Chapter Nineteen - Janice
The phone feels like it’s burning through my pocket all day.
I carry it with me everywhere, terrified someone will find it, equally terrified of being without it when the next message comes. The mysterious contact has been patient so far, sending only occasional reminders that the offer still stands, that time is running out, that I need to decide.
Today, the patience ends.
Tonight. His office. There’s an encrypted laptop in the bottom right drawer of his desk. Remove the external drive connected to it. That’s all we need. Do this, and we’ll have everything required to bring him down.
My hands shake as I read the message in the bathroom, door locked, water running to cover any sound. This is it. The moment where I either commit to betraying Dimitri or back out completely.
I should back out.
Should take this phone to him right now, confess everything, let him handle whoever’s trying to use me against him.
That’s what a real wife would do. What someone who actually cared about him would do.
I delete the message and pocket the phone.
Tonight, I’ll decide.
Dimitri is distracted all day, which makes everything both easier and harder.
Easier because he’s not watching my every move, not questioning why I’m tense and jumpy. Harder because the guilt gnaws at me in ways I didn’t expect.
We’ve been better lately. Since that night in the library when he actually apologized, actually listened, actually gave me back Diana and some semblance of autonomy. We’ve fallen into a rhythm that almost feels like partnership instead of captivity.
He asks my opinion on business decisions. Explains the politics behind Bratva dynamics. Touches me in passing—casual, affectionate, nothing like the possessive claiming from before.
And the nights…
The nights have been different. Slower. More focused on what I want instead of what he can take. He’s been proving something, though I’m not sure if it’s to me or himself.
It’s working. God help me, it’s working.
I’m starting to forget why I was so angry. Starting to see the man underneath the monster. Starting to believe that maybe this marriage could be something other than a gilded cage.
Which makes tonight’s plan feel like the worst kind of betrayal.
Dinner is quiet. Dimitri scrolls through messages on his phone between courses, occasionally sharing details about deals I’m starting to understand. I push food around my plate, appetite gone, mind racing through scenarios.
“The Williamsburg project finally cleared permits,” he says, cutting into his steak. “Felix thinks we’ll break ground by spring.”
“That’s good.”
“There’s a community meeting next week. I want you to come.”
I look up, surprised. “Why?”
“You’re good at this. Reading people, defusing tension, making them feel heard without actually giving them anything.” He sets down his fork. “When you speak, they listen differently than when I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m the developer. The threat. You’re—” He pauses, searching for words. “You’re the human element. The proof that we’re not all monsters.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. “I don’t want to.”
“Then I’ll go alone and handle it the way I always have. Still, I think you’d be good at it, and I think you’d enjoy it more than you expect.”
He’s not wrong. The idea of actually contributing, of using my skills for something beyond decoration, appeals in ways I don’t want to examine.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
He returns his attention to his phone, and I push food around my plate some more, appetite completely gone now.
Get into the office. Find the laptop. Remove the drive. Get out without being caught.
Simple. Except nothing involving Dimitri Rudenko is ever simple.
“You’re not eating,” he observes without looking up.
“Not hungry.”
“You didn’t eat lunch either. The staff mentioned it.”
Of course they did. Nothing happens in this penthouse without Dimitri knowing about it.
“Just not feeling well. I’m fine.”
He finally looks at me directly, concern flickering across his features. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No. I’m just tired.”
“We could skip the rest of dinner. Go to bed early.” The suggestion carries heat that makes my stomach flip despite everything.
“I’m fine. Finish your food.”
He studies me for a moment longer, then returns his attention to his plate. I exhale slowly, trying to calm my racing pulse.
By the time dinner ends, I’ve almost talked myself out of it a dozen times.
Almost.
Dimitri stands, stretching slightly. “I have a call I need to take. Probably thirty minutes, maybe longer. Will you be alright?”
“I’ll read in the library.”
“Don’t stay up too late.” He crosses to my chair, tilting my face up for a kiss. Soft and lingering, like he has all the time in the world.
“I won’t.”
The lie tastes bitter.
I wait in the library exactly twenty minutes, book open on my lap but not processing a single word. My hands shake every time I think about what I’m about to do.
I stand on legs that don’t feel entirely stable. Cross to the hallway. Listen for any sound of staff moving through the penthouse.
Nothing. Just the ambient hum of expensive climate control and my own thundering heartbeat.
The study door is closed but not locked. It never is—Dimitri doesn’t lock doors inside his own home. Why would he? Everyone here knows better than to enter without permission.
My hand shakes as I turn the handle. The door opens soundlessly, well-oiled hinges making no protest.
The study is empty.
Relief and disappointment war in my chest. I step inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click that sounds deafening in the silence.
The room smells like him—expensive leather from the furniture, smoke from cigars he occasionally indulges in, something else underneath that’s just uniquely Dimitri. The scent is intoxicating and familiar and makes me feel like an intruder, even though I have every right to be here.
“Mrs. Rudenko has access to everything,” he’d said once.
I doubt he meant this.
I cross to the desk, every step feeling like walking toward a cliff edge. The bottom right drawer. I pull it open, and there it is—a sleek laptop, expensive and clearly customized, with a small external drive connected via cable.
This is it. The thing they want. The proof that could bring down everything Dimitri’s built.
My hand hovers over the drive. One pull, and it’s done. One choice, and I’ve crossed a line I can never uncross.
“Looking for something?”
I jump violently, spinning toward the doorway.
Dimitri leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He’s still in the clothes from dinner, tie loosened, looking every inch the dangerous man I married.
How long has he been standing there? How much did he see?
“I…” My mind races, searching for explanations that won’t sound like lies. “I was looking for you.”
“In my desk drawer?” He pushes off the doorframe, closing the distance between us with predatory grace. “Interesting place to search.”
“I heard a noise. Wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“Don’t.” The single word cuts through my excuse like a blade. “Don’t insult both of us with a bad lie. If you’re going to steal from me, at least have the courage to admit it.”
Terror floods through me, cold and absolute. “I’m not stealing.”
“Then what are you doing in my private study, going through my secured files?” He’s close now, close enough that I can see the tightness around his eyes, the carefully controlled fury. “What were you looking for, Janice?”
The truth sits on my tongue, desperate to escape. The phone in my pocket feels like evidence that will damn me the moment he thinks to search.
“I wanted to understand your business,” I say, hating how weak it sounds. “You talk about deals and territories, and I never really comprehend what you’re actually doing.”
“Oh, Janice, are you looking for evidence you could use against me?” He’s directly in front of me now, blocking any escape route. “Who got to you? Who convinced you that spying on your husband was a good idea?”
“No one. I’m not—this isn’t what it looks like.”
“Then what is it?”
I can’t answer. Can’t form words around the terror and guilt and crushing awareness that I’ve been caught doing exactly what he’s accusing me of.
Dimitri reaches past me, closes the drawer I’d left open. The click sounds final, decisive.
“You’ve been different lately,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Distant. I thought it was about adjusting, about finding your place here. It wasn’t, was it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” His hand finds my waist, grip firm. “You’ve been planning something. The question is what.”
“Nothing. I swear, I’m not.”
“Your pulse is racing.” His thumb finds the spot on my wrist where my heartbeat thunders. “Your hands are shaking. You can barely look at me. That’s not the reaction of someone innocently exploring their husband’s office.”
He’s right. I’m caught, and we both know it.
“Tell me the truth.” It’s not quite a command. More like a plea wrapped in steel. “Tell me what you were really doing here, and we’ll deal with it. Keep lying, and I’ll assume the worst.”
The worst. Meaning betrayal. Meaning I’m working with his enemies. Meaning everything between us has been performance while I waited for the right moment to strike.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I was thinking or why I came in here or what I thought I’d find.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
His hands snap to my wrists, then travels downwards. I freeze as his hand drifts to my skirt pocket, and finds the cell phone.
“What’s this?” he asks, his smile turning cold. “You’ve been talking to someone?”
“No,” I lie, but my throat’s gone dry.
He stares at me for a long moment, and I watch emotions flicker across his face: fury, disappointment, something that might be hurt if I didn’t know better.
Then his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss is brutal, claiming, nothing like the careful affection of the past week. This is possession reasserting itself, dominance reminding me exactly who I belong to regardless of what plans I might be making.
I kiss him back with equal desperation, anger and fear and want all tangling together until I can’t separate them.
Dimitri walks me backward until my hips hit the desk. His hands find my thighs, lifting me onto the polished wood surface without breaking the kiss. Papers scatter. Something falls to the floor with a crash that echoes through the room.
Neither of us cares.
“Tell me,” he demands against my mouth, pulling back just enough to force eye contact. “Tell me you weren’t planning to betray me.”
“I wasn’t!”
“Prove it.” His hand slides under my skirt, finding the heat between my thighs. I gasp, hips lifting involuntarily into the touch.
“This doesn’t prove anything,” I manage, even as my body contradicts every word.
“Doesn’t it?” His fingers stroke over my underwear, feeling how wet I already am. “Your body knows who you belong to, even when your mind tries to forget.”
I want to argue. Want to maintain that this is just physical, that desire doesn’t equal loyalty, that I can want him and still plan his downfall.
Can’t. He’s right; my body responds to him in ways I can’t control or fake.
Dimitri pushes my underwear aside, fingers finding bare skin. I moan, head falling back as he strokes with practiced precision.
“Look at me,” he commands. “Keep your eyes on me.”
I force myself to meet his gaze. The intensity there steals my breath—possessive and furious and desperately wanting.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Stop thinking. Stop planning. Just feel.”
His fingers slide inside me, and rational thought evaporates completely. I’m clutching his shoulders, making sounds I’ll be embarrassed about later, completely at his mercy on his desk in his study.
“You’re mine,” he says, thumb circling my clit while his fingers work inside me. “Say it.”
“What, no.”
“Say it, Janice. Admit what we both know.”
“I’m—” The words catch in my throat. “I’m yours.”
“Again. Louder.”
“I’m yours.” The admission tears out of me, desperate and true. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. Works me with ruthless efficiency, adding a third finger, stretching me, making me take everything he’s giving. The angle is perfect, the pressure exactly right, and I’m climbing fast toward an edge I can’t control.
“Come for me,” he commands, voice rough. “Show me who you belong to.”
I shatter, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through me in waves. He doesn’t relent, doesn’t slow, drawing out my orgasm until I’m shaking, oversensitive, barely able to form thoughts.
When I finally come down, Dimitri withdraws his hand slowly. His fingers glisten with evidence of my arousal, and he maintains eye contact as he brings them to his mouth, tasting me.
The gesture is filthy and possessive and makes heat coil low in my belly despite having just come apart.
“Go to our room,” he says, voice still rough with want. “Get undressed. Wait for me.”
“Now?”
“Go, Janice. Before I fuck you on this desk and we both forget what we were fighting about.”
I slide off the desk on shaking legs. My underwear is ruined, my skirt wrinkled, and I can feel the evidence of what just happened between my thighs.
“What about you?” I ask, seeing how hard he is through his pants.
“Later. After you’re gone and I’ve had time to decide whether I’m angrier about your lying or impressed by your courage.”
The words should terrify me. Instead, they spark something that might be hope.
“I wasn’t doing anything—”
“Don’t. Not now. We’ll talk tomorrow, when we’ve both had time to think. For tonight, just—” He stops, runs a hand through his hair. “Just go to bed. Let me believe you’re still mine.”
The admission cracks something in my chest. He knows I was up to something. Knows I’m not as loyal as I’ve been pretending.
He’s choosing to believe in me anyway. At least for tonight.
I flee the study without looking back, legs still unsteady, mind racing.