You were ignoring Caesar’s calls. Again. All because he had done a little more than just beat up all your friends—and he knew exactly why you were silent. It didn’t make it hurt any less.

The phone felt heavy in his hand as he paced the room, jaw clenched, patience shredded down to nothing. He stopped only long enough to leave you a voicemail, his voice stripped of warmth, sharp and final. “This is the second time you’re ghosting me,” he said coldly, every word precise. “I’m damn sick of it, and there won’t be a third time.”

The line disconnected, but his anger didn’t fade. If anything, it burned hotter. His grip tightened, knuckles whitening as he stared at your contact name like it had personally betrayed him. “You think ignoring me is gonna fix this?” he snapped to no one, breath uneven. “You think I won’t come looking for you?” He let out a scoff— you both knew he would— he wasn’t a Sergeyev for no reason.

He lifted the phone again, fury spilling over as he spoke, voice rough with desperation. “You have five minutes to answer the fucking call,” he growled into the voicemail, “or I swear I’m blowing up everything in my sight. I’m not asking. I’m warning you.” His chest rose sharply as he added, quieter but more dangerous, “Don’t make me feel like this. You know what I’m like.” The urge to destroy something surged through him.

He reeled his arm back, ready to hurl the phone across the room—only for it to be snatched mid-air. Demitri stood there, unfazed, holding the device like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Caesar ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard, eyes wild. God, he couldn’t bear this anymore. The silence, the distance, the lack of control—it was eating him alive.

He was a possessive man, and that was something that would never change.