Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Riley
"Mr. Bykov, you just had your stitches removed. I strongly recommend you stay for another week of observation."
Before the attending physician even finished, Matvey had already pulled the IV needle from the back of his hand without flinching and slipped on his shirt.
"Not necessary." His tone left no room for debate. "I'm fine."
"But—"
"I've been stuck in that bed long enough. Process my discharge."
The doctor opened his mouth. Finally, under Matvey's unyielding gaze, he swallowed whatever he was about to say and went to handle the paperwork.
I stood at the door, watching the scene unfold, torn between annoyance and amusement.
"Take it easy." I hurried over, reaching out to steady him. "The doctor said you can't overexert yourself."
He caught my wrist instead, using the momentum to pull me against his chest.
"Steady me?" He looked down, lips curving into a playful smile. "Riley, you think I'm too old to walk on my own now?"
"I..." My face heated up instantly. I tried to pull away. "I'm just worried about you!"
"I know." He leaned close to my ear. "So when we get home, I'll show you how grateful I am for your care these past few days."
The way his tongue lingered on "care" made my face burn. My ears started tingling.
This man had just gotten off the operating table, and all he could think about was that.
"Maybe you should stay at the hospital a few more days," I said, pushing him away. "Before your libido messes up your recovery."
On the ride back, Matvey and I sat in the rear while Anton drove.
"Just move into my place. You don't need to bring anything." He pulled me into his arms as he spoke.
"Forget it. You need rest." I pushed him off.
I knew perfectly well that if we shared a room, neither of us would sleep through till morning.
I really hoped he'd behave himself until he recovered.
The next morning, I received an email in my personal inbox.
From Bykov Group's HR department. An extremely formal job offer.
"Dear Ms. Riley Quinn. We are honored to invite you to join Bykov Group as Director of Design..."
I rubbed my eyes and read it again. The position clearly stated: Group Director of Design. I stared at the screen, unable to process it.
I knew exactly whose doing this was. In the entire Bykov Group, only one person could elevate an intern to Director of Design overnight—Matvey.
So this was his idea of making it up to me?
Honestly, I should have been angry. Once again, he'd made decisions without asking if this was what I wanted.
But as my finger hovered over that email, what churned inside me wasn't entirely resistance.
Riley, admit it. This time, what he's giving you is exactly what you want.
Before Matvey appeared, I'd sketched stack after stack of designs, but no one ever treated me like a real designer. I could only sit in my corner workstation, doing tedious reports for my superiors while secretly fantasizing about becoming a real designer someday.
Evelyn always said when I drew, my eyes lit up. Before everything fell apart at home, Mom used to run her fingers over that old notebook filled with jewelry sketches, smiling as she said I'd become an amazing designer.
I thought I'd never get to fulfill that dream in this lifetime. And now, the chance to realize it had been gently placed in front of me.
I clicked "Accept." Not because he was Matvey. Because this was what I wanted all along.
I'd prove with my abilities that I deserved this position.
I picked up my phone and sent Matvey a message.
"Got the offer, Matvey. But are you sure it's appropriate to push me into Director of Design like this? Aren't you worried I'll screw up?"
His reply came instantly.
"I'm only giving you what you deserve."
"Don't disappoint me, Designer Quinn."
I looked at those words, couldn't help smiling. Of course. I wouldn't disappoint anyone.
I closed my laptop and was about to get up when my phone buzzed again.
"Wear that office outfit I sent you. It'll suit you perfectly."
I stared at the message, then found myself walking to my closet.
Those shopping bags with luxury logos still lay quietly in the back.
I used to think I didn't deserve these clothes. But now I felt I'd earned the right.
I pulled out that cream-colored suit.
Getting into it wasn't smooth—I was so nervous my hands shook. I'd never worn anything this sophisticated. Just those tiny buttons had me fumbling.
Or maybe this nervousness was because Matvey had personally chosen this outfit for me. And now he'd told me to wear it.
After finally making peace with those buttons, I stood before my slightly worn full-length mirror.
The sight stopped me cold.
The girl in the mirror stood straight, the cream outfit hugging every curve perfectly.
I felt dazed. I no longer looked stuffed like a sausage—this precise tailoring made me look beautiful and sophisticated.
For years, I'd hidden this overly voluptuous body in oversized clothes, afraid of judgment. But every piece Matvey sent wasn't meant to conceal. For me, they weren't just beautiful—they fit.
I wobbled downstairs in the heels he'd sent.
The moment I stepped outside, I froze.
Matvey leaned against his Rolls-Royce, wearing a sharply tailored dark suit, exuding an innate elegance that clashed with the rundown street.
His trunk stood wide open, packed with hyacinths. Even from a distance, their fragrance reached me.
"What are you doing here?" I was surprised.
"Taking you to work." He gestured at his car. "Can't have my Director of Design walking to the office."
But this was way too conspicuous.
I steeled myself and walked toward him.
He just leaned there watching me approach, those gray-green eyes scanning from my face down to my feet. His gaze felt warm, making my skin heat wherever it landed.
"Director Quinn." When I reached him, he leaned close to my ear, voice so low it melted into my bones. "That outfit is driving me crazy."
"All I can think about is how to peel it off you."
Those words sparked like fire down my spine.
A few months ago, I probably would have blushed crimson and scrambled away.
But now, hearing this, something hidden inside me secretly rejoiced—I made Matvey Bykov lose control.
That feeling meant more than any hollow compliment.
I lifted my eyes to meet his desire-filled gaze and slowly curved my lips.
"Peel it off?" I mimicked his tone, lowering my voice. "Mr. Bykov, you just had your stitches removed yesterday."
"The doctor said you can't overexert yourself."
His smile froze. He clearly hadn't expected me to throw that back at him.
"Is that so?" His Adam's apple bobbed as he leaned closer, our noses nearly touching. "Director Quinn, you're playing with fire."
Heat rushed to my face. But I bit my lip, refusing to back down.
I extended one finger, pressing it gently against his advancing chest, slowly tracing through his shirt the spot I knew, where his tattoo was.
"It's work hours now." I tilted my head up, meeting his suddenly darkening eyes. "The company doesn't pay people to slack off, Mr. Bykov."
Those were his own words once.
I watched the amusement in his eyes slowly burn into something else, barely containing my satisfaction.
Before he could react, I pulled open the passenger door, settled in smoothly, and shut it with a "click." Through the window, I saw him still standing there, taking a while to recover.
I leaned back, pressing my hammering heart. God. I actually... just beat him at his own game.
The door opened. Matvey slid into the driver's seat.
"When did you get so naughty?" He pinched my cheek affectionately. "Better pray I can get us to the office in one piece."
"I'm just learning to be a proper Director of Design." I blinked innocently.
He stared at me for two seconds, then suddenly leaned over and nipped my lip.
"Fast learner, Director Quinn."
He released me, turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life.
I turned toward the window, unable to suppress my smile.
The car merged into traffic, and the cabin fell quiet.
I snuck a glance at Matvey in the driver's seat. One hand on the wheel, his profile looked especially striking in the morning light, a hint of darkness showing beneath his shirt collar.
"Your wound... is it really okay?" I couldn't help asking quietly. "Didn't the doctor say you need rest?"
"Having you around helps me heal faster." He didn't turn, but his lips curved. "If you're worried, tonight you can personally examine me. Check my recovery yourself."
"Matvey!" My face heated again.
He didn't tease me further. The car stopped smoothly outside Bykov Group.
The moment I walked into the lobby with Matvey, I sensed countless eyes on us.
Those looks held surprise, speculation, and undisguised jealousy. I could guess what they were thinking—how did that intern Veronica sent back to her desk suddenly return on the CEO's arm?
My steps involuntarily slowed, my back rigid.
"Ignore them." Matvey seemed to sense my unease, naturally wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me close. "Starting today, you don't need to care about anyone's opinion."
His palm's warmth loosened my tension.
"I've arranged everything." He said quietly, guiding me into the elevator. "From now on, you only need to do one thing—focus on your designs."
"Everything else—assistants will handle it. Reports, coordination, schedules. Nothing you need to worry about anymore."
I looked up at him.
I'd done so much work unrelated to design just to become a designer. Been insulted by bosses, ostracized by colleagues, served coffee, made reports, worked late into the night.
And now, he'd laid that path I thought would take years—maybe a lifetime—directly at my feet.
"Thank you," I said softly, throat tight.
"Don't thank me." His thumb traced my waist, making me shiver. "This is what you deserve."
The elevator opened. He stopped at a door.
"Your office." He pushed it open.
I walked in and froze.
It was an impossibly spacious office. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight pouring in unobstructed onto plush carpet. A huge worktable dominated the center, with a comfortable leather chair by the window.
This wasn't just an office—this was the dream studio I'd only seen in magazines.
"Well?" Matvey leaned against the doorframe, watching my stunned expression with barely concealed indulgence. "Satisfied?"
"I..." I opened my mouth but couldn't form a complete sentence.
"Get settled." He checked his watch. "I have business in my office. I'll pick you up for lunch."
He leaned down and placed the lightest kiss on my forehead before turning to leave.
That kiss felt light as a feather but set my heart racing again.
The door closed softly behind him. I touched where he'd kissed me, still feeling residual warmth.
Months ago, I didn't dare lift my head when sharing an elevator with him. But now, he treated me like something precious, holding me carefully in his palm.
Life could be absurdly moving sometimes.
After the door closed, I was alone in the vast office.
I could hardly believe any of this was real.
I slowly walked to that leather chair and carefully sat down.
The chair was perfectly soft. As I leaned back, I nearly moaned from comfort.
Matvey was like an unexpected storm, upending all my indignities while... illuminating a future I'd never dared hope for.
I closed my eyes, placing my hand on my abdomen.
Life hadn't betrayed me, had it?
"Later, Mommy will design lots of beautiful jewelry, and with your daddy, we'll make you the happiest children in the world," I whispered to those two unformed little ones inside me.
Just then, a knock sounded.
"Come in." I instinctively straightened, trying to look like a proper director.
The door opened.
A girl carrying coffee backed in. She turned away from me, using one hand to close the door gently.
"Hello, you must be the new Director of Design?" Her voice was sweet and soft. "I made you coffee specially. I'm your assistant, Miranda. Whatever errands you need, just ask..."
My hands slowly clenched. Miranda.
I recognized her voice instantly. But she remained oblivious, facing away, her words so deferential and ingratiating.
As she spoke, she turned around. Then, the instant she saw my face, her voice cut off. That fawning smile froze.
"Riley?" Her eyes went wide, like she'd seen a ghost. "How come it's you?"
I watched her pale face, slowly leaning back into the soft chair.
"Why couldn't it be me, Miranda?"