yet you choose to side with the rain." I gestured to the downpour beyond the window. "So, this is me—rendered speechless."
She held my gaze for a beat, then muttered just loud enough for me to catch, "It suits you."
"What does?"
"Silence." The reply came quicker than I expected, clipped and matter-of-fact. Then, without another glance, she stepped past me—clearly making a deliberate effort to put space between us. "It’s so much better when you’re not talking."
A smirk curled at the edges of my lips before I could stop it. "Perhaps you could keep me quiet, then?"
The words had left my mouth before I’d fully registered them, and by the time realisation struck, it was too late.
She whirled to face me, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel. Annoyance radiated from her, simmering beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break.
"Do not flirt with me, Dominic. I am not in the mood."
I tilted my head, unfazed. "But I can when you are?"
What the héll is wrong with me?!
Her eyes narrowed. "What is wrong with you?"
I exhaled, half amused, half perplexed. "Honestly? No idea."
"I’m not surprised."
Her voice was dry, edged with exasperation, but beneath it all, I could hear it—the undeniable undercurrent of something else.
Something dańgerous.
Something fascinating.
And God help me, I wanted more of it.
My gaze remained fixed on Genevieve as she moved towards the window, her steps measured, almost reluctant. She pressed a palm to the wall, her attention utterly consumed by the downpour outside.
"I don't think it’s letting up anytime soon," I said, my voice calm but firm. Yet, if she heard me, she gave no indication. "It’s coming down hard."
"You know, I don’t understand it," she murmured, her eyes never straying from the rain.
"Understand what?"
"The fact that you think you can make small talk with me. I find it utterly baffling that you believe you can."
And there it was. Another downward spiral.
"Genevieve—" I started, but she cut me off with a shake of her head. A dry, mirthless laugh escaped her lips, brittle as autumn leaves. "There is no way we’re staying here together without exchanging a word,"
She finally turned to face me, her expression schooled into something that resembled a smile—but it was all wrong. It never touched her eyes. "Of course, there is," she countered smoothly. "All you have to do is keep quiet. Just don’t speak to me. It’s that simple."
"I can’t do that."
"Yes, you can."
The warmth I had felt earlier crumbled under the weight of something far colder. It left nothing behind but an ache, deep and unrelenting. "Genevieve—"
"No." The single word cracked like a whip, stealing all the heat from the room, leaving only a biting chill in its wake. "We are not having this conversation."
"You can’t keep doing this," I said, frustration lacing my words. "You can’t keep shutting me out like this."
"Oh, but I can," she said with a quiet finality. "Because I don’t care to listen, Dominic. Are you truly so self-absorbed that you don’t see it?"
I exhaled sharply, closing my eyes, tilting my head back in sheer exhaustion. The moment I did, my hearing sharpened, alerting me to the subtle shift of her weight, the slight movement as she attempted to sidestep me.
Instinct kicked in. My hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist before she could slip away.
"Genevieve, please, let’s talk."
She met my gaze, her eyes a storm all of their own. She twisted her wrist, trying to free herself, but I held firm—not in force, but in quiet desperation. My throat tightened, words tangled and choked by emotions too thick to push past. In the end, I could only manage a single, fractured plea.
"Please?" It barely escaped me, hoarse and broken.
"You want to talk?" Genevieve wrenched her hand from my grasp, and I let her. "Fine, let's talk."
Her fingers swept through her hair, pushing back strands that had fallen across her face. The movement was sharp, dismissive, as if even the feel of her own hair irritated her. She lifted her gaze, eyes cold and unyielding. "Where do you want to start?"
"Not like this—"
She cut me off again. "Like how, then? Would you prefer we sit down for this conversation?" She gave a mirthless laugh. "Well, I don’t. I don’t want to sit with you, Dominic, so we’ll have this conversation standing. Go on, I’m waiting."
I nodded, trying to compose my thoughts, to string together something reasonable, something that could salvage this wreckage. Instead, I blurted the most feeble, pathetic words imaginable.
"I'm sorry."
Her laugh was void of warmth, void of humour. It was a blade, twisting. "You're sorry?" A pause. Another laugh, sharper this time, like shattered glass. "You're sorry?" She repeated it, savouring the absurdity. "Alright, then. Sorry for what?" She arched a brow. "And don’t you dare say ‘everything’ because I won’t accept that."
Talk.
Say something.
Say anything.
I commanded myself, but the words wouldn’t come. Not with her eyes on me like that—piercing, demanding, merciless.
"Fine," she said, exhaling sharply. "Let me help you, since you’re apparently struck dumb."
I braced myself.
"Are you sorry for calling me out on a cold evening just to break up with me?" Her voice was deceptively calm, each syllable razor-sharp. "Or perhaps, you’re sorry for calling me pathétic? Oh, wait—suffocatíng, wasn’t it? Or are you sorry for withdrawing from me—not just physically, but emotionally as well?"
Every word sliced into me, deep and deliberate, reopening wounds I had no right to claim.
"You remember, don’t you?" she said, tilting her head. "Of course, you do. They were your own words, after all."
There was nothing I could say that would ease the pàin in her eyes—the pàin she was finally letting me see.
And yet, I wanted her back. I wanted her to let me in again.
For what?
To húrt her all over again?
To break her like this, again?
"Are you sorry that the first thing you said to me that night was that you wanted what we had to be over? Or—" she let out a brittle laugh, her eyes bright with unshed tears "—are you sorry that you said you were síck of me? Of the relationship I thought we both cherished?"
"I did cherish it," I snapped. Then, quieter, "I still do."
Her gaze burned into me. "Which relationship?" she asked, voice taut with restrained fúry. "The one you shattered when everything was going perfectly? Or another one I don’t know about? Are we speaking of the same relationship you claimed to be tired of? The same one you said you were sick of?"
"Genevieve, please—"
"Please what?" she bit out. "You can't even remember what you're sorry for, so I’m doing you the favour of reminding you." She took a breath, her lips parting slightly before she spoke again. "You must be sorry for calling me a distraction—an easy, chéap little girl presented to you on a silver platter, right?" Her voice was venomoús now. "You—" she paused, inhaled sharply, then jabbed a finger into my chest, "—called me a pastime. A wretchéd one, at that. You called our relationship a f+cking charade, Dominic. You told me to leave—or you’d have the guards, or the dogs, chase me out."
Her palm slammed against my chest, hard. I staggered back.
"And now, after four years, you’re sorry?" she demanded, her voice rising. "You dare stand before me and say sorry?!"
The rain outside pounded against the windows, the storm growing fiercer, the sky rumbling with thunder. Yet the chaos inside this room eclipsed anything happening beyond its walls.
Her eyes glistened, fury and sorrow entwined, her breath coming fast and uneven. Even with her tears, the rage remained—undiluted, scorching.
And me?
I was doing everything in my power not to fall apart beneath her gaze. But this wasn’t about me. It was about her. About her knowing that I hadn’t done it because I wanted to—
But because I had to.
Because I’d thought I was doing the right thing.
Because I had been too much of a cowàrd to face the hatréd I see in her now.
"Yes," I said, my voice rough. "I am sorry. I’m sorry, Genevieve. I’m sorry for being an idíotic bastàrd who let the best thing that ever happened to him walk away."
She shook her head, her breath hitching. "I didn’t walk away. You pushed me away." She shoved me again. "I would never have walked away from you, because—" her voice cracked as she struck my chest once more "—I loved you. I loved you too much to even think of leaving."
"And that is why I had to do it," I said, forcing the words out through the ache in my throat. "If I hadn’t, your love for me would have turned to hatréd."
"It already has!"
I exhaled, defeated. "I know."
𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘.
"Good," she bit out. "It’s good you know that I hàte you. I want you to know that the girl who gave you her heart now despisés you."
"And I love you," I whispered.
She scoffed, her laughter brittle. "Too bàd for you, then."
"And I will keep on loving you," I vowed, "until the day I breathe my last."
She tilted her head, eyes scanning my face, searching for something—weakness, regret, sincerity. Whatever she saw, it wasn’t enough.
"That would have been the case for me too," she murmured, "if only you had been careful with your words. With my heart. But you weren’t." Her gaze hardened. "And now, it’s too late."
"Why?" My voice dropped, dark and venomous. "Because of Liam?" The name left my tongue laced with disdaín.
She turned sharply. "Do not bring Liam into this," she snapped. "Whatever has happened between us is nobody’s fault but yours."
"That doesn’t answer my question."
She let out a slow, measured breath, as if forcing herself to remain calm. "You should be grateful I’m even speaking to you," she said coldly.
I smirked, stepping closer, obliterating the distance she had placed between us. "I’m just curious," I murmured, tilting my head. "Of all the men you could have chosen… you settled for Liam?" I laughed, low and mocking. "Liam. Seriously? Is he even your type?"
Her expression remained unreadable, but her voice was ice. "Liam is far better a man than you will ever be."
She shook her head, stepping past me towards the lift.
I followed her inside.
She rolled her eyes. "And you don’t know my type."
I turned to face her, a lopsided smile tugging at my lips. "Except I do."
"You were my type. Then you broke my heart. So drop the smile, Dominic. It's not cute."
"That means you think it's cute." I grinned, wide and unrepentant. She frowned, rolling her eyes. "And have I told you how much I love"—I stretched out the word deliberately, savouring it—"my name when you say it?"
"Dominic, stop it."
Impossible as it seemed, my grin widened. A rush of warmth spread through me, a fleeting, dangeróus bliss. Her voice. My name in her mouth. Fuckiñg héll. "Stop what?"
"That." She jabbed a finger at my lips, her tone sharp, yet unsteady. "Stop that. It won’t work."
"What won’t?"
"Your flirting."
"Am I flirting?" I let faux innocence seep into my voice, tilting my head slightly. "I didn’t realise I was." I almost nudged her shoulder, but I stopped myself. She’d give me that look—half scolding, half exasperated—and I wasn’t quite ready for that particular brand of torture. "It’s been four years since I last flirted with anyone."
Genevieve’s eyes snapped up to mine, sharp as a scalpel. Doubt. That was the first thing I saw. Her gaze searched mine, darting back and forth, as if she was sifting through my soul for a lie—or worse, the truth. Then, something else flickered there. A different kind of doubt. The kind that second-guesses whatever answer it finds.
"And Love?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Like she’s caught me out.
Two words. But sharp enough to cut.
A laugh burst from my chest, rough and unamused. "Love?" I repeated, disbelieving. "You think I flirt with Love?"
"Don’t you?"
"Okay. Um, first of all, ew. Second, ew. Third—"
"Let me guess. Ew?"
"Love is just a friend, Genevieve. I swear it."
She stepped out of the lift. Of course, I followed, like a lost f+cking puppy. "And she isn’t even into men."
Her step faltered—just for a fraction of a second. I clocked it. But I stayed behind, waiting for her to turn on her own terms.
When she finally faced me, her expression was unreadable, schooled into something cool and indifferent. Not what I’d been expecting.
"And if she was?"
I swallowed. I don’t even know what I was expecting. But I stepped closer, once. "I wouldn’t be interested."
"And why not? She’s pretty."
"I happen to be in love with a certain blue-eyed, strawberry-blonde, 5’6" London girl."
"I’m 5’10”," she corrected, arching a brow.
Just like that, she fell into my trap.
My grin stretched, victorious. "And I didn’t mention any names." She tried to pretend I hadn’t won. She failed. "You hungry? Let’s eat."
"No."
One word. Stubborn as f+ck.
"I’ve got fruit in my office fridge. And plenty to whip up in the lounge." I met her gaze. "Shall we go back?"
"No."
Expected.
Her voice, however, wavered. "I don’t know why you’re doing this. We just had a fight, Dominic. And now… now you’re acting like nothing happened." She inhaled sharply, shoulders taut with restrained fury. "Why? Why are you doing this? It doesn’t make sense. It’s not going to fix anything. It’s not going to fix us."
I exhaled, my patience fraying at the edges. "I’m not trying to fix us." The words felt raw, like something torn straight from my ribcage. "I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I want you to know how fuckiñg sorry I am."
"Sorry won’t fix it, Dominic. Sorry doesn’t cut it. You made the decision to break us up, right? So please—please—stick with it and let me live." Her voice cracked, but her resolve held firm. "Don’t make me regret coming here."
The floor beneath me felt unstable. Like I was losing my grip, inch by inch, second by second. My strength, my resolve—it was slipping. She was slipping.
"I just didn’t want you to hàte me." My voice was rough now, frayed with something too painfúl to name. "Yes, I was selfish. Yes, I was stupíd. But you can’t put all the blame on me—"
A sudden, deafening crack of thunder shook the building, lightning slashing across the sky. Another crash, another rumble.
"You can’t do that."
"I sure can," she shot back, her stormy blue eyes dark and endless. Like uncharted waters, vast and dangeróus, capable of wreckiñg everything in their path.
And I?
I was the only thing standing in her way.
I took a step towards her. "Let me ask you this." Another step. "If you found out your boyfriend was planning to kíll your father, but… due to circumstances, he didn’t—what would you do?"
Silence.
Then, a question that knocked the fúcking wind out of me.
"You wanted to kíll my dad?"
I nodded.
"And why, if I may ask?"
She was so calm. Too calm. And it fúcking terrified me.
"I thought he was—" I sucked in a breath, my chest tightening. I felt like I was on the brink of collapse, teetering between an asthma attack and a full-blown panic episode. "I thought he killéd my parents. I wanted him to pay for what he did."
"And that involves what? Killiñg him? And then what?"
"Just that," I murmured.
"And what did you think would happen after?"
"I don’t know, Genevieve. I don’t know." My voice cracked. "I just wanted my parents’ killér to pay. I didn’t have the right person. And by the time I did—" I exhaled shakily. "By the time I did, I knew keeping you in my life would be cheating. How could I pretend everything was fine when I would have taken your dad’s life, knowing it would destróy you?" The words just kept coming. A dam breaking, a flood drowning me in confessions I had kept buried for years. "I thought it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t bear you finding out while we were still together. I couldn’t watch the love in your eyes turn to hate."
Genevieve was in front of me now. Close. Unyielding.
"So," she said, voice firm, "you thought it was best to make a decision for me?"
"No—"
"But that’s what you did!" She ran a hand through her hair, fingers trembling. "You did it without thinking about me!"
"Genevieve—"
I grabbed her forearm, pressing her back against the nearest wall. My eyes stung. My vision blurred. "You are in my head every fuckiñg second of the day. You don’t just own my heart—you own my thoughts too. I broke up with you because I thought it was better for you to think I was an arsehóle than to know that I was a mónster."
"I never considered you a moñster."
"But you would have!" My voice cracked, my chest caving in. "You would have broken up with me. Yes or no?"
"Dominic—"
"Yes or no, Genevieve?"
"Yes!" she choked out, her own tears slipping free. "Yes, I would have. But it would have been my decision. Not yours. Mine."
"See?" My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "I was right. We would’ve ended up here either way. With you looking at me like this. Like I’m something to regret."
Her breath hitched, but she held my gaze. "Don’t put this on me, Dominic. You would have killéd my father."
A sharp pain ripped through my chest. "I didn’t."
"But you would have."
I let out a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through my hair. My whole body felt like it was caving in, a slow, merciless collapse from the inside out. "I—" My throat burned. "I thought I was doing what was right. I thought—" My voice broke entirely.
She swallowed hard, her own tears catching the dim light. "You thought, Dominic. You thought. But you never let me have a choice." She scoffed. "And you would have taken my dad’s life—even though you claimed to love me."
The truth of it crushed me. My head dropped forward, my forehead nearly touching hers.
"It’s not a claim," I rasped, my voice nothing but shattered remnants. "I loved you, Genevieve." The words bléd from me, raw and ruinéd. "F+ck, I still do. And I always f+cking will."
TBC📖✍️
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