Page 145
These guys hold more power and influence than anyone on the outside could truly comprehend.
Which is why I’m convinced it was my parents. The moment my thoughts quieted enough to make sense, the realization became unavoidable—no one in their right mind would dare speak about them like that, or drag their names into a scandal of this magnitude.
And I know I should probably feel afraid after what Colt just said… but I don’t. Nothing reaches me anymore. Nothing unsettles me. Nothing even manages to surprise me.
All I know is that, no matter what happens, I’m standing beside them, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help.
The only thought that truly frightens me is that Ethan is the one being targeted… that whoever orchestrated the jet sabotage didn’t just want to send a message—they wanted him dead.
I lock the phone and force myself to take the gift back to the vanity table.
What’s the point in opening it now?
Why pour salt into a wound that’s already bleeding?
Why touch something he gave me when he’s already gone, when everything between us crumbled?
The box sits there under the soft glow of the dressing room lights, the black velvet drinking in the shadows, the white ribbon still perfectly tied.
Waiting.
But I turn away from it, because tonight I don’t have the strength to unwrap a memory that could hurt me even more.
FORTY-EIGHT
Ethan
Everyone seems to lose their minds during the holidays—trees, decorations, shopping lists, gifts, vacations, food, all piling up until it feels like there’s no space left to breathe. People rush in all directions, half the office disappears, and the entire world slips into a silent crisis of time, attention, and patience.
Tomorrow is Christmas, and it’s my first real day off after weeks of constant travel, most of my work done from hotel rooms scattered across the world rather than any actual office. And even when I did step into one, it was never in London, only New York. I haven’t set foot in the London headquarters since that day.
The day I felt it all slipping through my fingers. The day that proved I was right, that life must be lived with structure, with rules, not driven by desire; guided by reason, not by indulgence.
The day the only constant woman in my life—aside from Sierra, my mother, and Maya—sacrificed herself for me in the most tragic way.
Irina.
The woman I had entrusted with my work so many times; the one who made decisions in my place and carried on her shoulders a company that employs millions of people around the world; the woman who had the courage to confront me at any moment, who never lowered her head in front of me.
The woman whose desk was right behind my office, whose heels I would so often hear as I waited for the elevator to take me upstairs. The woman who left only when she knew I was close to finishing for the day. The woman who brought me only the urgent projects, reports, and problems, handling everything else herself without hesitation, without emotion.
The woman who always knew what I was about to say or do, who could read me in meetings from the smallest gesture and stepped in exactly when needed. The woman who stood beside me at hundreds of events and galas, who congratulated me after every success—even when, over time, it all began to feel mechanical. She still knew how to be there, how to celebrate, and how to thank me.
The woman with whom, up to a certain point, I shared everything.
Her role in the company was just as important as mine, and no one will ever take her place. The CEO assistant position was eliminated the moment Irina was gone, and that decision is permanent. Just like her absence.
I haven’t stepped into the London office—not because I didn’t want to, but because everything spiraled out of control after our partner in Asia went missing the same night the accident happened. He was involved in countless projects, and we had to move fast, flying out and putting backup plans in place for every single one of them.
But I’ll return to London after the holiday. And the sight of Irina’s absence from her desk will feel like a punch to the gut—I already know it. Because I still catch myself reaching for my phone, wanting to call her or send a message, asking her to handle something, to change something, to cancel a contract or fire someone. Anything.
I attended her funeral, even though everyone around me was desperate to keep me from exposing myself so soon after the attack that had me as its target. I stood there, completely still, not allowing a single emotion to surface, even though it was one of the few moments in my life when I truly fell on my knees, even if only figuratively speaking. The hardest moment of my life, one that demanded an immense effort just to keep my expression neutral. And somehow, I could almost feel Irina nearby, watching me, laughing at how fucking hard it was for me to maintain control. She would’ve thrown a sarcastic remark my way, just to show me she saw right through the mask. But she can’t anymore… and she never will again.
And the ones who did this… they’re paying. One by one.
This time, I’m not trying to keep Colt under control or limit the damage he causes. This time, I want him to cause as much damage as possible.
All the guys are completely wrecked by Irina’s loss. They didn’t have the same kind of closeness with her that I did, but they knew her, respected her, and interacted with her every single day.
