“Good. That is the point.” I manage a small, tired smile
My clutch purse vibrates against my hip. The phone inside rings sharply, cutting through the quiet hum of the penthouse. I ignore it, pretending to adjust the strap of my gown as we move toward the living area.
Alexey’s brown eyes flick to the purse, one eyebrow raising slightly. That subtle sign of suspicion I’ve come torecognize. He doesn’t comment, but the look lingers a second longer than necessary.
I slip away to my suite as quickly as I can without seeming rude, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Only then do I pull out the phone and check the missed call.
Unknown number.
Dread settles heavily in my stomach. This is the fifth one today.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at the screen until it flashes off. Every private, blocked, or unknown number is always about my father.
The kind of call that used to make me hide in my old apartment with the lights off, heart hammering, waiting for the inevitable voicemail filled with threats or guilt trips.
I didn’t miss Alexey’s raised eyebrow when the phone rang in the foyer. His suspicion is rising. I can feel it in the way he watches me more closely during our late-night sessions, in the quiet questions he doesn’t quite ask.
But embarrassment keeps me from telling him about the calls. How do I explain that even now, with Fadir’s empire crumbling and Alexey’s protection wrapped around me like armor, my father’s debts still reach me? That I’m still the Kuzmin girl whose past refuses to stay buried?
One day, when I'm free from all this, I'll have the money I need to pay the men off and be done with them. But until then I need to bide my time.
I block the number, then drop the phone onto the nightstand like it burns my fingers. The guest suite feels suddenly smaller. The beautiful space with its king bed, softlighting, and windows overlooking the city is no longer a sanctuary but a reminder of how fragile my new life still is.
I pad barefoot to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The city sprawls below, indifferent and glittering. I can still faintly see my reflection in its elegant updo from the auction, but now slightly mussed, the sleek black gown replaced by the oversized t-shirt I sleep in.
I look like two different people stitched together: the polished woman on Alexey’s arm and the scared girl from my past who still jumps at unknown numbers.
The calls have been increasing lately.
Five today. Three yesterday.
How many tomorrow? Or the day after?
Each one is a sharp little reminder that no matter how far I run, my father’s stupidity follows. He keeps racking up losses like it’s a game he can still win, and somehow, the people he owes always find my number.
Fadir knew about them, too. He uses that knowledge, letting the debts deepen just enough to keep me trapped and grateful.
Now, even with Alexey’s protection, the shame lingers. I don’t want him to see this part of me. The broken, embarrassing part.
Alexey already knows too much about my past, including the terror that made me flee at eighteen. Adding these constant calls feels like handing him another reason to question whether I’m worth the trouble.
I wrap my arms around myself, staring out at the lights. Part of me wants to walk across the hall right now and tell him everything. To let him handle it the way he handles everythingelse with that terrifying calm and surgical precision. But the other part, the one still carrying the deep fear that I am forgettable and disposable, keeps my mouth shut.
What if he sees the calls and decides I’m too much of a liability? What if the steady patience he’s shown me so far finally cracks under the weight of my messy past?
I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away. Alexey has never given me a reason to doubt him. He has never once crossed the professional line we agreed on. He treats me with careful distance even when his hand rests at the small of my back for the cameras. He listens when I offer intel without treating me like I’m broken.
Still, the embarrassment burns.
I crawl into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, and the phone is now silenced on the nightstand. The penthouse is quiet except for the faint hum of the city far below. Across the hall, Alexey is more than likely in his own suite, doors closed, boundaries firmly in place.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, but the unknown number lingers in my mind like a dangerous reminder
When will this ever end?
The calls are just another thread connecting me to the past I ran from. But as I lie there in the dark, the memory of Alexey’s steady gaze across the crowded auction room tonight anchors me.
Maybe I don’t have to carry this alone forever.
