Page 130 of Boardroom Mask

The scarier question is whether he feels the same. I know he said it, but so what? He could be misguided. So I keep turning it over, poking at it from different angles, trying to find the version of events where this is all just obsession or possession or some dark, twisted fixation that has nothing whatsoever to do with love.

But then I think about last night. Not the violence—though that’s certainly part of it, and I’ll unpackthatin therapy someday if I do ever go back. I think about the dinner and the candles, about his hand in mine. The man killed someone for me and then kissed my forehead and told me to go back to sleep.

That’s a man who’s committed, whether he knows it or not.

So fuck it then. I love Kir Lazarev, and he loves me. Saying that to each other’s faces is another level-up that Future Jillian and Future Kir will have to deal with. For now, I cuddle this private little truth close to my chest and let it warm me up.

I love Kir.

He loves me.

Loves.

Loves.

What a wild world this is.

Smiling, I pull the laptop back toward me and get to work.

The afternoon dissolves as I lose myself in the rhythm of the job I’ve loved since before I could remember. By 4:30 P.M., it’s done.

I sit back and read the whole thing through from top to bottom without stopping. It’s good. It’s really good, actually. Tight, clean, sourced as well as it can be given the constraints. Doug will have notes, since he always does, but the bones are solid.

I save the document, open my email, and start a new message. I type Doug’s address in theTofield, attach the file, and write a subject line:Lazarev draft - PLEASE READ.

My finger hovers over the send button. But I don’t click it.

Not yet. I’m not quite ready. Soon, but not yet.

Instead, I close the laptop and pour myself another coffee. But it’s still only halfway on its journey to my lips when the front door flies open without warning.

The first thing I register is Kir’s face. Something is wrong with it. His jaw is set hard, his eyes are burning, and when he rakes a hand through his hair, I see that his fingers are shaking.

My stomach flips. I set the mug down too hard and coffee sloshes onto the marble. “What happened?” I ask, bracing for the worst and dreaming up scenarios, each more harrowing than the last. Is someone else coming to hurt us?

Kir stops in the middle of the kitchen. Looks at me. His mouth is a jagged slash.

Then it splits into the widest, most unguarded grin I have ever seen on a human face.

“It’s done,” he announces.

I blink. The emotional see-sawing of this relationship is really gonna be the death of me. “What’s done?”

“The vote. The board. All of it.” He tosses his coat onto the counter and it knocks over the salt shaker. “Lukas is out as chairman, effective immediately.” He runs both hands through his hair this time and laughs, this freeing, full-throated cackle that bounces off all the hard surfaces in his kitchen. “He’sout,Jillian. He’s fuckingout.”

I’m on my feet before I realize I stood up. “You’re serious.”

“I’m dead serious. Matvei swayed Solomon at the last second. The old bastard flipped and brought Blanchard with him.” Kir grabs me by the waist and lifts me clean off the ground, spinning me once before setting me back on the cold hardwood. “I’m leading the charge now. It’s mine. All of it. Fuckingall of it!”

I put my hands on his chest. His heart is going crazy under my palms, hammering away in there at a rate that can’t possibly be healthy. But he lookslighter.That’s the only word for it. The thing he’s been hauling around on his shoulders since the first night he climbed through my window, the invisible, crushing, ever-present weight of his father’s expectations and threats and orders, it’s just... not there anymore. He looks five years younger. He looks like a person who might actually sleep tonight.

“And Lukas? Where is he now?”

“Fuck if I know!” he crows. “He just left before the vote was even finished. As soon as he saw what was coming, he made a big speech, I barely heard a damn word he said, but who gives a shit? It’s over. I can’t believe this.”

I don’t know what to do with that image. Lukas Lazarev, infamous titan of New York City, silent and diminished, slinking out of the building that bears his name with his tail between his legs. For us to be free… I learned a long time ago that if something sounds too good to be true, it absolutely is.

For now, though, I let him have this.