Chapter 18
Artyom
The first-aid kit sat on my desk with the lid flipped open, its guts scattered everywhere—bandages, ointment, scissors, and an unopened tube of burn cream.
I hadn't planned on treating Lily myself. I hit the intercom.
"Send Maya in."
Maya handled this kind of petty medical crap better than anyone.
Lily sat on the sofa with her arms stretched out in front of her. The burn stood out hard against her pale skin—red around the edges, a thin layer of blisters already rising, shining under the warm yellow light.
She looked at me and muttered, "I actually liked it better when you treated me."
I didn't answer.
It wasn't that I couldn't do it. I just didn't have it in me right now.
Willow had walked out again.
Lily had said she wanted coffee earlier. I'd told her to have my assistant get it. I hadn't expected she'd rope Willow into it.
I still hadn't gotten a chance to explain yesterday to Willow. Now there was a brand-new misunderstanding stacked on top.
And with that little lightweight's personality, she was probably going to crawl into a hole and chew on it alone.
I rubbed my throbbing temples. The irritation kept climbing.
A knock hit the door.
"Come in."
Maya pushed inside.
I pointed toward the sofa. "Take care of her. Be gentle."
Maya nodded, scooped up the supplies with practiced hands, and walked over to Lily. "Might sting a bit. Hang in there."
Lily pouted, but she held her arm out like a good girl.
Maya moved light, dipped a cotton swab into the ointment, and carefully spread it over the thin blisters. Lily sucked in a sharp breath, brows pinching tight.
When Maya finished, she snapped the kit shut and stood. "Don't get it wet. The swelling should go down by tomorrow. If it still bothers you, call me."
Then she slipped out without a sound.
The room fell back into just me and Lily. The AC vent overhead hummed low. I stood by the window, staring at the gray-white sky outside. Lily sat quiet for a few seconds, then spoke.
"She didn't do it on purpose, right?"
Who? Who the hell was she talking about?
She must've read it on my face, because she kept going. "Willow. She probably just didn't have a good grip on the cup. She looked pretty freaked out."
So it was Willow.
I kept my back to her, didn't respond.
Lily paused, then her voice came again. "It's just... it feels like every time she gets close to me, something bad happens."
I heard it. The hook hidden in the words.
I turned around and looked at her.
She sat there with the ointment leaving a thin sheen on her skin. Her expression stayed calm, like she was lining up her thoughts, taking something messy and pulling it apart piece by piece, laying it out on a table for me to see.
"Like last night at the gala," she said. "She just happened to crash into the champagne tower. That's a little too convenient, isn't it?"
She didn't outright accuse Willow, but that kind of suggestive bullshit was its own kind of torture.
"So what?" My voice cooled. "You saying Willow did it on purpose? You saying she's targeting you?"
Lily lowered her lashes. "Artyom, I didn't mean it like that. It was just... too many coincidences. People can't help but think the worst."
The air locked up for a beat.
I watched her lowered lashes. They looked like they still held a little dampness.
She was waiting for me to take her side like I used to. Or at least show I hated Willow.
I didn't move.
"A coincidence is a coincidence, Lily."
I walked to the desk. "No one wants to embarrass themselves. She sure as hell doesn't."
That banquet had been torture.
The spotlight had been an interrogation lamp for her—every stare sharp with judgment, with malice. Someone like her would've rather disappeared into a corner than become gossip, let alone make a spectacle of herself in front of a crowd.
I kept it controlled. Almost cold.
I knew it would piss her off, maybe twist up that wounded pride of hers, but I wasn't going to betray my own judgment to play along with rumors—especially not when it came to Willow.
Lily lifted her head, stunned.
She clearly hadn't expected me to defend Willow. Or to calmly peel apart her little hints.
"You changed, Artyom." Her voice shook. "And I didn't mean it like that."
What she meant—I didn't care to dissect it.
All I heard was her steering everything to the same place: that woman named Willow would bring trouble wherever she went near me.
I didn't have patience for this. I grabbed the jacket draped over the chair.
"I have things to do. Rest here. Maya will set you up somewhere to stay."
I didn't look at her again.
All I could see was Willow's face at the doorway earlier—so blank. She hadn't even thrown a question at me.
It was a dead, hollow emptiness, like a deep well someone had sucked all the air out of.
Fuck.
I headed for the elevator.
Rapid heels clicked behind me, rushing closer.
"Artyom!"
Lily caught up, wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, and clung.
She pressed her face into my back. Hot tears soaked through my shirt.
She held on like she meant to crawl under my skin, wedge herself into my bones.
"Artyom, don't go. Please, don't go..."
I tried to pry her hands off. She locked down harder.
Her crying came out muffled and desperate. "I know I made the wrong call back then. I shouldn't have married that asshole, but I didn't have a choice. They forced me."
Her tears seeped through the fabric, cold enough to stiffen my spine. "I love you. I couldn't just watch you go to someone else."
"Not a single day went by where I didn't think about you. I kept telling myself once I got away from them, I'd come back for you. Artyom, we used to be so good. Just give me one more chance, okay?"
She let go and stepped in front of me.
Her eyes were swollen like walnuts. Her perfect makeup had smeared into a mess. She looked wrecked. Pitiful.
She grabbed my sleeve like it was the last thing keeping her upright. "Artyom. Please. Just once. Give me one chance."
I looked down at her. My chest stayed quiet.
I'd hated Lily once—hated that she'd left when I was at my worst, hated that she'd traded what we had for a taste of power. That bitterness had grown wild in me for years. I'd thought it had rooted too deep to ever rip out.
But right then, staring at her tear-soaked face, I didn't feel the satisfaction I'd imagined.
It was like she was a stranger.
"Lily." I pulled out a handkerchief and held it to her. "We have been over for a long time."
Her face went white. Her lips trembled, trying to form a rebuttal. I didn't give her room.
"I'll take care of you," I said. "I'll send people to talk to your family. They won't push you around anymore. That villa in your name and the monthly trust payments—I'll make sure they keep coming. You'll live just fine."
"But anything else? I can't give you."
I took a step back, opening space between us. "We both changed. I have moved on. And I have someone else in my heart now."
Lily's tears fell harder, but she didn't scream or fight.
Eyes red, she actually smiled a little at the end—fragile, almost obedient.
"I got it." She lifted a hand and wiped her face. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have wanted what wasn't mine."
"But if you go to her like this, you'll just make it worse."
Her voice still carried that thick, stuffed-up nasal sound. "Girls are sensitive. Let me go with you and explain."
It sounded reasonable.
And I needed Lily there to back it up. If we cleared the air, Willow wouldn't misunderstand anymore.
I pulled out my phone and called Maya. "Call Marketing. Have Willow Pierce come up."
Maya went quiet for two seconds. "She took the day off. The timeclock showed she left at noon."
"Track her location. Where is she now?"
Two minutes later, Maya messaged. "Ms. Pierce is at Central Park."
I didn't say another word. I snatched my jacket and moved for the elevator.
Lily followed behind me, silent, not causing a scene.
The car rolled all the way to Central Park. The evening wind had turned cool. The park was nearly empty.
I spotted that familiar figure from a distance, sitting on a bench.
She was talking and laughing with a man in a white dress shirt.
Then he turned his head and I finally saw his face—Ethan Hall. The heir of my rival crew.
My feet stopped dead.
Willow's world was small. Simple. How the hell did Ethan get tangled up in it?
The last of the sunset washed over them and made the whole scene look sickly peaceful.
Ethan tilted his head, listening to whatever Willow was saying, and he wore a soft smile I'd never seen on him.
It stabbed straight through my eyes.
Lily felt my shift and followed my line of sight.
Her face drained a shade. She grabbed my arm without thinking.
"Artyom," she said, shocked, fingers whitening. "That is Ethan Hall. Why is Willow with him?"
I didn't answer. I just stared.
Ethan said something that sounded playful, and Willow finally smiled—really smiled.
Eyes curving, light and unburdened.
I'd thought that smile belonged to me. But she gave it to another man—my enemy.
Heat flared up from somewhere ugly inside me, burning my control thin.
I shook Lily off and strode toward the bench.
My footsteps alerted them.
Willow looked up. The smile on her face froze, then cracked into panic—and something sharper underneath, a quiet resistance.
She shifted closer to Ethan without even thinking.
That tiny move hit me like a needle straight to the eye.
I stopped.
She was afraid of me?
How the hell did she get to be afraid of me?
Lily stood beside me and let out a soft gasp. "Mr. Hall, are you close with Ms. Pierce?"