Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Briony
I called in sick and went straight home.
The second the door shut, I finally stopped holding myself together.
My bag slid off my shoulder and hit the floor. I pressed my back against the door and slid down, burying my face in my knees. The first sob that tore out of me startled even myself. It sounded ugly, like a wounded animal.
I had to face the brutal, simple truth—Varlam protected me because he could. He kissed me because he wanted to.
Men like him had seen too many women, knew too well how to keep control. One promise, one embrace, one perfectly timed moment of tenderness—enough to make a fool like me think I'd been chosen. But when it came to someone he actually cared about, she always came first.
I bit down on my hand, but I couldn't stop the tears.
My phone buzzed in my bag. Once. Then again.
I knew I shouldn't. But my heart picked up pace, traitor that it was. Was it Varlam? Before I even lifted my head, I'd already started imagining what he'd say.
"Come back." Or maybe, "Where are you?"
He rarely explained. Just gave orders. And I'd curse him for being an asshole while being dragged right back to him by that unshakable certainty.
I wiped my eyes and grabbed my bag, fingers fumbling with the passcode. No name on the screen. Just a company email.
"Position Adjustment Notice: Effective tomorrow, Briony Cox will return to the Wedding Planning Department. Original position and responsibilities reinstated. Salary unchanged."
I read it three times. No reason. No transition. Nothing.
When Varlam pulled me from my old department, it was the same. A hard notice, a new desk uncomfortably close to his. He decided, I moved. Now he was done with me, so back I went.
My finger hovered over "salary unchanged."
This should be good news. I wouldn't have to see him with Brinny anymore.
Wouldn't have to sort through his complex reports spanning restaurants, jewelry stores, bars, and casinos.
Wouldn't have to wait late into the night with stacks of handwritten records while he returned from places I had no business knowing about.
I should be relieved. But tears kept falling onto the screen, blurring the words into smears of light.
People are so greedy. I used to only want money.
As long as I could pay off my parents' medical debt, make rent on time, and keep Rory's lunchbox full of things he liked, I could do any job.
Wash dishes, serve drinks, execute complicated wedding plans for impossible brides, take client calls at three a.m., show up to morning meetings with dark circles under my eyes.
I never complained about the hardness of it. Survival was supposed to be hard. But Varlam let me taste something else. Romance like bubbles. Passion. Safety. Then he personally proved none of it belonged to me.
I don't know how long I cried. Not until the wall clock reminded me Rory would be home soon did I drag myself off the floor. My legs had gone numb. I leaned against the shoe cabinet until feeling returned, then stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
The woman in the mirror had swollen eyes, a red nose, lips that still showed traces of being kissed. I scrubbed hard. My skin turned pink, but the mark felt burned into memory.
"Fuck." I glared at my reflection.
Crude words made everything pressing down on me feel slightly lighter.
Before Rory got home, I changed clothes, picked up the tissues, and boiled pasta. He burst through the door, sharing stories about gym class. I ruffled his hair like always and told him to wash his hands.
"Were you crying?" He stared at me for two seconds.
"Onions."
"You didn't use onions." He glanced at the pot.
I didn't know what to say.
Rory didn't push. Just walked over and hugged me, then ran to wash his hands like the hug never happened.
My throat tightened again. This was why I couldn't quit.
Not because of Varlam. Not because of that ridiculous infatuation. Because of this hug. The bills on the table. The activity fee notice in Rory's backpack for next month.
I didn't have the luxury of being selfish.
The next morning, I carried my things back to the Wedding Planning Department.
The office was louder than I remembered.
Maybe because I'd just come from the top floor, where everyone automatically lowered their voices around Varlam. I'd almost forgotten what a normal office sounded like.
Keyboards, phones, the printer jamming—all mixed together. Someone passed by with coffee, slowing when they saw me.
Within minutes, the whole department knew I was back.
The whispers didn't bother staying quiet. Some said I'd failed Varlam's probation. Others said his girlfriend sent me packing.
I kept my head down, organizing. Files on the left, sticky notes in the drawer. If my hands stayed busy, I could pretend those words weren't burrowing under my skin.
Lily naturally couldn't resist, but before she got too far, Winnie stepped in front of me.
"This is the Wedding Planning Department, not a tabloid office." Her smile was sweet, her tone razor-sharp. "Anyone with time to kill can address six hundred guest name cards for me."
The chatter died to keyboard clicks.
I didn't explain. Didn't show anything. Just sat at my old desk, opened my computer, and forced myself to deal with the wedding project I'd just been assigned. As long as I kept moving, I didn't have to think.
I confirmed ceremony timing and checked with the florist about the bride's last-minute table arrangement change. Vendors called. The seating chart still had issues.
But no matter how busy I stayed, my mind drifted back to yesterday.
At noon, Winnie finally had enough. She closed my laptop.
"Come on. Lunch first."
She dragged me to our usual place—an affordable restaurant.
The lunch rush was packed. The server recognized us and seated us in a back booth. Just one block from the office, but far enough that coworkers' stares couldn't follow.
I ordered soup without thinking. Winnie got a sandwich and coffee. Once the server left, she turned to me.
"What happened?" Her voice was gentle enough to make me want to cry. "You look like you didn't sleep at all."
"I don't know." The truth, and the worst part.
If Varlam had straight-up told me he was done, or that Brinny was back so I was useless, I could at least call him an asshole to his face. But there was nothing. Just a transfer notice.
Like everything changed, but no one would tell me why.
"It just happened suddenly," I said. "One minute, he was in the elevator..."
My throat closed. I swallowed the rest.
"Then that woman—his ex—showed up. He held her and left. Didn't look at me. When I got home, the transfer notice was waiting."
"He said it himself?"
"No. But it came from his email."
"Then how do you know it was his decision?"
I smiled bitterly.
Winnie raised her hands. "Okay, I know. Who else would dare make that call? But this still feels wrong. Too fast."
"Some people throw away what they don't need fast."
The words opened a wound in my chest. I forced myself to summarize yesterday.
Brinny asked me to get water, deliberately spilled lukewarm water on herself. When Varlam came in, he didn't let me explain—just checked if she was hurt, then made me apologize.
Winnie's expression darkened.
"He believed her completely. Wouldn't give me a chance to explain." Bitterness coated my mouth.
"She was faking it, and he was too stupid to see it."
Winnie said it too loud. The couple at the next table turned.
She paused, giving them a polite smile.
"Sorry. Discussing a very failed wedding."
They turned back.
I should've laughed. But my mouth barely moved before my eyes burned.
"He's my boss, but I have to say it—he's an asshole." Winnie hissed. "And that Brinny, using tricks this cheap—she didn't come back for her ex, she came back for a performance."
"But she won."
"Only because the judge was on her side from the start."
My fingers tightened. That was the part that hurt most. Winnie saw, covering my hand with hers.
"I feel so stupid. Every time, I wanted to believe he cared."
"Briony, this isn't your fault." Winnie's voice softened. "You believed him because he made you think you could."
My phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a new email. The sender's name stopped my breath. Varlam Petrov.
My heart forgot yesterday's injury, slamming against my ribs anyway.
He'd finally reached out. I shouldn't hope. Shouldn't believe. But the explanation I'd waited for yesterday suddenly had a narrow opening. Maybe he'd say the transfer was temporary. Maybe he'd ask why I hadn't come back.
Maybe—
I opened it.
"New Project: Wedding planning for Varlam Petrov and Miss Brinny Vasilieva. Submit preliminary proposal ASAP."
The world went quiet.
Winnie said my name. I heard nothing. Each word on the screen sat perfectly straight, black, emotionless. They arranged themselves into a sharp blade, slicing open yesterday's wound.
Another wedding.
My first planning job was for my ex-boyfriend and the friend I'd trusted most. I personally checked flowers, confirmed vows, adjusted seating, stood there while they exchanged rings. I thought that was the cruelest joke life could pull.
Clearly, I'd underestimated it.
Now I had to plan Varlam's wedding to the woman he actually loved. Choose their venue, design the processional. Confirm what lighting Varlam would stand under while watching another woman walk toward him.
My hands shook. The screen blurred. Those names melted together through my tears, mocking me for not even knowing my place.
"Hey." Winnie's voice cut through. "Why are you crying?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I pushed the phone across the table. She read it, her face hardening.
"He wants you to plan their wedding?"
"I don't know how to do this." My voice came out raw.
I took a breath. My chest only got tighter.
Winnie grabbed napkins and shoved them at me.
"Then don't. Quit."
I looked up.
"This isn't the only job in the world." She was barely containing her anger. "He can't push you away and then force you to roll out their red carpet."
"If I quit, Rory and I won't even have a place to live." I clutched the napkin.
Varlam paid off my parents' debt, but life with Rory hadn't gotten easier.
Winnie froze.
"Then move in with me." Her tone was decisive. "My place is small, but it'll fit you both."
I looked at her. She was barely getting by herself, but didn't hesitate to offer help. The suffocating pressure in my chest finally cracked open. I still had Rory. I still had Winnie. I couldn't let this break me.
I looked back at my phone. That email still sat there, cold.
"Forget it." I wiped my eyes. "I'll treat this like a goodbye ceremony."
Winnie frowned.
"You sure?"
"At least I'll finish this wedding, get paid, then forget him completely." My voice still trembled.
But it sounded like a decision.
Winnie studied me, then sighed.
"Fine. Look at it this way—at least you slept with Mr. Petrov, so that's not—"
Nausea slammed into my throat. I covered my mouth.
Winnie stopped mid-sentence.
"Sorry." I shoved my chair back. "I need the restroom."
I bolted from the booth, nearly colliding with the server bringing our food.
The restaurant's mix of grilled meat, butter, and coffee turned suffocating. My stomach twisted, acid surging up in waves.
I pushed into the bathroom and doubled over the toilet, dry heaving.
It had to be stress. That damn email.
Damn Varlam. He made me sick.