Dirty Damage: Chapter 50

It’s been a lonely few days in the apartment. Today is no exception.

With Oleg working so much, most mornings start by myself.

I’m trying this new thing where I don’t check my fertility app like a mad woman twenty times a day. They say stress doesn’t make for a conducive baby-making environment.

Well, I’m going to work to create one.

Except that somehow—and I don’t know how—my sense of calm has become intrinsically linked to Oleg’s presence.

Every time I’m around him I just feel safe.

When has that ever happened with a man?

Hell, when has that ever happened, period?

I can’t stop myself from reaching out to touch the space where he should be. But the sheets are cool to the touch. His indent is fading.

Little by little, this bed is losing its memory of him.

I’ve just changed into yoga pants and a positive attitude with vague plans of starting my morning with some sun salutations when I hear the elevator doors beep open. My heartbeat rises instantly, a flush rushing to my cheeks.

But when I race to the elevator to greet him, my smile dies.

One look at his face tells me that there will be no swoon-worthy good mornings today. There will be no blueberry scones or shared showers or tea on the balcony.

Whatever he’s bringing with him today, is going to be painful, not poetic.

“Oleg?” I squeak, staring into those dark gold eyes that are fixed on me with a scowl that I haven’t seen in a long time. “What’s wrong?”

He brushes past me without answering.

My heartbeat rises again. But this time, it’s for a whole other reason.

Feeling a bout of hyperventilation coming on, I take a deep breath and follow him into the living room.

Oleg is standing by the window, staring out at the ocean beyond.

“Oleg, please,” I beg. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

He doesn’t face me. “Drew Anton,” he rumbles emotionlessly. “Explain.”

My blood drains south so fast I sway on my feet, gripping the back of the couch to stay upright. The room spins slightly at the mention of my ex’s name on Oleg’s lips.

Two worlds that should never collide, yet somehow have.

I was a fool not to have told him ages ago, the same day that Artem had told me to tell him everything.

But he had been so damn busy since then. When would I have done it?

Excuses, excuses, a little voice in the back of my head sing-songs.

It’s not wrong.

I take a half-step towards him, but freeze again when he throws me a look that impales me where I stand.

“Well…” I lick my lips but that doesn’t seem to make them any less dry. “… as you know, he’s my ex. We moved to Palm Beach together after he stopped working for Paul Lipovsky. But then we broke up and I’m not sure who he ended up working for. But recently, he moved back to Las Vegas because Paul apparently hired him back. I think⁠—”

Oleg spins to face me. It takes everything I have not to flinch away.

“I don’t give a damn about his fucking résumè,” Oleg snarls as he stalks closer. “I want to know what he is to you. Have you been in contact with him? How often? For how long? Was it his idea to send those pictures to the whole damn company?”

“No!” I gasp, horrified that he would even think such a thing. Although, considering I didn’t come clean about Drew from the beginning, I’m on weak footing. “No, of course not. Those photos were never meant to be seen by anyone!”

He snorts. “Or so you claim.”

“Yes! Yes, I do claim, because it’s true. Those pictures getting sent to the whole company was a mistake, Oleg. I swear it.”

“And the rest of it? Have you been in contact with him the whole time we’ve been together?”

This time, I do flinch.

His nostrils flare as though I’ve just given him confirmation.

“No!” I yell, grabbing his arm before he can turn away from me.

“No?” he challenges.

I drop my hand. “I-it’s complicated…”

But even as I say it, I feel my words trailing off. Because it’s not entirely true, is it? I’ve been keeping secrets. I have been talking to him.

That’s as black-and-white as it gets.

“You have ten fucking seconds to tell me the truth.”

“Y-yes,” I force through my teeth. “We have been in contact—but not for the whole time you and I have been together. The only reason I got back in contact with him at all is because he started working for Paul again and he said he could keep tabs on my sister for me.”

“And you couldn’t have just called your sister and asked how she was doing?” he snarls.

“Sydney’s in an abusive relationship, Oleg,” I sigh. “She’s not honest with me about what’s going on in it. She knows how I feel about Paul. And she’d gone silent on me. Which has always been a sure sign that something is going on between them. Something bad. I wanted to tell you about it; I wanted to ask for your help⁠—”

“Show me your phone.” His tone guts me. “The phone I know he gave you.”

I have no idea how he knows all of this. But now is not the time to ask questions like that. I walk, shaking, into our room and start rummaging around in my underwear drawer.

But my hands come up empty. No matter how hard I scrabble, I can’t seem to find the stupid phone.

“Where are you?” I hiss under my breath. “Come on, come on…?”

“Where is it?” he demands from behind me.

He’s not breathing down my neck or anything but it feels like he is. His anger has choked out all the air in the room.

“I… I can’t find it,” I stutter. “It was here; I’m sure I kept it right here. Maybe it fell out or…”

“Keep looking,” he orders stonily. “I don’t give a fuck for myself. Or for you and me. That no longer matters.”

What is that piercing stab in my chest? Can that be what a breaking heart feels like?

Struggling for breath, I race over to the big couch I use like a hamper and start riffling through pockets as though my life depends on it.

It very well might.

“I-it isn’t here,” I cry. “It should be here…!”

“Are you lying to me again?”

“No!” I exclaim, twisting around to face him. “I swear, Oleg. The phone should be here. I don’t know where it’s gone. It must have fallen or… I don’t know what could have happened.”

His granite jaw clicks. “What app did you use?”

“App?” I repeat stupidly.

All I can think of is the fertility app I check every morning like a prayer. Surely he can’t be talking about that, right?”

With a grimace, he gestures for me to follow him. Feeling like a lamb to the slaughter, I trudge quietly behind him, trying to think where I might have misplaced that burner phone.

If I can only show him what’s on it, he’ll realize that my communication with Drew was strictly about Sydney and nothing else.

As soon as we’re in his office, Oleg moves straight to his laptop. His hands move nimbly across the keyboard before he twists the screen towards me.

“Use your password to log into the cloud. I want to see exactly what you told him.”

Swallowing, I try what I think is my password. Incorrect password flashes across the screen. God, does this look bad.

“Let me guess.” Oleg sneers. “You can’t remember any of your passwords. Convenient.”

“It’s not convenient—it’s the truth!”

“Like accidentally sending out half-naked pictures of yourself to my whole damn company was the truth?” he scoffs. “Try again.”

His scalding tone lights a fire under me. I wrack my brain and, with a silently uttered prayer, I type in a password.

YES!

I manage to access my WhatsApp account. But the moment I pull up my text thread with Drew, I realize something is wrong.

“No…” I whisper.

He looks over my shoulder and scowls. “The thread is empty.”

“It wasn’t when I last checked. I swear to God…” I’m shivering in his shadow. I’m not even looking right at him but I can feel the fire in his eyes. I shake my head. “It must have been Drew. H-he’s done this to me before. Hacked into my accounts, deleted text messages, erased whole conversations to try and gaslight me into believing whatever he wants me to believe.”

Oleg raises his eyebrows in disgust. “And you expect me to believe that this is the man you chose to go to for help with your sister?”

“I didn’t go to him, Oleg. He came to me!”

“And you just couldn’t turn away, could you?”

“I should have!” I cry. “But I was so worried about Sydney. I did it for my sister. I would never do anything to hurt you, Oleg. Not you or your family or your company. Please, you have to believe⁠—”

“I want you out,” he interrupts.

He doesn’t even have to raise his voice to bring me to my knees.

“Y-you don’t mean that.”

“I mean every word of it.” His lips curl upwards. “I want you out of this apartment by the time I return this evening. Pack your bags. Leave not a trace of yourself behind. My attorneys will work to sever the contract that binds us. Consider it broken. Any contact you try to make with me, with my company, with anyone connected to me, will be considered harassment and will be punished accordingly.”

“Oleg—”

“Don’t!” he roars so venomously that my mouth snaps shut. “Don’t you fucking speak my name. The contract was a mistake. You were a mistake. I’m merely cleaning up the mess.”

Then he storms out of the office.

I stand there, numb and in shock. How could weeks, months of connection have been destroyed so completely, so quickly?

Was he the same man who had drawn me a bubble bath and washed my hair when I was sad about not being pregnant?

Was he the same man who made love to me under the stars out on the open ocean?

Was he the same man who talked to me about his love for the sister he lost, the one regret he will never get over?

It seems impossible that a bond that felt so strong could be over so fast.

Then again, if our bond had been that strong, he would never have believed this of me. He would know what I was capable of and I could never be capable of hurting him.

As the numbness leaves my body, my legs buckle. My knees hit the floor as I keel over, sobs wracking my body, one after the other.

What have I done?

I stay on the floor until my tears dry up. I can’t see much through my puffy eyes, but I draw myself up anyway.

I take a deep breath.

And I start to pack.

This is nothing I haven’t done before. Sydney and I bounced from one foster home to the other. Some, we chose to leave. Others, we were kicked out of. It didn’t really matter in the end because we were always prepared for it.

None of those places were home.

None of those places felt safe.

But as I pack, for perhaps the hundredth time in my life, I realize that as familiar as this is, it’s different, too.

My life has prepared me for this.

That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.