Chapter5
1104 Words
Lauren stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the crimson fabric of her pantsuit. Red. She hadn’t thought about it until she zipped it up—but it hit her then. Red had always been his favorite.
She shook the thought away. This wasn’t about him. It was about Nana. About survival. About clearing the hospital bills and the eviction notice shoved under her door. About paying off her father’s debts. This wasn’t about old memories.
Yet when she caught her reflection again, she wondered if part of her hadn’t chosen this color on purpose.
By the time she reached his office, her pulse was thrumming. The assistant barely had time to announce her before the heavy door opened, and she stepped inside.
He was there. Mikhail Orlov. Impossibly composed behind a sleek desk, every inch of him radiating power. His eyes caught hers instantly—dark, unreadable, alive.
Lauren didn’t let him speak first. “I’m here to accept the position,” she said, voice firm, rehearsed. “For the assistant role. You were right—I can’t afford to be proud anymore. I need the job.”
Silence stretched. His eyes studied her, sharp and unreadable, like a predator assessing prey that didn’t know its own strength.
“No.”
The word sliced through her carefully constructed composure. “What do you mean, no?”
He stood, his presence filling the room. “Koyténok, I told you I would not accept you as my assistant. That offer is gone.”
Her throat tightened. “But—”
“I told you,” he interrupted, low and deliberate, “you would be back. But not for the job. For me.”
She blinked. “What do you mean, no?”
He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, gaze scanning her as if weighing her carefully. “Kotyónok… I told you I would not accept you as my assistant. That offer is gone.”
Her throat tightened. “But—”
He interrupted with a soft chuckle, almost teasing, like he were enjoying her frustration. “You look exactly the same. Fire in your eyes, pride bristling under your skin… yet somehow, still stubborn enough to believe you have a choice.”
Heat rushed to her face. “You had no right—”
“Every right,” he said, voice dropping lower, deliberate. He took a slow step closer, and she could feel the faint warmth of his presence without even noticing. “Because I won’t watch you drown when I can pull you out.”
He circled slightly, pacing just enough to make her shift on her feet. “I know about Nana. About the medical bills. About your father’s debts. About the landlord who thinks you’re easy prey.”
Her chest constricted. “You shouldn’t know—”
“I see everything,” he said, pausing behind her chair. His fingers grazed the edge of her desk as he leaned lightly on it, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. “And I know you, Lauren. Every stubborn, infuriating inch of you. And yet… you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be right now.”
Her hands shook. “You’re insane if you think I’d agree to this.”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. But I like my chances.”
Her pulse hammered in her ears. “What are you even talking about?”
He leaned casually against the desk again, one hand brushing over the leather surface as if testing her patience. “The choice I’m giving you. Freedom. Security. Everything you’ve been fighting for. And yes… a bit of me, whether you like it or not.”
She narrowed her eyes, trying to regain composure. “And if I refuse?”
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his scent—wood, leather, something uniquely him. “Then you walk out now… and spend a lifetime trying to fix your problems”
He let the silence stretch, watching her inhale sharply, trying to mask the rapid thump of her pulse.
Lauren laughed, harsh and broken. “Problems? You call my grandmother dying a problem?”
He didn’t flinch. “Thirty million solves it. That is not cruelty, Lauren. That is me giving you what no one else can.”
Her chest heaved. “And what about you? What does it solve for you, what does it really get you ?”
For a moment, his mask slipped. Something raw, something unguarded flashed in his eyes before vanishing. “You don’t need to know my reasons,” he said flatly. “You need only understand that this is business. You set your conditions, your rules, your boundaries. I’ll honor them. In the end, we both get what we need.”
Her fists clenched tighter. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple,” he said. “You get freedom. I get order. Nothing more.”
Yet when he looked at her again, the weight in his gaze told her otherwise. Far more. And that terrified her.
Lauren wanted to speak, to argue, to run—but he interrupted her thoughts, voice dropping, smooth and deliberate. “This is your lifeline, kotyónok. Take it or leave it. But don’t think you can outrun me.”
Her jaw tightened, fury and fear mingling. She turned toward the door, hesitating only for a fraction of a second before stepping out. Her eyes flicked back to the ivory card on the desk. Lifeline. Trap. Temptation.
As she walked, a flutter of panic rose in her chest. Is this my only choice? Can I survive without it? Her mind raced over Nana’s illness, the debts, the landlord’s constant threats. And yet… Mikhail Orlov. The memory of his touch, his voice, the way he always seemed to know her, left her reeling.
Behind her, he leaned back in his chair, silent. His dark eyes followed her retreating form until the door clicked shut.
A faint, dangerous smile curved his lips. He allowed himself a moment to revel in it—not triumph, not cruelty, but something quieter, deeper. She thinks she can resist. She doesn’t know how predictable she is… or how determined I am.
He reached for the phone on his desk, running a finger along the smooth surface, already plotting his next move. Lauren might be walking out of his office now, but in three years, he thought, she would be exactly where she belonged. And he would make sure of it.
- Writer
