Silk & Sabotage

Part 6 : The day after vanishing from Lina Loas.

"The Morning After Mia"

God, I smell like her.

It's been 24 hours and I still reek of silk sheets, stolen kisses, and that goddamn lavender oil she used on her collarbone like a weapon. I've showered twice, changed shirts three times, even lit a cinnamon candle Irina left on the dresser — nothing helps.

She's in my skin.

And it's disgusting.

I should be celebrating.

Mission successful. Dahlia files extracted. Daughter of a military tyrant successfully seduced and deceived. Operation Sabotage Silk: complete.

But instead?

I'm lying shirtless on this creaky old bed in Rica, chain-smoking like a war widow, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above me like it's going to spell out her name in Morse code.

"Fuck," I mutter. Then laugh.

Like, really laugh.

A full-on madman laugh. One that echoes around the empty room.

"When the hell did this happen?"

When did Mino Kael — the cold, calculating bastard who once blackmailed a diplomat during sex — start catching feelings for a girl?

Not just any girl.

Her.

Mia fucking Veyra.

With her glass-cutting glares and bruised lips. With her voice like politics wrapped in poetry. With that stupid, shaky smile she gave me the night I told her I wasn't going to leave.

God. I lied so well.

And she believed me.

I grab my phone.

No signal.

Irina made sure of that.

"This is for the best," she said, her voice calm like always. "Cut her clean, Mino. Don't look back."

I didn't.

Not when I left a Dahlia on the pillow.

Not when I kissed her forehead like a coward.

Not even when I saw her shift in her sleep, reaching for me instinctively.

I left before she woke up.

Because that's what a professional does.

That's what a spy does.

Right?

Then why the hell did I flinch when I saw her favorite hairpin in my duffel bag?

Why did I hesitate when I handed over the documents, wondering if her name would be written in blood next?

Why did I laugh like a lunatic five minutes ago when I realized...

I miss her?

"I'm losing it," I whisper, dragging a hand through my hair.

"Lucas is gonna kill me."

Lucas.

My sweet, possessive soldier. The only one who truly knew how to break me — and the only one I ever wanted to be broken for.

He doesn't know the details yet.

He thinks Mia was just another target.

He doesn't know she kissed me like she believed in something.

He doesn't know I liked it.

He doesn't know that for a moment — one stupid, silk-soft moment — I wanted to stay.

I should be over this.

It was a mission.

She was a pawn.

I was the player.

But every time I close my eyes, I see her staring at me through the rain that night — lips trembling, eyes wide, body open and trusting — and something in me shifts.

I'm not sure if it's guilt.

Or the ghost of something worse.

Love.

"You're ridiculous," I tell myself, grinning bitterly.

"You're a bisexual mess with a martyr complex and a girl's perfume still clinging to your lungs."

Or maybe I was celibate for to long and miss my brute, which is messing my brain.

What a joke.

What a beautiful, brutal joke.

And I think, if she ever finds me again…

I don't know whether I'll kiss her or beg her to hate me.