Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Briony
"Why hasn't Varlam been coming around?"
Rory asked as I slid a plate of overcooked pasta in front of him.
He didn't know what had happened between us. He only remembered Varlam pulling him from the water, that expensive dinner that felt like home, and how the tall, serious man promised to take him to a boxing match next time.
"He's busy." I pushed the plate closer. "Adults have a lot of work."
"You're an adult." Rory stabbed at the mushy pasta with his fork. "But you come home almost every day and cook me weird stuff."
The kid always knew exactly where to twist the knife.
"Eat your breakfast." I glared at him. He glared back.
"This is breakfast?"
"One more word and you're getting the same thing for dinner."
He shut up fast and wrestled with his pasta.
I turned to wipe down the counter, catching my reflection in the clean surface. My face looked calm. Only my eyes gave me away—filled with nothing but loneliness.
Varlam really was busy. He had things to do. That's what I'd been telling myself for days.
He came to the office less and less. When he did show up, that woman was always beside him—Brinny Vasilieva. The joke was, Varlam never introduced her. I had to dig up what little information I could find online.
Either way, everything changed after Brinny appeared. Those after-hours kisses, his hand on my lower back, our breathing tangled together in the dark—gone. Just endless work waiting for me.
Rory's meals wouldn't magically appear on the table, and the reports piling up on my desk wouldn't sprout legs and walk back to the file room just because some asshole had trampled my heart. I could only stay late checking numbers, processing documents that had mysteriously doubled.
After rushing home, doing all the housework, I thought I could finally rest. But then I'd see it again—Varlam tilting his head to listen to Brinny, patient and gentle. Every morning I woke up with darker circles under my eyes than the day before.
I choked down a few bites of breakfast, put Rory on the school bus, and rushed to the office. I didn't have time to wallow.
I sat at my desk and dove into the mountain of work. Before long, the office door opened. Brinny walked in alone. No Varlam.
"A glass of water." She set her purse on top of my files. "Nothing in it."
"One moment." I stood to get a cup.
It was part of being an assistant.
As I passed her, I caught a faint scent of cedar. I knew it too well—that was Varlam's scent. I didn't want to think about how close he'd held her for his smell to rub off on her. Maybe they'd done more than hug this morning. Maybe they'd kissed. Maybe even... My jaw clenched.
I walked stiffly to the break room, watching the temperature display climb.
Varlam's coffee had to be a precise temperature. Too hot and the aroma turned bitter. Too cool and he'd frown. I'd only needed two tries to get it right. I knew his coffee temperature by heart, but I hadn't known he'd been saving a place for another woman all along.
When I returned to the office, Brinny was sitting in my chair, casually flipping through the files on my desk.
"Those are internal documents." I set the glass beside her and closed the folder. "You can't look at those."
"Five minutes for one glass of water." She slowly raised her head, not even embarrassed about being caught.
She didn't touch the glass, just stared at me like she hadn't just been caught snooping.
"Too many people in the break room."
"Quick with excuses." The vulnerability from our first meeting had vanished from her eyes. "Varlam pays you good money—not to hide in the break room slacking off. Can't even bring a glass of water properly. Think you're earning your salary?"
"Mr. Petrov pays me to handle his work." I met her gaze. "Including keeping people from going through his files."
She finally stood. She was about my height but painfully thin. Standing straight, her neck and shoulders formed a perfect line—probably corrected from childhood, every lift of her chin and placement of her feet drilled into ladylike standards.
"You think you're doing a good job?" She looked at me with pure arrogance.
Nothing like her delicate image.
"At least I know what confidentiality means."
Her smile faded.
"Too bad loyalty doesn't mean you belong at his side."
My chest tightened, but my face didn't move. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
"Am I not being direct enough?" Her gaze slid from my face to my chest, then down to my hips beneath my skirt.
"You slept with Varlam a few times and think you're his woman?
You're young, your body's interesting enough—of course he wanted to try you out.
But novelty doesn't mean he's serious about you. "
The insult hit like a slap.
I gripped the cup handle, swallowing the surge of emotion. Had Varlam told her everything about us? Did he really see our relationship as nothing but fuck buddies?
I didn't forget this was work hours. I tried to treat her like any unreasonable client.
"You came here first thing in the morning just to critique my body?"
"I'm reminding you to know your place." Her voice had that uncomfortable softness. "You and him—you're from completely different worlds. Maybe Varlam finds you fresh. Maybe he'll play around with you for a while. But he won't let some clueless little assistant into his life."
"Sounds like you know his life pretty well." I already guessed the answer but still asked, clinging to one last thread of hope.
"We grew up together." Finally, she showed a hint of satisfaction. "The Petrov and Vasiliev families go back decades. When Varlam got hurt the first time, I was there. First time he got drunk, I watched over him. During his hardest years, I was the one beside him."
My throat felt stuffed with cotton. Those were all versions of Varlam I'd never seen. Not the man who commanded the conference room, not the man who pinned me down until my reason shattered, but a young, wounded Varlam who hadn't yet locked away all his emotions.
"So stop fantasizing he'll develop feelings for you." She traced her fingertip across my shoulder, like drawing a line between me and their world.
She'd exposed the thought I least wanted to show anyone. I set the glass on the desk before I accidentally smashed it.
"If I hadn't chosen to study abroad back then, you wouldn't even have the chance to stand here." She lifted her chin slightly, delivering her final blow.
"You're his ex-girlfriend." Some scattered pieces of information in my mind finally formed a complete picture.
"I prefer to say I'm the one he's been waiting for." She didn't deny it, just reframed it.
The air suddenly thinned. My breathing came harder than usual. Defeat weighed down my shoulders. But for some reason, a fire I couldn't extinguish kept burning inside me.
Why should I retreat like I'd already lost? She was just Varlam's ex. She left him. She came back. Why should I act guilty just because she knew some old stories?
"Let me guess." My shoulders relaxed slightly. "You left him back then, but now you can't let go, so you came back to check if your spot's still waiting?"
Her expression froze for the first time.
"I'm right?" I smiled. "Whatever you were before, you're past tense now."
So what if she knew his past? She was the one who left it. I was the one who stayed.
"Past tense?" She snorted. "All I have to do is crook my finger and he'll come right back. You've already seen it, haven't you? Or did you forget how pathetic you looked the day I returned?"
Her words ripped open a barely-healed wound. I remembered that cold reprimand outside the office door, the ache in my lungs.
"If you're so sure he belongs to you, why don't you say all this to his face?" The words made my chest swell.
I knew I was bluffing. If Varlam walked in right now and reached for her hand, every word I'd just said would become a joke.
But I'd already lost to her so many times. Not this time. This time I wouldn't back down.
Brinny's face darkened—the first time I'd seen this expression on her.
Footsteps in the hallway broke our standoff. Varlam. I knew his walk too well—steady, unhurried, each step precisely measured. Brinny obviously heard it too.
She wiped every expression from her face, blue eyes filling with tears. Before I could figure out what she was doing, she'd grabbed the glass from the desk.
"You—"
She threw the water at herself. Her pearl-white dress immediately soaked through. Then, while I stood frozen, she shoved the empty glass into my hand.
Everything happened too fast. I watched her collapse into the chair.
"So hot..." Her tears spilled instantly.
The door swung open. Varlam stood in the doorway. I didn't know what scene had just burned into his eyes.
My first reaction wasn't panic. It was disbelief. This trick was too old. So old even third-rate novel villains would be embarrassed.
She actually thought Varlam would believe I'd attacked his... ex-girlfriend with a glass of lukewarm water in his own office? She wasn't just crazy—she thought we were both idiots.
"Varlam." She struggled to stand, gripping the chair, face pale.
"What happened?" Varlam strode over, past me, stopping in front of her.
He steadied her shoulders, urgently checking for injuries. When he saw her soaked dress and the redness on her arm, he glanced at the glass in my hand. I had no idea how water with no heat could leave red marks on her arm.
Brinny choked on a sob, her eyes flicking to me like she was trying hard to cover for me.
"Just a misunderstanding." She lowered her lashes. "It was my fault."
I almost laughed out loud.
"She saw you coming and threw the water on herself, then shoved the glass in my hand." I didn't think Varlam would buy this cheap act, but I explained anyway. "Then somehow she just collapsed on her own."
Describing it again, I still found it unbelievable.
After hearing me, Brinny didn't argue.
"If she says so, then fine." Her tears fell harder. "I'm okay. Really."
"Tell me everything. I need to hear all of it." Varlam's voice dropped.
Brinny finally broke, sobbing out her grievances.
"I asked Briony to get me water. She's your assistant—I wanted us to get along. But she said she hated me, that I'd stolen your attention. And then she..." Her words stopped at exactly the right place, making Varlam's eyes turn ice-cold on me.
"She's lying." I looked into his eyes.
Brinny's body trembled lightly in his arms.
"I don't blame her. Maybe she was just too angry. Lost control of her emotions." She continued being "understanding," each word making Varlam's expression darker.
"I didn't!" I raised my voice, as if volume could make Varlam listen. "She made it up. I adjusted the temperature specifically—it couldn't have actually burned her. She staged this whole damn thing!"
Varlam's jaw was rigid. He didn't speak immediately. But that moment of silence gave me no hope. I knew he was containing his anger—anger directed at me.
"Does it hurt?" He gently touched her arm, thumb avoiding the red spots.
Brinny pressed her lips together and shook her head.
Varlam brushed away her tears, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. The kiss was light, but it punched through my chest like a bullet.
"She's acting." My voice shook. "Varlam, can't you see it?"
Varlam finally looked away from her. When his eyes landed on me, his brow was low and dark.
"Apologize." He spoke coldly.
"What?" I thought I'd misheard.
"Apologize to her." He repeated it, tone even harder. "Then clean this up."
"You didn't even ask me what actually happened, you just..." I could barely breathe.
"Briony." His warning sounded like a final chance for an insubordinate employee.
I stared at his unfeeling eyes, hurt and rage blocking my chest. Why did he believe every ridiculous thing Brinny said? But when I tried to tell the truth, he looked at me like that—like he'd already judged me guilty. He'd never believed me. Not for a second.
"I won't apologize for something I didn't do." I swallowed the acid in my throat, forcing out each word.
"This is work hours."
"So what? Taking a paycheck means I have to accept false accusations?"
"It means you should take responsibility for your unprofessional behavior during office hours." He didn't touch me, but I felt his hand around my throat. "If you can't do the bare minimum, I'll find someone who can."
The world went quiet for a second.
He didn't say he'd fire me outright, but I understood. He knew I needed this job. He knew I couldn't just storm out—he knew damn well I had no choice but to stay.
I looked at his face and felt nothing but strangeness. He was used to giving orders, used to everyone obeying him. He'd used that dominance on me once, and I'd mistaken it for being special. All of it had been my own delusion.
I swallowed every emotion. They scraped down my throat, tasting like rust and blood.
"I'm sorry." The words ground out through my teeth.
"Look at her." Varlam's brow didn't soften an inch.
My last shred of dignity struggled in my chest. Then I gave in and turned to face that woman.
"I'm sorry, Miss Vasilieva."
"It's fine." She waved her hand, voice soft. "I know you didn't mean it."
But the corner of her mouth curled up in triumph. She'd won.
I set down the glass and pulled a cleaning cloth from the cabinet. When my knees hit the floor, I finally understood what I'd lost.