Second First Love

Chapter4

Mikhail Orlov wasn’t a man easily rattled.

Not by rival CEOs, not by hostile takeovers, not even by the whispers that painted him as too ruthless, too hungry.

But the moment she walked out of his office, chin high, eyes blazing with the same fire he remembered, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else.

Lauren Hayes.

Kotyonok.

The nickname slipped into his mind unbidden, sharp with memory, tasting of summers long gone. He could still see her trembling hands, hear the sharpness in her voice when she spat, “Don’t you dare.”

It had been years since anyone had told him no.

Years since anyone had looked him in the eye without fear.

And yet—she had. Just like before.

He leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, as the city skyline stretched before him in glass and steel. She had grown into the kind of woman who carried her scars like armor. And he—God help him—wanted to break past every piece of it.

A knock at the door dragged him back.

“Mr. Orlov, the board is waiting,” his assistant reminded.

He rose, the mask slipping neatly back into place. Mikhail Orlov, CEO. Unshakable. Ruthless. Untouchable.

The boardroom gleamed with polished oak and unspoken tension. His directors sat stiffly, eyes sharp, watching him like men who knew brilliance could turn into a weapon at any moment.

“Your latest… public appearances,” one younger director began carefully, “have raised concerns. The media has noticed your late nights, your choices of company. It reflects poorly.”

Mikhail’s brow lifted. Poorly. The word was an insult on his tongue.

“Oh? And who appointed you the arbiter of my personal life?”

Another cleared his throat nervously. “Mikhail, this company thrives on stability. Investors don’t want a reckless billionaire playboy. They want a man who appears… grounded. Settled.”

The word grated. Settled.

He slammed his palm on the table, the sound echoing off the walls. “Settled? Grounded? Who the hell do you think you are telling me what I should or shouldn’t do? I didn’t build this empire by following rules, and I sure as hell won’t start now.”

The room fell silent, tension thick enough to cut.

Mr. Vasiliev, the oldest director, leaned forward, voice calm but heavy with warning. “With respect, Mikhail—your brilliance is unquestioned. But perception is everything. If you don’t change the narrative, shareholders will. You risk not only their confidence… but your position.”

He let out a sharp breath, lips curling. “Lose my position? Don’t insult me. I built this from ash. I don’t need your permission to live my life—or your definitions of what makes me stable.”

Some directors shifted uncomfortably; others looked away. A younger one tried again, voice cautious: “But sir… perception is currency. Every headline shapes stock value. Your personal choices do bleed into this company. Whether you like it or not.”

“Careful,” Mikhail echoed, disbelief cutting through his tone. “Careful is for the men who follow. Not for those who create empires.”

The silence stretched, brittle, before Mikhail smirked and dismissed them with a flick of his hand. Promises of compliance followed—empty ones, neatly spoken—but his mind was already elsewhere.

Because while they droned on about investors, all he had seen was her face. Lauren.

Later, alone, he stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, eyes locked on the city below. Settled. Controlled. Leashed. The words crawled under his skin.

And then her face flickered again, stubborn and proud, fire blazing beneath exhaustion.

A memory rose unbidden—St. Petersburg. Winter’s bite in the air, the streets glimmering with frost, their footsteps echoing across the cobblestones. She had been shivering in her coat, nose pink from the cold, laughing at something trivial—an old man feeding pigeons near the canal, the way her breath clouded like smoke.

They had crossed a bridge, the icy water below catching the golden glow of the street lamps. He had stopped, unable to resist, his gloved hand brushing her cheek.

“Kotyonok,” he whispered, soft and uncharacteristically vulnerable,

(I will marry you. Always.)

Her eyes had widened, disbelief breaking into joy. “Mikhail… you can’t mean—”

“I mean it,” he had cut in, voice rough with determination. “No matter what comes. No matter what the world throws at us, this—you—is mine. Always.”

The way she had leaned into his touch, the way her laugh had trembled with hope—it haunted him now.

Back then, he had believed it himself. Believed it fiercely. Until ambition demanded sacrifices and he carved her out of his future with a blade sharper than truth.

Now, in his skyscraper office, the memory twisted like a knife.

“Do a full background check,” he ordered his head of security when the memory became unbearable. His voice was calm, precise, lethal. “Lauren Hayes. Everything.”

Hours later, the file landed on his desk. Mikhail flipped it open, expecting little—yet the weight in his chest grew with each page.

Father: deceased. Cancer.

Debt: crushing, left in her name.

Employment: scattered. Struggling.

Grandmother: Elizabeth Hayes. Ongoing medical issues. Declining health.

Landlord: Donnelly. Record of harassment and complaints.

His hand curled so tightly the paper crumpled in his fist.

So that was why she had carried herself like steel wrapped around exhaustion. Why her eyes had burned with fire even while her voice trembled. Why she had walked out of his office instead of staying to beg.

Pride. Always pride.

And beneath it—desperation she would never admit.

The sight of her name on those pages was unbearable. He forced the words aloud, voice raw and foreign in the stillness:

“She’s drowning.”

A beat of silence. Then, colder, sharper:

“And too damn stubborn to ask for help.”

He leaned back, the city lights gleaming cruelly across his expression. For years, he had told himself letting her go was the right choice. For years, he had starved himself of her memory.

Now fate had thrown her back in his path. Fragile, cornered, proud—and still his kotyonok.

He closed the file, decision settling like iron.

If she wouldn’t come to him willingly… he’d give her no choice.

The city glittered outside the window, vast and merciless, but Mikhail Orlov’s thoughts were locked on one truth:

He had lost her once.

He would not lose her again.

And this time, she would stay—whether she wanted to or not.

He closed the file slowly, as though the act itself demanded reverence. For a long moment, he sat motionless, the silence in his office heavier than any boardroom threat. Beyond the glass wall, New York glittered with its endless, unfeeling rhythm—cars rushing, lights flashing, lives colliding. It was a city that devoured the weak and crowned the ruthless. And yet she, his Lauren, his kotyónok, was out there surviving on scraps, forced into corners by men like Donnelly, shackled by debts she had never deserved.

The thought made his blood boil.

Mikhail rose, pacing the length of his office like a caged predator, each step sharp and deliberate. He could still see her in his mind—the tremor in her jaw when she defied him, the pride burning so brightly it nearly concealed her desperation. Nearly. But he had seen through it. He always had.

“Too stubborn to ask,” he muttered under his breath, a bitter smile tugging at his mouth. “Too proud to bend.”

She hadn’t changed. Even at seventeen, she’d carried that fire, standing in front of him as though her defiance could stop the world. And he had loved her for it then. God, he still did. But now he also hated it—hated that she thought she could fight him, hated that her pride kept her drowning alone when he could save her with a word.

He pressed his palms against the window, the city sprawling endlessly below. His reflection stared back—hard eyes, sharp jaw, a man who had clawed his way into power through blood and steel. He was not seventeen anymore. He was not the boy who whispered promises on Russian bridges and meant them with every naive piece of himself. No—he was Mikhail Orlov, the man who took what he wanted and razed anything that stood in his way.

And he wanted her.

Not just her body. Not just her presence. He wanted the surrender she swore she’d never give, the breaking of her walls until she remembered what it was to belong to him. He wanted to bind her so tightly to his world that she could never walk away again.

His fists curled against the glass, jaw tightening until the muscles ached. “You think you can fight me, kotyónok? You think your pride will keep me away?” His voice was low, a growl against the hum of the city. “No. You don’t get to run this time. You don’t get to decide.”

He turned abruptly, crossing to his desk. The file lay open, her life reduced to bullet points and clinical notes. But to him, it was more than paper. It was chains. Chains he would wield—not to destroy her, but to hold her. To keep her safe in the only way he knew how.

“I warned them once, all those years ago,” he murmured, recalling the oath he had whispered against her hair, the word that had carried more weight than she could ever have known: всегда. Always.

Always wasn’t a promise. It was a claim.

And if she thought time, or pride, or distance could sever it, she was a fool.

Mikhail sank into his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, his gaze never leaving her file. His voice dropped, softer now, but laced with steel.

“You will curse me for it, kotyónok. You will spit and rage, you will swear you hate me. But you will come back. Not because you want to. Because I will give you no choice.”

His chest rose and fell, every word more dangerous than the last. “I will tear down Donnelly brick by brick. I will crush every debt that has its claws in you. And I will strip away every false freedom you think you hold—until you see the truth. You are mine. You always were. You always will be.”

The vow solidified, dark and unshakable, in the silence of the office. It was not spoken for her ears, but for his own conviction. A promise to the boy he once was. A warning to the man he had become.

He leaned back, the city lights casting sharp shadows across his face. His eyes burned with certainty.

“I will ruin the world before I let it ruin you. And if I must break you to keep you safe—then, kotyónok… so be it.”