Nine Months of Deception: The CEO's Hidden Heir

Chapter 2

The phone wouldn't stop vibrating on the cold bathroom tiles, emitting a metallic buzz that echoed off the walls and pierced my brain. The screen flickered on and off rhythmically, illuminating the dim room with a menacing white light.

The name Sebastian Volkov flashed in capital letters, as if even through a damned mobile device he was trying to impose his authority on me.

I ran trembling hands over my face, forcing myself to take deep breaths. The air in the small bathroom felt suffocating, thick, heavy with the weight of the decision I had just made. The time for crying, for lamenting empty promises and my own stupidity, was over.

I swiped across the screen with a pulse that betrayed my terror and opened the text message that had just arrived.

"Gianna. You're twenty-five minutes late. Marcus is on his way to your apartment. You have exactly five minutes to get out into the hallway, or he'll break down the door. I don't have time for your games today."

Panic hit me like a sledgehammer. An icy chill ran down my spine. Marcus wasn't just a driver or a messenger; he was Sebastian's head of personal security, a towering figure standing six feet six inches tall with muscles of steel, who followed orders without question and without the slightest remorse.

If he found me here, in this state, he'd drag me back to Volkov Tower without a second thought. And, infinitely worse, if Sebastian saw me looking pale and forced me to go to the company clinic to find out why his "perfect" assistant was unwell, the company doctor would inform him of my condition within minutes.

Consequently, a wave of nausea forced me to kneel abruptly in front of the toilet. I emptied my stomach violently, trembling to the bone, feeling like the whole world was spinning around me. When I finally managed to stand, I leaned against the sink and rinsed my mouth with ice-cold water. I slowly looked up at the mirror.

The scared, naive, and hopelessly in love girl I had been for the past three years had completely vanished.

The woman who stared back at me now had deep dark circles under her eyes, but also a wild, maternal instinct shining in her pupils.

I stumbled out of the bathroom and ran to my room. I threw myself to the floor and pulled my old black suitcase out from under the bed, the same suitcase I had arrived in New York with, full of foolish dreams. I flung it open onto the mattress and began throwing clothes inside haphazardly. A pair of worn jeans, baggy sweaters that would be incredibly useful in a couple of months for hiding my belly, socks, sneakers, and a thick jacket.

I left all the gray suits, pencil skirts, and silk blouses buttoned up to the neck that Sebastian had forced me to wear to fit into his impeccable corporate world untouched in the closet. I didn't need them anymore; that armor belonged to a version of me that had just died.

Next, I took out my cash savings, which I kept jealously guarded in a shoebox at the back of the closet, and my passport. I zipped my suitcase shut with a sharp tug.

However, the hardest part was still to come. I had to cut the final thread.

I walked over to the small desk by the window and opened my laptop.

The screen lit up, revealing my corporate inbox, overflowing with urgent emails, rescheduled meetings, and crises that the CEO of Volkov Industries expected me to magically resolve.

If I simply vanished off the face of the earth, Sebastian would use all his unlimited resources, his contacts in the police, and his private detectives to find me.

Even if it was just from the bruised pride of being stood up by his personal secretary, he would move heaven and earth to find me. Therefore, I had to wound his enormous and fragile ego. I had to give him such a repulsive reason to hate me that he would never want to hear my name again.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, composing the email with my heart pounding in my throat. I knew exactly which buttons to push to destroy him because I had spent three years studying each of his hidden insecurities.

"To: Sebastian Volkov

Subject: Immediate and Irrevocable Resignation

Mr. Volkov,

I am writing to inform you that I am leaving the company and New York City today. I have accepted an offer from a rival company that not only pays me three times what you offered, but also values ​​my true potential. Frankly, I cannot endure another day in your toxic work environment. You are the most insufferable, cold, and empty man I have ever met. I thought working for the great Sebastian Volkov would be an honor, but it has been nothing but a waste of time. You are not a leader; you are just a tyrant in expensive suits who is terrified of being left alone. Keep your glass empire, because it's all you have. Please do not attempt to contact me. Any legal matters can be addressed directly with Human Resources.

Goodbye forever,

Gianna Rossi.”

I read the text twice. It was cruel, venomous, and utterly ruthless. It was exactly the kind of betrayal of loyalty he would never forgive.

My finger trembled on the mouse pad for what felt like an eternity, but then I placed my free hand on my stomach, flat and silent.

"This is all for you, my little one," I whispered into the solitude of the room, feeling a warm, solitary tear slide down my left cheek.

I clicked Submit before giving myself the slightest chance to change my mind.

Immediately afterward, I turned off the computer and left it on the table. I knew their IT experts could track every digital movement, every Wi-Fi connection, every credit card transaction. So I grabbed my cell phone, ripped off the protective case, took out the SIM card, and snapped it in half with my fingernails, digging the plastic into my fingertips. I threw the pieces in the trash along with the useless device. I was officially disconnected, wiped off the map.

I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, put on my dark coat, and headed for the exit. I was barely a meter away from turning the doorknob when the unmistakable sound of the elevator bell echoed in the quiet hallway of my floor.

Ding.

My blood ran cold.

Heavy, firm, almost military footsteps began to advance down the carpeted hallway. Marcus had arrived, and he wasn't there for a friendly chat.

I closed my eyes for a microsecond, calculating my options at lightning speed. If I went out the front door, I'd run right into him. So, with the stealth of a ghost and holding my breath until my lungs ached, I turned the doorknob of my apartment door millimeter by millimeter. I opened it a fraction of a centimeter and peered through the crack. Marcus was standing with his back to me, about five meters away, knocking on the wrong door, apartment 4B, thinking it was mine.

"Miss Rossi?" His deep, booming voice made the fine wood tremble. "Mr. Volkov sent me. Open the door immediately."

Taking advantage of the fact that he was focused on banging on my neighbor's door, I slipped through the opening of my own, pulling my suitcase with extreme care so the wheels wouldn't squeak against the floor. I moved to the left, close to the wall, straight to the red door that marked the exit to the emergency stairs. Each step I took felt deafening, as if I had bells tied to my ankles.

I pressed the metal bar of the emergency door just as I heard Marcus curse under his breath and pull out a phone to make a call, probably to Sebastian himself to let him know I wasn't answering.

I stepped into the dark stairwell and began to hurtle down the four floors. The smell of dampness and rust filled my nostrils. The heavy suitcase slammed violently against my legs on every step, leaving bruises I would surely see the next day, but the adrenaline propelled me forward, blocking out any trace of physical pain.

The air burned my lungs, my sneakers slipped on the worn steps, but I couldn't afford to stop. If Marcus realized his mistake and discovered I'd escaped down the stairs, he'd catch me in seconds. I was running for my life and my son's; he was just doing his job.

I reached the ground floor drenched in a cold, sticky sweat. I pushed open the heavy iron back door that led directly to the service alley and rushed out into the cold drizzle falling on Manhattan.

The impact of the icy air against my burning face gave me a split second of clarity.

I didn't stop running, dodging overflowing trash cans and puddles of dirty water, until I was two blocks away, quickly blending into the frenzied, anonymous crowd that thronged the sidewalks of New York.

I raised my hand desperately at the edge of the sidewalk, and a yellow taxi screeched to a halt in front of me, splashing a little water onto my jeans.

“To the central bus station, please. And go as fast as you can,” I pleaded with the driver, my voice cracking, climbing into the back seat and sinking my trembling body against the worn leather of the vehicle.

“Sure, miss. Tough day, huh?” the taxi driver remarked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as he stepped on the gas and merged into the heavy traffic of the avenue.

I didn’t answer him. I simply turned to look out the back window, watching the neon lights blur through the raindrops on the glass.

The modest brick building where I had lived my last few years, and, in the distance, peeking through the gray clouds, the imposing and arrogant glass spire of the Volkov Tower, grew smaller and smaller until they disappeared completely, swallowed by the immensity of the city.

I placed a trembling hand on my stomach and tightly interlaced my fingers, feeling a strangely comforting warmth radiate from my skin. I had done it. I had escaped the gilded cage and the man who threatened to destroy me.

However, despite the physical distance that now separated us, I knew perfectly well that at that very moment, on the cold and unreachable fiftieth floor, Sebastian Volkov was opening his inbox.

I could almost vividly imagine how his steely eyes would darken as he read my words, how the vein in his neck would bulge with pent-up fury, and how the implacable monster within him would awaken, thirsting for blood.

I had fled from the beast, yes. But in doing so, I had just declared the most dangerous war of my life. And the game of cat and mouse, a game where the loser lost absolutely everything, had just begun.