Chapter 15 #2
"I wasn't grinning," I said fast, flipping the phone face-down.
"You were." She said it like a verdict, then her face sobered. "But seriously, Hailey. That man... how much do you actually know about him?"
I blinked.
"He has money, power, and he throws it around," Samantha said, watching me with rare seriousness.
"That much is obvious. And that's exactly why I'm worried.
You just crawled out of Matthew's mud. A guy who hands you an Upper East Side penthouse like it's nothing?
That's not simple. You sure you know what you're stepping into? "
I went quiet.
Did I?
I couldn't even explain what he really did. He was the CEO of Ivanov Group, ran some massive financial empire. But the black-suited guards built like steel towers, the way Matthew had nearly pissed himself, the way my landlord had refunded me overnight—none of that screamed "normal businessman."
"I..." My mouth opened, and nothing solid came out. "I'm... figuring it out. Slowly."
Samantha sighed and patted the back of my hand. "Okay. I won't ruin your fun. But promise me you'll keep your eyes open. If anything feels off, you call me first."
"I will," I said, smiling small. "Thanks, Sam."
"Don't thank me. You're my girl." She waved it off, that carefree grin sliding back on. "Alright, it's getting late. I gotta go. I've got a miserable client dinner tonight. You get home safe."
After we split at the subway station, I carried the bags and walked back to the building alone.
The sky had gone dark. Streetlights clicked on one by one, stretching my shadow long, then short, then long again.
Halfway there, the feeling came back.
And this time, it hit harder.
Cold prickled up the back of my neck and crawled down my spine. I was almost sure someone was following me.
My heart hammered.
I stopped and snapped my head around.
The street behind me was thin with people now. A couple holding each other. An old man walking a dog. A few office workers heading home. Nobody stared. Nobody reacted to me stopping.
But I knew.
Someone was there.
Matthew's face popped into my head first. Was it him? Had he found me again? But Viktor had warned him. Viktor had made it clear—
I didn't let myself finish that thought. I tightened my grip on the bags and sped up, almost jogging, and rushed into my apartment building.
Only when the thick glass door—locked behind a key card—swung shut behind me, cutting off the street and that invisible gaze, did I finally breathe. My back was slick with sweat.
The doorman stepped forward, concerned. "Miss Woods, are you alright? Would you like me to call someone?"
"No. I'm fine." I forced a smile. "I just walked too fast. Thank you."
In the elevator, I leaned against the cold mirrored wall and let out a long breath.
Maybe I really was jumpy. This building's security is the best in New York—Viktor's words. Nobody can touch me here.
The thought settled me, weirdly.
Back in the apartment, I dumped the bags on the couch and headed for the shower—then my phone rang.
A text. Unknown number.
I hesitated, then opened it.
Unknown number: Miss Woods, I am Gary Higgins's wife.
Gary Higgins.
My stomach tightened. The landlord.
My guard snapped up.
Why was his wife texting me? To blame me? To threaten me?
I held my breath and kept reading.
Unknown number: On behalf of my husband, I offer you our most sincere apology. What he did to you was unforgivable. We have decided to leave New York. This is what we owe you. Please accept it as a small compensation. And I beg you... Please don't pursue this any further.
Don't pursue it?
I frowned, not understanding a damn thing—
Then my phone buzzed again.
A bank alert.
A deposit. Not small—half a year of my rent.
My eyes went wide.
I tapped the number, trying to ask what the hell was going on—
Blocked.
The whole thread, the apology text, the number itself—it was like it had never existed. She wiped it, ran, and left behind a pile of money and me sitting there stunned.
I sank onto the couch with my phone clenched in my hand, thoughts tangled.
A landlord who had swaggered around, held my deposit hostage, tried to get his hands on me... and now he had not only returned the deposit, his wife had apologized, paid me off, and their whole family had fled New York?
That didn't add up.
Not even close.
A man who got beat up once doesn't get that scared. Scared enough for his wife to beg me not to "pursue" it?
In my head, all the scattered pieces I'd been refusing to look at started snapping together.
That insane salary offer. The supervisor coming downstairs to meet me.
The juice that had appeared out of nowhere.
The Harvard template that saved my ass. The two men in suits who had run Matthew off.
This twenty-million-dollar penthouse. My deposit magically recovered.
And now—my landlord's family vanishing and this hush-money-looking "compensation. "
One figure sat dead center in all of it, getting sharper by the second.
Viktor.
Had it all been him?
From the first day I walked into Ivanov Group—no, from that ridiculous night at the hotel—every "good thing" in my life, every "coincidence," had the same man behind it?
How much had he done that I never even knew about?
My heart pounded. Half of me thought it was insane. The other half pulsed with something I didn't want to name.
Then logic shoved back.
No. Impossible.
He was Viktor Ivanov. The man running a giant empire. He didn't have time to micromanage whether a landlord refunded a deposit or an ex-boyfriend got kicked to the curb. That was small shit.
He had no reason to do that much for me.
What could a man at the top of the food chain possibly want from a girl like me—freshly heartbroken, getting harassed by her ex, barely able to keep her apartment?
I was making it up. Romanticizing it. Getting carried away.
It had to be that.
And still, my heart kept slamming against my ribs.
Night fell fully. Manhattan's neon gathered outside the windows like a sea of stars.
I showered, pulled on a silk nightgown, and lay down in the huge, expensive bed.
The mattress was soft enough to swallow me. I still couldn't sleep.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
Our date.
Heat crept through my body on its own, nerves tight with a mix of hunger and fear, wrapping around me like vines.
I tossed and turned until the clock hit midnight.
I couldn't stand it anymore. I grabbed my phone and opened the chat that had been living in my head.
Me: Good night, Viktor.
Almost the second the message went through, the screen lit up.
Mr. X: Get some rest. Tomorrow, I'll give you a day you won't forget.
I stared at it, and my phone felt hot in my palm.
A day I wouldn't forget.
What was he hinting at? Where was he taking me? What was he planning to do to me?
I pressed the phone to my chest, fear and anticipation twisting together until I couldn't tell which one was winning.
I couldn't sleep.