Page 30

He glanced at the screen, his eyes sharpening instantly. "Fuck," he muttered, then looked at me, a flicker of regret in his gaze. "I have to take this."

The emptiness hit hard, frustration clawing at me. He stepped away, answering the call, and I fumbled to fix my clothes, trying to calm my racing heart.

"What?" His voice was cold now, all business. "Now? Fine, I'm on my way."

He hung up and turned to me, his eyes soft but firm. "I'm sorry, Cassie. Something urgent came up at work. I have to go."

Disappointment stung, but I forced a nod. "It's okay. Work's important."

He stepped close, kissing me softly. "I'll drive you home."

"No, I'm fine," I said, not wanting to be a burden.

"No way," he said, his tone final. "It's too late for you to go alone."

We grabbed my roses and headed out to his car—a sleek, black sedan that screamed money. I sank into the leatherpassenger seat, the soft music filling the quiet. I stole glances at his profile, his focused expression making him even hotter.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" I blurted out.

He glanced over, a soft warmth in his eyes. "Of course, Cassie."

We pulled up to my apartment, and he got out to open my door, a total gentleman. "Tonight was amazing," I said. "Thanks for coming."

"I should be thanking you," he said, brushing my cheek. "Sweet dreams, ??? ???????."

I watched him slide back into the car, the black sedan melting into the night like a ghost. His scent lingered, mixing with the roses' fragrance, and the disappointment faded, replaced by a warm, hopeful glow.

In my quiet apartment, I collapsed onto my bed, fingers tracing my kissed lips, still feeling his touch. In the dark, I smiled. Was this what falling in love felt like? That mix of longing and sweetness, terrifying but addictive.

Just as I was drifting off, my phone buzzed, lighting up the dark. It was him. My heart leaped, expecting another sweet message. But it wasn't Gennady.

An unknown number. The preview chilled me: Look at your perfect lover.

Dread crawled up my spine, freezing the warmth. My fingers shook as I opened the message. A photo loaded, and time stopped.

It was a dimly lit corner of some fancy place, crystal chandeliers casting a hazy glow. A blonde woman in a low-cut black dress, her curves practically spilling out, smirked with possessive confidence. Her red-nailed hand rested on a man's chest, fingers digging in.

And that man, turning toward the camera—it was Gennady. Same gray shirt, same undone buttons. This had been his "urgent business"?

My phone slipped from my frozen hands, crashing to the floor, the screen shattering like my heart. Pain exploded in my chest, sharp and relentless, like I had been stabbed with a thousand icy needles. Tears blurred my vision, the world warping into a mess of colors.

I scrambled for the phone, the cracked screen burning my eyes. The sweetness, the hope—it was all ashes now, replaced by rage and humiliation. My fingers trembled so hard I could barely type.

Me: Liar!

I blocked his number, hands shaking with fury, deleting every message, every memory that had made me smile like an idiot. Each word felt like a slap, mocking me.

Tears flooded out, unstoppable. The roses still sat there, vibrant and cruel, their beauty a lie. I had believed him. I had thought he was different, that I was special. His words, his gestures, those moments that had lit me up—they had felt real.

But I was just a fool. A naive, gullible fool.

I curled up, hugging myself, sobbing in the cold, empty night. My budding love—shattered, just like that.

Chapter 9

Gennady

Chicago's night wrapped the city like black velvet, heavy, swallowing its noise and sins. I was in my study at the estate, the sharp bite of whiskey still lingering in the air. But it was Ginnie's cloying perfume, stuck in my nose, that had my stomach churning.