Chapter 22
Artyom
A week had passed since Lily got attacked.
Most of that week, I had lived between the hospital and my office.
Lily had been healing. Three broken ribs. The concussion symptoms had faded bit by bit. The bruises had shifted from purple-black to a sickly yellow.
She had slept most of the time. When she woke and saw me in the room, she had smiled—small—and said, "You came."
Sometimes I had sat by her bed. Sometimes I had just stood at the window.
Outside, the sky had gone from light to dark to light again, and my mind had fixated on pointless shit—whether that restaurant had ever cleared the fish, how long she had stood there that night before going back in, whether anyone had messed with her again.
On Wednesday, I had left the house and driven to the inpatient building.
Maya had waited by the entrance, handed me a stack of documents for my signature, and lowered her voice. "Sir, Blake's family came by this morning. We stopped them outside. They looked pretty worked up."
I had grunted, face blank.
I knew exactly what the Blake family had been after—an opportunistic clan. The second Lily still had value, they had been desperate to snatch her back.
As the elevator rose, Maya had hesitated, then added, "One more thing. Over in Marketing, Ms. Pierce hasn't really been coming in this week."
The pen had paused between my fingers.
After that blowup at the restaurant, she hadn't sent a single text. Not one call.
I had iced her out for three days on purpose, waiting for her to come to me and explain. Instead, she had vanished like smoke.
"Handle it by the book," my voice had turned colder. "Any days she missed, she makes them up."
Maya had answered yes and hadn't pushed.
When I had opened Lily's door, she had been sitting by the window with a camel cashmere blanket over her legs.
She had turned, a faint smile on her face. "You came."
She still looked pale, which had made the lipstick on her mouth look almost violent.
I had walked over, tossed my coat on the sofa, and asked like it didn't matter, "How do you feel today?"
"Better. The doctor said I could leave in a couple days." She had patted the spot beside her, motioning me to sit. "The nurse helped me walk downstairs earlier. The flowers are blooming. It smells amazing."
I had flipped through the test reports on the table and hadn't answered.
The room had gone quiet for a few seconds before Lily had sighed. "Artyom, there's something I don't know if I should say."
I had looked up. "Say it."
She had bitten her lower lip, like it pained her. "I know you really liked Ms. Pierce. I'm not trying to come between you. But I can't just watch you get screwed."
She had paused, eyes on my face, careful with every word. "I heard one of the house staff mention they'd seen Ms. Pierce lingering in your study a lot. And you keep all your documents in there. What if..."
My brow had tightened.
Lily's voice had softened even more, sincere worry threaded through it. "You know the Hall family has been trying to steal that port project you're bidding next month. And Willow and Ethan have been so close. I'm worried..."
I had wanted to believe Willow.
But the USB drive for the port project had gone missing.
If Willow really had been as Lily said—tight with Ethan, even getting close to me on purpose—then it hadn't been some messy romance. It had been a planned-out theft.
The sunlight outside had been harsh, bright enough to sting. It hadn't reached the dark, ugly place in my chest.
The timing of that missing drive had been too perfect. Perfect enough that I couldn't hide Willow behind the word accident.
"I'll find out."
I had set the reports down.
Lily had let out a breath and reached for the back of my hand. I had shifted away without making a show of it.
Her fingers had curled in midair, then she had pulled back like nothing happened.
"I knew you'd be smart about it." Her voice had stayed gentle. "Artyom, I just don't want you used. Feelings make people stupid. They take your judgment first."
"Yeah."
I had stood and left the room.
Over and over, I had told myself she wasn't that kind of woman.
But everything had pointed at her. Lily's warning. The missing USB. The surveillance records—tight as a net, closing around me until it had been hard to breathe.
"Boss."
Maya's voice had hit again. "Marketing just sent word up. Ms. Pierce submitted a resignation a week ago. She said there was a family issue and she needed to quit immediately. She said she didn't even need her pay."
The words had landed like a lightning strike. I had gone dead-still.
Resigned?
She wouldn't even tell me to my face. She had just been that eager to run?
My heart had felt like a fist had crushed it. I couldn't get air in.
"Where is she right now?"
My voice had shaken. Not fear. Rage.
"We tracked her phone. It is at the apartment she rented," Maya said. "Do you want me to send people to stop her?"
"No." I had clenched my teeth, snatched my coat, and headed for the elevator. "I'll go myself."
I had driven like hell, blown through more than a few red lights.
My foot had stayed heavy on the gas, my head a wreck.
Images had flickered like a broken reel—her profile at the bar, focused on mixing a drink; her arms around me during sex, the way she'd clung and kissed; that night at the gala when she'd bristled the second I'd mentioned finding my fiancée, all cute and feral.
Every frame had felt real. Too real. Real enough that betrayal in the present felt like a stupid nightmare.
I didn't believe she'd do this to me.
I just couldn't argue with the evidence.
By the time I'd pulled up under her building, the sky had been pitch-black.
I had slammed the door and climbed the stairs fast, each step like I'd been walking on blades.
Maya had moved to follow, and I had stopped her. "Wait downstairs. I'm going up alone."
I wanted to see it with my own eyes—whether she really had been about to take my shit and run off into the sunset with Ethan.
Her place had been on the sixth floor. Old building. No elevator.
By the time I'd made it up, sweat had filmed my temples.
At her door, I had heard the wheels of a suitcase scraping across the floor inside—again and again, like it had been grinding right through my chest.
So she had been packing. Running.
Heat had surged up my spine. I hadn't knocked. I'd slipped a wire into the lock and twisted it open.
The living room had glowed with warm yellow light.
Willow had stood with her back to me by the coffee table.
Two big suitcases had sat packed by her feet.
She had bent over, shoving clothes from the couch into a bag, moving like it hurt.
Every now and then she had braced a hand on her lower back and paused.
Middle of the night. That much luggage. If that wasn't running, what the hell was it?
I had leaned on the doorframe and watched her coldly, my voice iced over. "Where are you going?"
She had whipped around, the clothes dropping onto the suitcase.
The light had hit her face. The shock in her eyes had been swallowed by panic, inch by inch.
Anger and disappointment had surged together, almost burning my sanity clean through.
"Talk. Where are you going?"
I had stepped closer, gaze locked on her.
Her face had gone white in a snap. She had bitten her lower lip hard enough to leave a red mark, eyes darting everywhere but mine.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Where I go is my business."
"Your business?" I had laughed—short and sharp—and kicked one of her suitcases. "Willow, nobody gets to play with my feelings like this."
Her fingers had twisted the hem of her shirt, knuckles tense, head bowed.
"Artyom, you got it wrong. I just want to move. The lease is up."
Watching her look guilty as sin, I'd almost laughed again.
"The lease is up?" I had stared down at her. "And that means you have to quit your job too?"
That line had hit her like a sledgehammer.
Her hands had frozen on her clothes. The strength had drained out of her, and she had stumbled back half a step until her spine had hit the wall.
"How did you know?" Her voice had trembled. The calm mask had finally cracked.
I hadn't felt any satisfaction. Just a soaked, heavy pressure in my chest, suffocating.
So it had all been true.
She had been cutting me off for good.
She had gotten what she'd wanted, betrayed my trust, and now she had been ready to bolt with that bastard Ethan.
"Willow, I'm disappointed." I had moved in, step by step, and gripped her chin. "Were you really going to take what you stole from me and hand it to my enemy like some pledge offering? You couldn't wait to go meet your new owner?"
Willow had gone still.
She had scrambled for an explanation. "Artyom, you're wrong about me!"
As she spoke, she had started digging through her suitcase.
I had stayed where I was, watching her perform.
She'd gotten faster. Desperate. Her fingertips had been shaking. Then she'd hit something, and a small silver object had dropped out with a sharp clack, rolling right to my feet.
I'd recognized it.
The USB drive from my study.
The air had gone dead quiet.
Her hands had stopped mid-motion. Her face had turned paper-white.
I'd bent down and picked it up. Cold metal had pressed into my palm.
"A misunderstanding?"
I had let out a small laugh, and it had felt like somebody had carved a chunk out of my chest, pain spreading through every nerve.
I'd lifted the drive and tilted it in front of her eyes. The casing had thrown back a hard, cold gleam under the lamp. "Willow, you are a hell of an actress."
Willow's mouth had opened, and the tears had finally slipped free.
The panic in her eyes had collapsed into something dead and gray—pure despair.
"No, Artyom, listen—"
Her tears had hit the floor in heavy drops. "I swear I don't know why it is in my suitcase."
I couldn't listen to it.
I had twisted myself into knots trying to make excuses for her, but I couldn't outrun the fact that she had betrayed me.
I had stepped in and grabbed her wrist hard.
"Willow, you aren't going anywhere."
Traitors didn't get to run.