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I don’t care what he needs. The only thing that matters now is what I need.
Timofey was right. No one is going to take care of me if I don’t take care of myself.
Not even him.
95
PIPER
I’m in the living room with Benjamin when Timofey gets back to the penthouse.
“Piper!” he calls.
There’s a familiarity to the way he says my name. There’s an expectation. He knew I’d be here waiting for him. A few hours ago, that would have meant everything to me.
Now, there’s a dark undertone.
Of course he expects me to be here—he arranged it that way. He’s severed my lifelines one by one until there’s only one person left I can rely on.
Him.
I snuggle Benjamin to my chest and move to the hallway. Timofey’s expression opens up when he sees me. He doesn’t smile, but there’s a lightness in his blue eyes that wasn’t there before. He looks… happy.
Fuck me, he looks so fucking happy.
“The upgrades on the mansion are done, so we can move back in whenever you’re ready.”
I press a finger to my lips and motion to Benjamin. “I’m going to put him to sleep.”
He waves me on and kicks his boots off by the door.
Timofey in socks. It’s so domestic I want to cry. Instead, I turn away and move into Benjamin’s makeshift nursery.
He’s already asleep, but I sing him song after song because working up the courage to walk out of this room and face Timofey is taking longer than I expected.
When I finally ease out of his room and close the door, Timofey is waiting in the hallway.
“I was about to come check on you,” he teases. “I thought you might have fallen asleep in there with him.”
I can’t even fake a smile. I plow past him and walk towards the living room. We can’t have this discussion in the hallway. I need more space. More room to breathe. Taking in oxygen is difficult enough as it is right now.
“Piper,” he says. “Stop.”
I spin around once I reach the sofa. “Is that an order? What do I get if I obey?”
He stares at me, refusing to respond until he understands what is going on here. I hate that I know that about him. I hate that I know so many small, intricate details about his personality, yet I still didn’t see this coming.
“Fifty thousand dollars seems to be the going rate,” I add.
Understanding dawns across his face. His jaw clenches, but he still doesn’t say anything.
I grab a pillow and chuck it at his head. He deftly swats it out of the air. “Who told you?”
“Not you!” I cry out. “Were you just going to keep it a secret?”
“Your father hasn’t talked to you in weeks and you didn’t notice. Did you miss him? Were you sad the greedy bastard hadn’t reached out?”
No and no. The last two weeks have been amazing. But I can’t tell him that. Not now.
