Veiled in Rivalry | The Dark Tale of Passion and Power| [18+]

Chapter 46: Beneath the Surface

"Even in the stillness of her presence, I could feel the weight of unspoken secrets, lingering like shadows beneath the surface."

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Viktor Giovanni
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Waking up to an empty bed, the cold sheets where Lara should be makes my heart drop. I instinctively reach for her, but her side is untouched, a stark reminder of her absence. A soft groan escapes me as I drag a hand through my hair, the morning light casting an unwelcome glow over the room. The silence grips me, tight and suffocating.

"Pixie?" I call out, my voice hoarse, more of a plea than a question. I don't like waking up without her. The floor is cool beneath my feet as I slide out of bed, the sound amplifying my growing frustration. After a quick shower, I dress in tailored grey sweatpants and a fitted black vest, the fabric clinging to my frame. I pause for a moment to adjust my cufflinks and check my reflection, ensuring I look sharp for the day ahead. I'm not just Viktor; I'm the man who runs an empire, and today's meeting will require every ounce of that persona.

As I move through the hallway, I call out for her again, this time more firmly. "Lara!"

Nothing.

I already know where she is—down in that lab of hers, probably engrossed with that damn robot. My jaw clenches at the thought. This isn't the first time she's lost track of time tinkering with her project. Doesn't she know by now that I need her?

Pushing open the door to the lab, I find her exactly as I expected—completely focused on Judy, her humanoid robot, oblivious to the world around her. Her hair is messy, tied up in a loose bun, and she's wearing one of my oversized shirts that hangs off her delicate frame. I take a moment to watch her, the way her fingers dance over the controls, her eyes bright with excitement. But I can't bear being just a shadow in her world any longer.

"Pixie," I say, stepping forward. She glances up, startled, but her smile is too brief, and then she's right back to work. Irritation bubbles over. Without another word, I stride across the room, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her effortlessly. Her laughter is immediate, surprised and soft, as her hands press against my chest in playful protest.

"Viktor! What are you doing?"

"Getting your attention," I reply, my voice low and thick with possessiveness. I carry her outside, ignoring her laughter and half-hearted resistance, until we reach the pool. Without hesitation, I step into the water with her in my arms, the coolness soaking into my clothes.

She squeals, wiggling in my hold. "You're crazy!"

"For you? Always." I lower her into the water, feeling her body tense in response, and a slow smirk spreads across my lips as I catch her eye. The glint of amusement dances in her gaze, but something deeper stirs—something that ignites the fire within me.

"You're ridiculous," she laughs, splashing water in my face.

"I'm obsessed, Pixie." My voice darkens, the words hanging between us like a dangerous confession. I pull her closer, my grip tightening around her waist as I press my lips to her neck. She squirms, laughing, but there's no escaping me. I nibble softly at her skin, earning a breathless gasp that fuels my possessiveness.

"You can't just—Viktor!" She protests as I push her against the edge of the pool, trapping her between me and the cool stone.

"Oh, but I can," I murmur against her ear. "You're mine, remember?"

Her laughter fades, replaced by the flush of heat radiating between us. The water ripples softly, but the world narrows down to the space we share—the feel of her body pressed against mine, her rapid breathing, the way her fingers curl into my chest, holding onto reality itself.