Chapter 26
Artyom
The line went dead.
Willow's temper had gotten worse by the day.
I stared out the window. The sunlight looked too bright, almost fake. Golden flecks danced across the glass, bright as my mood.
She wouldn't have pulled this shit before. Now she had gotten smarter—she had learned to fight my control by hanging up on me.
I glanced at the stack of files spread across my desk, then at Maya standing in front of it.
"Did you get everything on Tom Carson?"
Maya adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses and set an encrypted USB drive in front of me.
"All of it, sir. The last three years—he has siphoned project funds using his position.
We have statements and recordings from three female subordinates he harassed.
The chain of evidence is clean. It is enough to keep him in prison for fifteen years.
Also, Marketing's Jessica Harper is his mistress.
She has helped launder money in two of the embezzlement cases.
We have already submitted the evidence to the police. "
I grunted.
Tom Carson. I hadn't forgotten the way he looked at Willow—sticky, nasty. It had reminded me of a sewer rat. It had made my stomach turn.
If he couldn't keep his eyes and hands to himself, the law could teach him how to behave.
I didn't need to get my hands dirty. I only had to tip the first domino. The rest would fall right on schedule.
All those loud rumors in the company—about Willow being "loose," about her "sleeping her way up"—would collapse on their own.
"Tell Legal to cooperate with the police. And once Marketing's director spot opens up, Willow takes it."
Maya looked surprised. "You mean dropping her in?"
I rolled the pen between my fingers and set the record straight. "I have read every proposal she touched while she worked here. Her thinking and execution are ten times better than Tom's. She earned that chair."
Maya nodded. "Yes, sir. I will arrange the HR transfer shortly. One more thing—Miss Blake showed up again this morning. She said she wants to see you. She is waiting in the reception room."
I frowned. Something in my chest tightened in a way I couldn't name.
Lily...
I didn't want to see her.
I had helped her only because she was my former fiancée, the girl I'd loved when I was young.
But the second she showed up, the friction between me and Willow had gone straight to hell.
I knew what Lily had said was possible. But I refused to believe Willow would betray me.
Even if the USB drive really had ended up in her bag. Even if she had tried to run and I'd caught her red-handed. Something in my gut kept telling me she wouldn't do it.
"Tell her I am busy." My voice hardened. "If she comes again, Security escorts her out. Don't announce her anymore."
Maya was about to answer when the office door got shoved open from the outside.
Ethan Hall stood in the doorway, handsome face cold as ice. Two bodyguards hovered behind him, held back by my men. The air snapped tight in an instant.
I raised a brow and leaned back in my chair. "What is this, Hall? Nobody taught you to knock?"
Ethan didn't bother with my sarcasm. He strode to my desk.
He planted both hands on the desktop and locked his eyes on me. "Artyom. Hand Willow over."
I laughed, then let my gaze go cold, inch by inch. "Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here demanding anyone from me? Ethan—out of respect for your father and the little bit of history we have, you walk out right now, and I pretend this never happened."
"History?" Ethan scoffed. "Artyom, save the posturing. You don't love Willow. You should let her go."
"Let her go?" I rose slowly, looking down at the man who'd let anger rot his brain. "Ethan, you have one thing wrong."
"Willow isn't property. There isn't any 'letting go.' And whether I love her or not isn't your damn business."
Ethan's mouth twisted. "You love her? If you love her, you wouldn't keep that pretty ex-fiancée glued to your side every day.
Willow is sensitive. Every move you make jabs her right where it hurts.
You really think saying 'I love you' covers up all that messy, blurry bullshit?
Artyom, stop lying to yourself. To you, she is just a shiny new toy. "
"Whatever she is, that is between me and her. You are an outsider." I stared at him, and the urge to erase him flared hard and hot. "I am warning you one more time, Ethan Hall. Even if your father stood here, he would speak to me with manners. You don't have that kind of standing."
"I don't?" Ethan's lips pulled into a cold curve. "Artyom, I have more standing than you. At least I would respect what she wants. I would have the balls to admit who she is to me. If Willow were with me, I wouldn't let her swallow this kind of humiliation."
Humiliation.
So that was how it looked from the outside—that I'd been the one humiliating her.
I let out a low laugh. It sounded ridiculous. It sounded like ice.
Admitting her "status" wasn't what had scared me. What scared me was the danger at my back, the kind that could swallow her whole.
I came around the desk and closed in on him step by step until we stood close enough to see our warped reflections in each other's eyes.
"I am saying it again. You get out right now, or you stay here forever."
Ethan didn't answer. He shot me one last cold look, turned, and marched out.
The office fell silent. Only my rough breathing filled it.
I stood there, and Ethan's words kept replaying in my head, like a hammer cracking down on my chest.
He'd been right.
I'd lived thirty-six years taking what I wanted, never once caring whether the other person wanted it too.
Everything I'd done "for" Willow had been what I'd decided was good for her. I'd never asked what she wanted. I'd never really tried to see it from her side.
I pulled out my phone to call her. The screen lit up. Her number stared back at me. My finger hovered over the call button, and I still didn't press it.
I got annoyed. At myself. At everything.
I'd kept her beside me because I'd wanted to protect her. But I couldn't tell her the truth. I'd been scared my identity would scare her off.
I yanked at my tie, grabbed my coat, and walked out.
Maya asked if I wanted a driver. I waved her off and said nothing, heading straight into the elevator.
I drove with no destination.
Street after street slid backward outside the window until I stopped in front of the bar where I'd met Willow.
It was only three in the afternoon. The place was quiet.
The owner saw me and froze, then rushed over. "Mr. Sokolov. What brings you in? Your usual room?"
I nodded and went straight to the back—private room 806.
The setup looked almost identical to that night. Warm yellow wall lights. A dark gray sofa. Even the air seemed to hold onto her—sweet, like raspberries.
I dropped onto the sofa, cracked open a bottle of whiskey, and poured drink after drink.
The cold liquor slid down my throat and burned my stomach, but it still didn't come close to the pain in my chest.
I remembered the first time I'd seen her—drunk as hell, pushing the door open and stumbling in, eyes sparkling like she'd smuggled a whole sky full of stars.
She'd swallowed hard and said she was going to "take real good care of me," like I was some hired escort.
Afterward she'd tossed me two hundred and fifty bucks and bolted.
I remembered her that night, drunk and standing on the bar throwing cash, laughing like an idiot. Her hair had been a mess, beer foam on her face, and she'd still looked better than any woman I'd ever seen.
Everyone else had been yelling and cheering. She'd just grinned, eyes curved like crescents, holding up a bottle and shouting, "Drinks are on me tonight!" Dumb as shit. Cute as hell.
I remembered her in the conference room, hands shaking, but her presentation still came out clean and sharp. When she'd finished, she'd looked up at me like she didn't quite dare—hopeful and scared at the same time. Like a startled rabbit.
I remembered that day in the park, when she'd seen me walking with Lily. Panic and hurt had flashed in her eyes like a needle. My heart still hurt where it had pierced.
Lily kept saying Willow would play me. What a joke.
Willow was so damn clueless she didn't even know to report it when people bullied her. She hadn't even recognized me as her boss. How the hell would she "calculate" anything?
If she'd had that kind of brain, she wouldn't have let them push her around for so long.
I pulled out my wallet.
It was her wallet.
She'd shoved it at me when she paid. I'd taken it after.
In the inner pocket, the two hundred and fifty bucks from that night still sat there—two hundreds and a wrinkled fifty, the corners worn fuzzy.
I rubbed my thumb over the bill and couldn't stop my mouth from lifting.
I should've talked to Willow. For real.
I needed to tell her who I was. And that Lily wasn't my fiancée.
I needed to tell her Tom and Jessica were already headed to prison, and nobody would dare touch her again.
I needed to tell her if she didn't want the director job, she didn't have to take it—she could do whatever she wanted, and I'd be right there with her. And I needed to tell her I liked her...
Yeah. I liked her.
I'd liked her from the first second.
I hadn't wanted to cage her in that house. I'd wanted a life with her.
She was soft-hearted. If I just talked to her right, she'd forgive me. Right?
I leaned back on the sofa, Willow's smile filling my head.
I could almost hear her voice again, sweet and soft, calling me "handsome," telling me she'd pay extra.
I didn't know how long I drank before the door swung open.
I figured it was the owner. I lifted my eyes, hazy, and saw Lily in the doorway—with my driver behind her.
"Artyom, why did you drink this much?"
Lily came over and tried to help me up. I jerked away from her hand on instinct.
The driver moved fast, catching me. "Sir, you are drunk. I'll take you home."
My head felt heavy and useless. I didn't have the energy to talk. I let him haul me out.
Lily stayed at my side, talking nonstop. I didn't hear a word. All I could think about was seeing Willow and how I was going to apologize.
By the time we pulled up to the villa, it was dark.
The driver helped me out. The second we reached the entryway, I saw Willow standing in the living room.
She wore an ivory lounge set, hair loosely tied back, a water cup in her hand. When she saw us, she froze.
I wanted to smile. I wanted to tell her I was back. But my tongue curled on itself. Nothing came out. I let the driver half-carry me toward the sofa.
Lily reacted first. She hurried to Willow. "Ms. Pierce, could you help for a second? Can we get Artyom upstairs to the bedroom? He is too drunk, and the driver can't manage him alone."
Willow went quiet for a few seconds, then nodded. "Okay."
She set the cup on the table and came over, taking my other arm.
Her wrist was thin. Through the soft fabric I felt the cool, clean warmth of her, a hint of orange blossom detergent clinging to her.
My heart softened instantly. I leaned toward her without thinking, wanting to bury my face in her neck the way I always had when I'd been drunk—wanting to breathe her in, to rub against her hair.
"Don't." She said it under her breath. "Don't move around."
She didn't like me moving. So I didn't.
I went still right away, letting her and the driver walk me to the stairs.
The steps were steep. My legs felt like cotton. Every step floated wrong.
Willow held me steady, grip stronger than she looked, like she was scared I'd tumble backward.
The driver let go at the right moment and stepped aside. "Sir, I'll head out. Call me if you need anything."
Willow didn't answer. She only dipped her head.
When the door closed behind him, the bedroom was left with nothing but our heavy breathing.
Willow lowered me onto the bed.
"Get some sleep."
I cracked my eyes open. She was right there beside me.
For a moment, the alcohol haze eased. I shut my eyes and let myself sink into the quiet.