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17kNovel > Bound by Lies, Trapped by Desire > Bed behind him 33

Bed behind him 33

    <b>Chapter </b><b>33 </b>


    Elena’s POV:


    “…Elena<b>?</b><b>” </b>


    My mom’s <b>voice </b>crackled faintly through the phone, but my grip had turned stiff, knuckles whitening as my fingers tightened around the device.


    <b>“</b><b>Y</b><b>–</b>Yeah,” said quickly, trying to keep my tone light. Normal. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I–I just spaced out for a second.”


    My gaze was still locked on him


    Dmitri.


    He hadn’t moved. Still half–hidden in the shade of one of the tall columns near the admin block. Baseball cap pulled down, but not enough to hide the bruises Niki had gifted himst night..


    “Are you sure? You went


    Com asked, her tone already shifting to concern.


    “I’m fine,” <b>I </b>repeated, slightly, angling myself <b>so </b>he was out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind–at <b>least </b>temporarily.


    Did you have breakfast?” She asked and <b>I </b>couldn’t help the quirk <b>of </b>my lips <b>as </b><b>I </b>remembered the sight of Niki in his apron and <b>sweats</b>, “Yeah….<b>I </b>had <b>waffles</b>.<b>” </b>Made by the billio


    Mr. Niki Vetrov himself. <b>I </b>wanted tough.


    “Oh. Good. Fiona made porridge for me before she left. Such a <b>sweet </b>girl she <b>is</b>.” Mom gushed.


    I cleared my throat. “<b>Yeah </b>I know, Mom, I’m actuallyte for ss<b>, </b><b>I </b><b>just </b>wanted to let you know I’ll be back by two. Don’t <b>bother </b>going into the kitchen, alright? I’ll bring takeaway. Fiona should be in school by now too<b>, </b><b>so </b>you


    She hummed in agreement. <b>“</b>Alright. Be careful<b>, </b>okay?”


    “Always. <b>Love </b>you<b>.</b><b>” </b>


    “Love you too.”


    I hung up and slipped my phone back into my bag with hands that trembled a little more than I liked. When I finally turned back around to <b>toward </b>the column–he was gone<b>. </b>


    <b>Not </b>a <b>trace</b><b>. </b>


    But <b>that </b>didn’t mean <b>he </b>hadn’t been there<b>. </b>


    <b>nce </b>


    A chill slid down my spine <b>as </b>I took a steadying breath and forced myself forward, pushing <b>past </b>the knot in my throat. The walk to my building <b>felt </b>longer than <b>usual</b><b>, </b><b>every </b><b>step </b>like walking on broken ss. Eyes turned to <b>me</b><b>–</b>not <b>because </b>of Dmitri, but <b>because </b><b>of </b>what had already taken <b>over </b>the <b>campus </b><b>gossip</b>.


    <b>I’d </b>spent <b>years </b>keeping <b>a </b><b>low </b>profile. Now<b>, </b>I was suddenly married to <b>a </b>billionaire<b>, </b><b>trending </b>online<b>, </b>and apparently the <b>subject </b><b>of </b><b>some </b>campus- wide fanfiction. From what I could <b>see </b>on the <b>university </b>forum. A <b>love </b>triangle<b>? </b>I rolled <b>my </b>eyes, reading the <b>title</b>,


    My jeans and the in <b>Giordano </b>polo shirt <b>did </b>little to hide <b>the </b><b>fact </b>that I had stepped out <b>of </b><b>a </b>designer closet that morning. Despite my <b>best </b>efforts to dress down<b>, </b><b>I </b>still looked like I belonged in an <b>upscale </b>brand catalog<b>–</b>not a <b>university </b><b>lecture </b>hall. Even my <b>hair</b>, which I’d tied into a messy half<b>–</b>updo with a <b>stic </b>clip, looked too…<b>put </b><b>together</b>. <b>I </b><b>sighed </b>as <b>I </b>walked in.


    The moment I stepped into the ssroom<b>, </b><b>every </b><b>pair </b>of <b>eyes </b><b>swung </b><b>to </b>me.


    And <b>just </b><b>like </b>that, I wanted to melt into the <b>floor</b><b>. </b>


    I kept my head low and <b>slipped </b>into the <b>back </b><b>row</b><b>, </b><b>where </b><b>I </b><b>always </b>sat. I pulled out my notebook and pen<b>, </b>even though my brain <b>was </b>still reeling.


    Just as I’d settled in, the <b>seat </b>beside mine <b>screeched </b><b>against </b><b>the </b>floor.


    <b>I </b>didn’t even look <b>up</b>.


    <b>It </b><b>wasn’t </b>until <b>I </b>felt that <b>familiar </b>crawling sensation run <b>up </b>my <b>spine </b><b>that </b>I turned.


    <b>Lazar </b>Morozov.


    Perfectly pressed zer <b>over </b>a turtleneck, <b>grey </b>eyes like frosted <b>ss</b>, slicked back blonde hair<b>, </b>and <b>that </b>smirk.


    Of course


    was <b>him</b><b>. </b>


    <b>8:41 </b>PM


    +28


    “Congrattions,” he said smoothly, that irritatingly deep voice <b>like </b>sandpaper <b>over </b>silk. “Mrs. Vetrov.”


    I stared at him for a beat too long before I <b>forced </b>out, <b>“</b>Thanks<b>.</b><b>” </b>


    His eyes narrowed slightly <b>as </b><b>if </b>searching for something. Recognition? Weakness<b>? </b>Hell if <b>I </b>knew. Lazar was a walking contradiction. Model–level handsome. Campus heartthrob. Known to be <b>a </b><b>sweetheart </b>to others. But <b>also </b>one of the very few people I despised and not to mention a fucking


    Morozov<b>. </b>


    The name alone made my stomach twist.


    To everyone <b>else</b><b>, </b>it <b>was </b><b>just </b>a rich Russian surname. Rumored ties to underground crime. Gossip.


    To me<b>, </b>it was the name the loan sharks had thrown around the day <b>George </b>signed the loan contract. Basically signing his life away<b>. </b>


    Morozov<b>. </b>


    Not Lazar, exactly. But his family. His blood.


    He leaned back in his chair,pletely <b>at </b><b>ease</b><b>. </b>“Not every <b>day </b>someone <b>marries </b>up like that. I’d almost <b>say </b>you <b>were </b>lucky.”


    I turned to him<b>, </b>expression sharp. “Why aren’t you with Dmitri?<b>” </b>


    After all, he <b>was </b>Dmitri’s best friend.


    <b>Lazar </b>blinked. Then smiled. Slow. Predatory.


    “Touchy subject. We had a falling out.”


    That made me <b>pause</b><b>. </b>


    Lazar and Dmitri were inseparable. Well, inseparable until Dmitri turned his back.


    The only time <b>Lazar </b><b>ever </b>really gave me attention <b>was </b>when Dmitri wasn’t looking and I <b>knew </b>that attention wasn’t anything good. Who flirted with <b>their </b>bestfriend’s girlfriend behind their backs and <b>basically </b>ignored them in their presence? Fake friends. Obviously. But I only <b>ever </b>tried warning Dmitri about him once. When he ignored my warning, I didn’t bother mentioning it again and just started avoiding him when <b>Lazar </b><b>was </b>around.


    “I’m <b>sure </b><b>he’ll </b>forgive you,” I said tly,


    Lazar <b>didn’t </b>look <b>away</b>. “Maybe. Maybe not. You know… you look good in white.”


    <b>I </b><b>resisted </b>the <b>urge </b>to stab him with my <b>pen</b>.


    <b>“</b><b>You </b>know what <b>else </b>would look good? You finding another <b>seat</b>.”


    He chuckled<b>, </b>but <b>it </b><b>was </b>empty. There <b>was </b>no <b>real </b>amusement in it. <b>Just </b>something practiced. Polished. I could <b>see </b><b>it </b>for what it <b>was</b><b>. </b>


    ROL


    I stood without <b>a </b>word, gathering my things and moving three rows down to an empty <b>seat </b><b>beside </b><b>a </b><b>girl </b>I <b>barely </b>knew<b>. </b>I’d <b>take </b><b>whispered </b><b>gossip </b>over <b>Lazar </b>any <b>day</b>.


    ss <b>began</b><b>, </b>and I tried to <b>focus</b><b>, </b><b>but </b><b>I </b>could <b>feel </b>his <b>eyes </b>still on <b>me</b><b>. </b>Always watching. Like <b>a </b>vulture <b>too </b><bzy </b><b>to </b>p <b>its </b><b>wings</b>.


    The moment the <b>lecture </b><b>ended</b><b>, </b><b>I </b>packed my <b>notes </b>and turned to <b>leave</b><b>–</b>only <b>to </b>jerk <b>back </b>at <b>the </b>sudden <b>touch</b><b>. </b>


    Cold fingers slid against <b>my </b>neck.


    “What the <b>hell </b>do you think <b>you’re </b><b>doing</b><b>?</b><b>” </b>I hissed<b>, </b>spinning around.


    Lazar stood there<b>. </b>


    Smiling


    -Eyes already locking with mine as the ss slowly quieted down around us.


    Fuck.


    <b>2/3 </b>
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