Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Hailey
I hadn't slept at all.
More like, I'd lain there staring at that crack in the ceiling from two in the morning until the sky finally bled into daylight.
My head kept playing last night on a busted loop— that velvet box, that violently green necklace, and those SUVs downstairs that looked like they'd rolled straight out of a mob movie.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand a few times.
I knew who it was.
Mr. X.
And I didn't want to look. Not even a little.
If those black-suited bodyguards built like towers really were his private muscle... then what the hell was I to him? Some cheap little thing he'd tagged on a whim? A trophy he hadn't even bothered to unwrap yet?
When the light finally shoved through the gap in the curtains, I dragged myself up and went through the motions—washed up, got dressed. The girl in the mirror had dark bruises under her eyes and skin pale as a ghost.
That necklace still sat on my nightstand.
I stared at the velvet box forever, then shoved it into the very back of the drawer and buried it under a couple old sweaters.
I didn't know what to do with it.
Send it back? I didn't even know who he really was.
Keep it? That felt like agreeing to something—like I'd accepted his "apology," like I was saying yes to a game I didn't even understand.
Whatever.
I'd deal with it once my brain stopped being a knot of wires.
Right now, I had to go to work.
I grabbed my bag and bolted.
The Ivanov Group building felt... tight that morning. Like the whole place was holding its breath.
The second I walked into Finance, the vibe hit me. Usually people sipped coffee and talked slow. Today everybody looked like they'd been whipped—hammering keyboards, stacking files, sprinting between printers. The printers never shut up.
"What's going on?" I shoved my bag into my drawer and leaned toward Daniel, the intern with round glasses who always tried to share his lunch sandwich.
He gaped at me. "You didn't hear?"
"No."
He lowered his voice even more. "The CEO is coming down. Like—actually coming. In person."
"The CEO?"
"Mr. Ivanov," Daniel said it like he was naming a god.
"I've worked here two years and only seen him from a distance once.
That kind of man... you know? He just stood there, and the whole floor felt like the AC dropped ten degrees.
They said last month a director in the department next door screwed up a number on a report and got walked out on the spot.
Didn't even get to grab his coffee cup."
I muttered, "Oh," and opened my laptop.
Honestly, I didn't care.
A terrifying multinational CEO and me—one-week-in, barely-sat-in-my-chair data analyst—weren't ever going to collide. He probably never even knew there was a Hailey Woods in this building.
My head was still stuck on last night. That empty private room. Samantha saying, "He never met the client." That green necklace, green like someone's eyes. Those men downstairs, tall and silent.
I shook my head hard. Carol's report still needed finishing. I had to keep this job—God knew, until I figured out who Mr. X really was, the paycheck and this locked-down fortress of a building might be the only shelter I had left from Matthew.
Carol didn't even have time to be on my ass today. She barely looked at me. She hustled between desks with a stack of papers, snapping at everyone—"Faster." "Fix yourselves up." "Mr. Ivanov hates messy desks."
All morning, in that weird, ready-for-war atmosphere, I slammed out the last part of the XM merger work.
By the time I hit save and finally exhaled, lunch was close.
I stared at the finished report on my screen. Any little spark of pride got smothered by last night's shadow. I needed air.
"I'm gonna take a walk," I told Daniel.
He didn't even look up. "Don't go far. If Mr. Ivanov gets here early and you aren't around, that'll be a big problem."
"Relax. He doesn't know who I was."
I took the elevator down to the first floor.
The Ivanov Group lobby looked like an art museum—three stories of open space, Italian marble you could see your reflection in, a massive crystal chandelier hanging dead center. At lunch, suits flowed in and out like a tide.
I headed toward the revolving door, thinking I'd sit in the little plaza outside for a minute—
A hand came out of nowhere and clamped down on my wrist.
The grip was terrifying. His nails bit into my skin.
"Hailey."
My blood went ice-cold.
I whipped around.
Matthew.
It was Matthew.
He looked wrecked. The assistant DA who used to keep his hair perfect and his shirts razor-pressed stood there with red-rimmed eyes, stubble all over his jaw, and something in his gaze I'd never seen before—something close to rabid.
"How did you even—" I yanked back on instinct. "Let go of me!"
"Let go?" His smile twisted, and his grip tightened. "I've been looking for you for three damn weeks, Hailey. You changed jobs, you moved, you blocked my number—where do you think you can hide?"
"How did you get in?" This building's security was insane—badges, sign-in, metal detectors. He was an outsider—
He ground his teeth and jerked me toward him. "Don't worry about how I got in. We need to talk. Now."
"We don't have shit to talk about!" I fought, but he was a head taller, his hand a steel trap. "Matthew, you're hurting me. Let go!"
People in the lobby started slowing, watching. I felt the curiosity, the sharp little stares pinning me.
"Nothing to talk about?" Matthew's voice shot up so loud it echoed. "When you were out there screwing around with some other guy, you didn't seem to think there was nothing to talk about, did you?"
Heat rushed into my face. "That's nonsense—"
"Nonsense?" He snapped like a fuse, spitting the words. "I saw it, Hailey! I saw those cars, those bodyguards! You think I don't know what you've been doing? You found yourself some rich old man, didn't you? Let him pay for you, let him protect you, you fucking whore!"
The word hit like a slap.
The lobby sucked in a collective breath.
Off to the side, a few people in expensive suits—executive types—leaned together whispering, wearing that hungry, entertained look.
I even saw Carol by the elevators clutching her files, her mouth curling like she couldn't even pretend she wasn't enjoying this.
My face burned. My eyes stung instantly.
"You've lost your mind," I said, my voice shaking apart. "Matthew, you cheated first. You did. And now you come to my job and humiliate me in front of everyone—"
"I'm saving you!" he shouted, hauling me toward the door. "You're coming back with me. You're leaving this hellhole, you're leaving that asshole giving you dirty money! I can forgive you, Hailey. I can pretend none of this happened!"
"Forgive me?" I was furious and terrified, and the tears finally broke loose. "Let go of me! Somebody—help me—"
Nobody moved.
All those onlookers—my coworkers, the managers, the executives—just stood there staring. Someone even pulled out a phone. In a place like this, where everyone protected themselves, nobody was going to step in for a nobody against a man who looked ready to swing.
That choking feeling—being watched by the whole world while not one hand reached for me—hurt worse than his fingers digging into my wrist.
I'd turned back into the same thing I'd always been.
Extra. Unwanted. Easy to step on.
I was one breath away from giving up when—
"Let her go."
The lobby went silent like someone had cut the power.
The people nearest the entrance changed faces—fast. Then, like an invisible wave shoved through them, the crowd peeled back to both sides, opening a straight, clean path. The whispering died. Phones disappeared into pockets. Heads bowed, almost instinctively.
Even Matthew felt it. His grip loosened. He stared toward the entrance, confused.
A line of men in black came in first.
I recognized them—towering, hard bodies under suits, blank faces. The same men from last night, the ones waiting outside the restaurant, the ones who'd brought me home.
They spread out, forming a wall, and in the center—like everything orbited him—he walked in.
My heart missed a beat.
He was tall. A charcoal-black three-piece suit fit him like it had been stitched directly onto his body, turning his size into something brutal and elegant. The chandelier's light hit his bright blond hair.
And when he lifted his eyes—
Blue. Glacial. Cold as Siberian ground.
My breath stopped.
I knew those eyes.
I'd slammed into them a hundred times that ridiculous night, in that dark suite. For three weeks, in the dead hours, I'd pictured them while staring at my phone.
It was him.
The man from Room 2002 who'd pinned me to the wall and forced the words out of me—ruin me.
Mr. X.
He didn't look at me. Not at first. He didn't seem to look at anyone specific. He just walked, slow and sure, with a savage kind of presence, like this entire building and everyone inside it belonged under his heel.
Then his gaze swept over Matthew.
Just a look. Cold. Flat. No emotion at all.
Two bodyguards behind him launched forward like arrows.
I barely processed it before Matthew screamed—his hand got wrenched behind his back, and the two men slammed him down onto the marble. His face hit the floor. He couldn't move.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Matthew howled, thrashing. All that wild swagger collapsed under the blond man's aura like it never existed. "Do you know who I am? I'm an assistant district attorney! I'll sue you—"
The man stopped in front of him.
He looked down at Matthew like he was watching a bug crawl near his shoe.
"Assistant district attorney." He repeated it, voice low, edged with that faint foreign accent that made my skin prickle. It was the same voice I'd heard that night, the one I'd thought only belonged to Mr. X.
Now every word came out iced over.
"In my building. Harassing my person." He tilted his head to a man beside him who looked like an aide. His tone stayed casual, like he was ordering coffee. "Find out how he got in. Everyone on security duty today is suspended."
"Yes, Mr. Ivanov."
Mr. Ivanov.
"And him—" He looked back at Matthew, the corner of his mouth lifting into the smallest, coldest curve. "Take him out. Tell him if he wants to keep that prosecutor badge, he'd better pray I'm in a good mood today. And if I see him within a mile of this lady again—"
He paused.
"We won't bother with the law."
Matthew's face drained paper-white. His mouth worked, but no sound came. The guards dragged him out like a dead dog.
The lobby stayed dead silent.
And I stood there frozen, my brain wiped clean.
Mr. Ivanov.
The name kept detonating in my skull.
Ivanov. The group. The CEO. The man who made the whole floor feel ten degrees colder, the one who could have a director escorted out before he picked up his coffee cup.
It was him.
My Mr. X.
Viktor Ivanov.
The man I'd cried to in a bathroom at night, whining into my phone about my landlord's threats and my supervisor's bullshit. The man who'd made me strip my panties off and toss them in the trash. The man who'd guided my hand over the screen. The man I'd fantasized about even in my sleep.
He was my boss.
He was everyone's boss.
He'd known who I was the entire time.
That "special hire." The doubled salary. The manager coming downstairs to meet me. The juice that appeared out of nowhere. The Harvard template. The two men in suits who'd scared off Matthew—
All those mismatched pieces clicked into place, sharp and perfect.
It was him. All of it. From the start.
My legs went weak. My stomach rolled.
"Mr. Ivanov."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ivanov."
Those executives who usually looked down their noses at everyone wore smiles so fake they looked painful, tripping over each other to greet him. Watching it, I felt my blood cool, drop by drop.
These people—who decided who ate and who didn't—shrank in front of him like servants waiting for judgment.
And this man—
This man everyone feared, who made people breathe carefully—
I'd slept with him.
I'd done the most humiliating things to his photo.
I'd handed him every soft part of me—every tear, every weakness, every need I couldn't say out loud to anyone—and I'd done it without holding anything back.
I wanted to run. Turn around, vanish into the crowd, pretend none of this had happened.
But my feet stayed nailed to the floor.
He ignored the bowing executives. He didn't spare Carol a glance.
He walked through the path the crowd had opened, past every bent back, and for the first time, his eyes landed on me.
Those ice-blue eyes locked in.
He came straight toward me.
Each step made my heart hit harder. The lobby got so quiet I could hear my pulse like a drum. Every single gaze followed him—and then snapped onto me, the nobody the CEO was walking to like I mattered.
I felt the shock, the questions, the jealousy, the fear.
He stopped in front of me.
Up close, he seemed even taller than I remembered, even heavier with pressure. That scent—cedar and leather, familiar as a bruise—wrapped around me again.
I tipped my chin up and met his eyes. My throat went bone-dry. No sound would come.
With the whole lobby watching in terrified silence, he leaned down, close to my ear.
That deep, rough voice, touched with that foreign accent, stayed so soft only I could hear it.
"Long time, princess."