Dirty Damage: Chapter 22

My cheap stilettos click against the marble floor of the lobby as I stride toward the elevator, fighting the urge to tear off this ridiculous dress and shove it deep in the trash.

What a waste of time and effort. An hour getting ready and amping myself up, all to have Oleg glance at me once before returning to his precious spreadsheets.

It felt good in the moment—yelling at him, standing my ground.

Then I left his office…

Got in the elevator… got back in the car… Let Uri drive me home…

… and nothing.

No texts.

No calls.

No frantic, rom-com-style run through the lobby of the building to catch me.

Oleg doesn’t care.

Now, I have the proof.

I made Uri take me somewhere for lunch because I couldn’t stand the thought of coming home to the empty penthouse.

But when the elevator doors slide open to the foyer, it isn’t empty. Faye Savin is bouncing an increasingly agitated Noah on her hip while Lily pinches her nose closed dramatically.

“Oh, thank God,” Faye breathes. “We came to see you, but Noah pooped on the way over and I forgot wipes. Oleg has some in the playroom.”

I blink, processing for what’s apparently a moment too long because Faye rushes past me with Noah.

“Thanks, girl.”

Not that I had much choice.

“It stinks in the car,” Lily announces, still pinching her nose. “Noah pooped everywhere. Having a little brother is gross.”

I can’t help but laugh, my earlier humiliation temporarily forgotten as I scoop up Lily’s free hand.

“Well then, I think we need some strawberry lemon popsicles to clear the air, don’t we?”

“Yes, please!” Lily’s eyes light up as she skips alongside me to the kitchen.

Her small hand fits in the center of mine, forcing me to imagine another little girl—one with my blonde hair and Oleg’s golden eyes.

I told myself I signed the contract for Sydney—and I did.

But maybe I want to be a mother, too. To have a child of my own.

Or, more likely, I just don’t want to be alone.

By the time Faye emerges with a much cleaner Noah, Lily is settled on the balcony with a popsicle. Noah plucks one from the table and starts licking, oblivious to how frazzled his mother looks.

“Sorry again for busting in on you.” Faye drops into the chair next to me with a sigh. “I mean, I was planning to bust in on you, anyway, but I didn’t plan for the emergency.”

I laugh. “When you gotta go, you gotta go. I get it.”

She smiles and shakes her head as she looks towards the balcony railing. The sun glints off the water, a perfect Florida day that somehow makes my mood feel even darker in contrast.

Faye snatches a popsicle off the table and turns back to me. Her eyes widen like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Whoa. You look dressed to kill. Hot date?”

I snort. “Hardly. Just made a fool of myself visiting your brother-in-law at work.”

Faye’s perfectly groomed eyebrows shoot up. “Do tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Especially since I signed an NDA that Oleg definitely has the money and power to enforce. “I went to visit him at work, but he was busy. Then I left.”

The silence stretches until I look over and find Faye giving me a guilty smile. “I know about the contract, Sutton. Oleg told Artem.”

My face flushes, but I try to hide my shame behind an eyeroll. “Apparently, the ‘keep your mouth shut’ clause only applies to me.”

“Honey, when you marry into this family, you learn there are no secrets. Not really. There’s just enough money to keep lips sealed.” She pats my hand. “Want to talk about it?”

I glance at the kids, but they’re absorbed in their popsicles and toys.

The weight of my loneliness, my confusion, my infuriating attraction for a man who seems to have lost interest—it all comes crashing down at once.

But I don’t even know where to begin.

“I already like you way better than Oleg.” Faye winks. “If you’re worried about me spilling your secrets, I won’t.”

That’s all it takes to open the gates.

I lean closer, voice low. “He’s the one who wanted this contract. He’s the one who seemed so eager to get started on making heirs. And now…”

“Now what?”

“Now, I’m wondering if he got a closer look at the merchandise and changed his mind.”

The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.

I’ve spent my entire life knowing I’m at least moderately attractive to men. The creeps my mom—and, eventually, my sister—dated made that clear enough more than once.

They liked what they saw, whether I wanted them looking or not.

But suddenly, I think I might care what Oleg Pavlov thinks of me.

God, it’s pathetic.

“You really see yourself as merchandise?” Faye’s voice is sharp.

I fling my hands at myself—my dress, my carefully styled hair. “He contracted me with a purpose. I’m the easily manipulated package he wants to sell to the public. Except… not really. I didn’t even get to be in my own engagement photos. They Photoshopped my face on some skinnier woman’s body.”

“It was probably a timing issue. He’s busy and didn’t want to do a photoshoot or something.”

“Or,” I bite out, “I’m nothing like the women he usually dates, and he’s figuring that out. They’re all polished and rich. I couldn’t tell Balenciaga from a paper bag.”

“Sometimes, Balenciaga is a paper bag.” She tries a tight smile before she sighs. “You really think he only chose you because he can manipulate you?”

“Why else? He saw me in that ridiculous princess costume and probably thought I’d jump at any chance to escape my sad little life.”

The memory of our first meeting still makes me cringe.

“Princess costume?” Faye perks up, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Now, this I have to hear.”

“Oh, God.” I bury my face in my hands. “Can we pretend I didn’t mention that?”

“Not a chance. Spill.”

So I tell her about that mortifying day in the gym bathroom, about the stuck zipper and Oleg’s smirk and his demand to see me in his office.

By the time I finish, Faye is doubled over laughing.

“Stop,” I groan. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” she wheezes. “And absolutely perfect.”

“More like a horror story,” I snap. “This is my life and it’s an absolute mess.”

“Oh, honey.” Faye wipes tears of laughter from her eyes. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

“The way Oleg looks at you when you’re not watching. Trust me, disinterest is not the problem.”

I roll my eyes. “Right. That’s why he spends all his time avoiding me.”

“Have you considered that maybe he’s avoiding himself?” When I frown in confusion, Faye continues. “Look, Oleg doesn’t exactly have the best track record with letting people in. That’s intentional.”

“What do you mean?”

“All that dark, brooding energy? The dangerous mystique? It’s armor.” Faye glances at the kids to make sure they’re still occupied. “It’s how he protects himself.”

“From me?” I blurt.

“From feeling anything at all.” Her eyes soften at the corners, a sad smile playing on her lips. “He’s been through things… experiences that made him build walls.”

My heart thuds. “What kind of things?”

“That’s not my story to tell.” Faye’s expression grows serious. “But I will say this: The fact that he chose you, that he’s letting you into his life at all? That means something.”

“Yeah, it means he needs an heir.”

“Girl, if all Oleg wanted was an heir, he could have his pick of socialites desperate to land a billionaire husband. Instead, he picked you.” She gives me a pointed look. “Think about that.”

I do think about it, watching Noah build his train tracks while Lily conducts an elaborate lesson for her stuffed animals.

The sight makes my chest ache with longing.

“Maybe I’m just convenient,” I suggest weakly. “No family connections to complicate things. No fortune hunters in my background.”

“Or maybe he saw something in you that none of those polished, cultured socialites have.” Faye’s voice turns gentle. “Something real.”

Faye’s words are still echoing in my mind when my phone buzzes hours later. I expect it to be Oleg.

Another late-night message telling me not to wait up. Another blow-off. Another night spent alone.

I’m partially right.

It is Oleg.

But I won’t be spending another night alone.

OLEG: Meet me at the Pavlov Boatyard in half an hour, princess. It’s time we talked.

Even after how we left things this morning, hope flutters in my chest.

I don’t even respond to the message.

I just bolt for my room, already wondering what to wear.