30. Dominic
30
Dominic
M onday morning. Four days left.
The thought pounds in my head like the residual ache from the fever that nearly flattened me yesterday. I drag myself out of bed, feeling weak but functional. The expensive flu meds Jake had couriered over worked their magic overnight, along with...
Along with Tatiana’s care.
Fuck.
She was the one who told Jake about my flu. She was the one who made him order the meds.
She was the one who made me take them.
She.
Her.
I splash cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I look like shit. Pale, with dark circles under my eyes. But it’s not the physical weakness that bothers me.
It’s what happened yesterday.
Her gentle hands on my forehead. The cool cloth. The soup. The way she stayed beside me when I asked, her wrist slim and warm in my grasp.
I showed weakness. I needed her. And she saw it all.
This isn’t part of our agreement. This isn’t what we signed up for. This kind of... intimacy. It’s dangerous territory.
Four days. Four fucking days until our agreement ends and we go our separate ways. This is no time to complicate things by developing feelings. Especially not the kind that make my chest tighten when I remember how she looked at me, concern written all over her face.
By the time I’ve showered and dressed, I’ve made up my mind. I need distance. Space to regain control of this situation and my emotions. The resort project provides the perfect excuse.
I find Tatiana in the kitchen, already dressed for work in one of those sleek pantsuits that hug her curves in all the right places. She looks so fucking hot, but...
She’s sipping coffee, scrolling through something on her tablet, and looks up when I enter.
“Morning,” she says, with a small smile that makes something twist painfully in my chest. “You look better.”
“I’m fine,” I reply curtly, reaching for the coffee pot. “The fever broke overnight.”
“Good. I was worried it might—”
“I said I’m fine.” My tone is sharper than I intended. I see her eyes widen in surprise, that smile faltering. She suddenly blinks several times in a row and quickly looks away.
Good. Better she’s confused than getting too comfortable with this arrangement. And better she’s hurt now, rather than later.
“I’ve been reviewing your modifications to the resort solar panel installation schedule,” I say, deliberately shifting to business mode. “It’s unnecessarily complex.”
She spins toward me, and for a moment anger dominates her features. But then it’s masked in an instant. “Complex? It improves efficiency by twenty percent while reducing labor costs.”
“It also creates logistical problems with the foundation work.” I take a sip of coffee, avoiding her gaze. “It needs to be completely reworked.”
“But I coordinated with the foundation team. They signed off on it.” There’s a hint of defensiveness in her voice now.
“Well I didn’t sign off on it.” I set my mug down with more force than necessary. “And I’m the one making the final decisions on this project.”
She studies me for a long moment, and I can almost see her mind working, trying to reconcile the man demanding soup yesterday with the asshole criticizing her work today.
“Of course,” she finally says, her voice cool and professional. “I’ll make the revisions.”
“Good.” I check my watch, desperate to escape the penthouse and her scrutiny. “I’ll be at the office all day. Don’t wait up.”
I grab my briefcase, ignoring the confusion and hurt I glimpse in her eyes. This is necessary. This is for the best. In four days, we’ll both go back to our separate lives, and neither of us will have to deal with the mess of tangled emotions that real relationships inevitably become.
It’s better this way.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I ride the elevator down.
The day passes in a blur of meetings and phone calls, none of which I can fully focus on. My mind keeps circling back to Tatiana’s expression this morning, the way her face closed off at my criticism. The way her eyes... blurred .
It was exactly what I wanted, so why does it bother me so fucking much?
By late afternoon, I’ve buried myself in work, determined to drive all thoughts of my temporary wife from my mind.
Eleanor buzzes in on the intercom, interrupting my concentration.
“Mr. Rossi, I apologize for the intrusion, but Mr. Morgan Weiss is in the lobby demanding to see you. Security has detained him, but he’s causing something of a scene, citing urgent business.”
My blood runs cold at the name. Weiss. The man behind the supplier sabotage. The man who had been asking questions about Tatiana.
“Let him up, Eleanor,” I decide after a moment. “Just him. Have security escort him directly here and wait outside.”
It’s a calculated risk, but I want this confrontation on my turf. Time to end this bullshit once and for all.
Weiss swaggers in moments later, escorted by two of our security team who take up positions outside my closed door. He’s impeccably dressed in an expensive suit, his silver hair perfectly styled, radiating the smug confidence of a man who thinks he has the upper hand.
“Dominic,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Always a pleasure.”
“Cut the bullshit, Weiss,” I reply coldly, remaining seated behind my desk. “What do you want?”
He chuckles, scanning my office with an appraising eye. “Heard Serenity Shores might be facing some unforeseen... headwinds.”
The veiled reference to the supplier sabotage confirms my suspicions. “Get to the point. You tried to sabotage my supplier. What do you want?”
Weiss laughs, a dry, unpleasant sound. “I did no such thing.”
“I have proof,” I counter.
He arches an eyebrow, unperturbed. “Proof? Proof is so hard to come by these days.”
“What do you want?” I repeat, my patience wearing dangerously thin.
“Let’s just say... projects like yours are fragile. Especially when the man in charge seems... distracted.” He leans forward slightly, his next words carefully measured. “I represent a supplier who could solve many of your problems. For a reasonable stake in the project, of course.”
So that’s his angle. Use sabotage to force my hand, then swoop in with a “solution” that gives him a piece of my business. Classic.
Or it could be a ruse. A bone his boss Christoper Blackwell Senior wants him to throw my way, to distract me.
“The answer is no,” I say flatly. “Now get the fuck out of my office.”
Weiss doesn’t move. Instead, his expression shifts to something more calculating. “You know, records show your new wife has kept the lease on her existing apartment.”
The sudden mention of Tatiana makes my skin crawl. “So?”
“She wants somewhere quiet where she can retreat to now and then,” I continue. “It means nothing.”
Morgan raises an eyebrow. “Or perhaps this marriage isn’t intended to last for very long? You wouldn’t be the first billionaire to marry a woman for... convenience.”
I keep my expression neutral, though alarm bells are ringing in my head. Does he know about our arrangement? Has Nico told him?
He wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t.
“I don’t see how my marriage is any of your business,” I reply coldly.
His smile widens fractionally. “Speaking of your new wife... saw you and her at the gala the other night. She’s very pretty. Hope she’s adjusting to our world. It can be dangerous for those not used to the pressures. Accidents happen. Reputations shatter.”
The veiled threat toward Tatiana makes something snap inside me.
I send a quick text to my security team outside: Whatever you hear, don’t fucking come in. Not until I say so.
I rise slowly from my chair, pressing a concealed button underneath my desk. A drawer slides open silently, revealing a sleek, dark handgun.
I lift it, the weight familiar in my hand, and train it on Weiss. “You think you can threaten me? Threaten her?”
Weiss pales slightly, his smugness faltering. “You won’t shoot me. You wouldn’t dare.”
I fire a single shot that shatters the floor tile inches from his leather shoes. He jumps, genuine fear replacing the arrogance in his eyes.
My security team remains outside, as requested.
Worth every fucking penny.
“Listen carefully,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper but resonating with absolute authority. “You will leave my office. You will cease all actions against my company. And if you ever come near me, my business, or my fucking wife again... if you even breathe her name...”
I don’t need to finish the threat. The gun pointed at his head completes the message.
Weiss swallows hard, then nods wordlessly.
“Good,” I say, my eyes never leaving his. “Security will escort you out. Don’t come back.”
The moment he’s gone, I replace the gun in its concealed compartment, my hand trembling slightly with adrenaline and rage. That bastard had the nerve to threaten Tatiana. To imply he knew about our arrangement.
I press the intercom. “Eleanor, get Jake Thompson in here. Now.”
Jake arrives moments later, taking in my expression with a quick, professional assessment. He notices the shattered floor tile.
“You shot at Weiss?” he says.
I shrug.
He’s looking around the room. “You really have to be careful firing in an enclosed space like this. The bullet could have ricocheted. Hit you.”
His eyes focus on a hole in the wall near the door. He examines it, takes out a small pen, and extracts the bullet.
“But it didn’t,” I say.
“No,” he agrees, setting the slightly flattened bullet down on my desk. “It didn’t.”
“Weiss is not to be allowed on the premises or within 100 feet of my wife ever again,” I instruct him. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Jake’s tone is clipped, efficient.
“Have you been able to dig up anything more linking him to the supplier sabotage?”
“Not yet, sir. We’re still working on it.”
I rake a hand through my hair, frustration and residual rage making me want to put my fist through the table. “Find something soon, before I put a bullet in his head for real next time.”
“Understood, sir.” Jake hesitates. “Do you want me to increase Mrs. Rossi’s security detail again?”
The thought of Weiss anywhere near Tatiana makes my blood boil all over again. “We’ve already doubled it. I don’t want to alarm her.”
Jake nods slowly.
After he leaves, I stare at the bullet on my desk.
The confrontation with Weiss has left me shaken in a way I’m not accustomed to. It wasn’t the threat to my business that pushed me over the edge.
It was the threat to Tatiana.
I almost killed a man today because he threatened her.
The realization terrifies me. I’m losing control. Getting too attached.
Four days left, and I’m already this compromised.
Fuck.
I need to push her even further away.
For both our sakes.
It’s after ten when I finally return to the penthouse, deliberately working late to avoid another intimate evening with Tatiana. My cough is starting to return. The place is dark except for a single lamp in the living room, where she sits curled up with a book.
She looks up when I enter, her expression guarded. “You’re back late.”
“Work,” I reply curtly, shrugging off my jacket. “The resort isn’t going to build itself.”
I purposely don’t tell her about the incident with Weiss.
She nods, studying me in that perceptive way that makes me feel exposed. “Everything okay? You seem tense.”
“Everything’s fine.” I head to the bar and pour myself a generous scotch. “Just business.”
I can feel her watching me, waiting for more, but I remain silent.
“Dom,” she finally says, her voice soft. “About yesterday—”
My phone rings, cutting her off. I check the caller ID.
Sofiya Rowan.
My ex.
Ordinarily I’d hang up immediately, but I realize this is perfect timing.
“I need to take this,” I say, making no move to step away for privacy.
I answer the call, my voice deliberately warm. “Sofiya. What a pleasant surprise.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Tatiana stiffen, then slowly stand and gather her things.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Tatiana murmurs, heading toward her guest suite. “I’ll leave you to your call.”
I nod, continuing my conversation with Sofiya while watching Tatiana retreat.
It’s a dick move, and I know it.
But it’s necessary.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
The hurt in her eyes as she walks away tells me I’ve succeeded in pushing her back. In creating distance, and reinforcing the reality that this arrangement has an expiration date.
After I finish the call, which was just some charity gala bullshit I have no intention of attending, I sit alone in the dimly lit living room. The scotch burns a path down my throat, but does nothing to ease the hollow feeling in my chest.
A residual bout of coughing passes through me, but I ignore it.
Maybe I’ll get sick again.
I deserve it for pushing Tatiana away.
This is for the best , I tell myself again.
Getting too close to Tatiana would be a disaster. I’m not capable of the kind of relationship she deserves. I’d only hurt her worse in the end.
Better a clean break in four days than a messy, painful ending later.
So why does doing the right thing feel so fucking wrong?