Novels by Elizabeta Koritnik

Milena DragovicMy heart climbed into my throat.I was always the kind of girl who stood her ground. Not many things shook me, but ever since the incident, confrontation scraped against a raw place inside me in ways it never used to. I’d avoided gyms for a long time. Avoided fighters. Avoided anything that smelled like sweat, adrenaline, or violence. I built an entire life on staying far, far away from the world that had taken so much from me.And now here I was.Drawn. No, pulled right back into everything I fought so hard to avoid.The hallway felt narrower than before, the dim overhead lights buzzing faintly as Alexander uncrossed his arms, rolled his shoulders back, and pushed off the wall with slow, casual ease. The faintest sheen of sweat still clung to his jawline, catching the dim hallway light. He didn’t look surprised to see me. He didn’t look curious either.He looked like a man who had already decided something.About me.About this moment.My pulse still thumped hard in m

Milena DragovicMy pulse didn’t slow, not even after Alexander moved to the cubbies. He was just a few meters away, towel slung over his shoulder, water bottle in hand. Close enough that every shift of his muscles remained in my peripheral vision, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.He dragged the towel down the length of his throat, wiping away the last trail of sweat before letting the fabric hang loosely in his hand. Then he leaned forward, bracing one arm against the cubbies, resting his forehead lightly against it. For a moment, he looked almost still. His chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths, but the rhythm didn’t seem relaxed. It was deliberate, forced, the kind of breathing people used when they were trying to settle something inside themselves. It was the kind of breathing someone learned to quiet themselves, not recover. A self-soothing technique. A sign. He didn’t look at me again.But I felt the pull of his presence like static.The coach kept talking beside m

Milena DragovicI debated sitting down to drink it but decided to walk to my apartment instead. I still had time before my next client.I told myself I wouldn’t think about him. But by the time I reached my apartment, I was already lying.The hallway encounter replayed in my mind on a loop. The silence, the look in his eyes, the way he’d walked away without a word.My apartment was just across the street. I crossed when there were no cars coming and unlocked the front door. I kicked off my high-heeled black leather boots and walked down the hall into the open floor plan living room.I usually sat at the kitchen island, but today I sank onto the couch instead. I needed the comfort of the soft pillows and a warm blanket.I pulled the file from my bag, set it on the coffee table, placed the latte beside it, and opened my laptop. I had about thirty minutes before my next session, so I opened my browser.The search results stared back at me.Fight records, interviews, and the occasional gl

Milena DragovicI stood, sliding the folder into my bag. “I’ll think about it. I’ll give you my answer by the end of the week.”John nodded, but I could still see worry on his face.The office was tucked away at the very back of the gym, which meant you had to walk past the locker rooms to get out. The hallway was warm, humid, and heavy with the scent of leather, soap, and sweat. Just as I reached one of the locker room doors, it flew open.I jerked back, but not in time, colliding with the man who stepped out and falling straight on my ass. “Watch it!” I snapped, looking up at the culprit. The words caught in my throat, choking on the sight in front of me. Alexander.He hadn’t even seen me yet, a towel covering his face as he rubbed it through damp black hair. Water dripped down the side of his jaw, glistening against skin still flushed from the shower. His hoodie was gone, leaving him in nothing but shorts. His godly body was still damp from the shower, and I couldn’t help but st

Milena DragovicI stepped into the gym for the first time in a while. The smell of sweat, steel, leather, and a hint of blood hit me like an old memory I wasn’t sure I wanted.I’ve been treating professional athletes since I graduated from university. My brother used to be a fighter, and I’ve seen firsthand what this life can do to someone mentally. I knew back then that I wanted to work closely with athletes to help them stay grounded, maintain a healthy mindset, and prevent them from spiraling.However, after my brother had an accident, I swore to myself I would not get involved with any professional fighters again…that is, until Coach Jansen called me in for a favor. The gym was still quiet and empty. Most of the fighters weren’t in yet. I heard the light thuds of punching bags and the snapping of jump ropes somewhere in the back, but I paid them no attention. Then the office door flew open.A young man stormed out. Black hoodie. Dark jeans. Calm, steady eyes. Asian. Tall. Built