Dirty Damage: Chapter 34

The afternoon feels like a movie.

It’s a montage of a perfect afternoon by the pool. Artem and Oleg compete to see who can make the biggest splash while the kids giggle and cheer. Faye watches her husband with such obvious love that it makes me feel like I’m intruding even more than I already am.

Because none of this is ever going to be mine. Not really.

Even when I peel my sweater off and catch Oleg drinking in the sight of me in my bikini, it isn’t with love.

It’s with lust.

Temporary. Fleeting.

It burns hot, but fast.

And at this rate, it’ll be gone well before I’m ready for it to end.

Faye squeezes me tightly as we’re leaving, and I swear the smile on her face is pitying. Like she can see right through the happy, happy smile I’ve painted on my face.

“We’ll do this again,” she promises, squeezing my shoulder. “We’ll make this a regular thing.”

I try to agree, but the lie gets stuck in my throat.

They’re not mine to keep. None of this is.

We’ve been in the car for a few minutes when Oleg’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Something on your mind?”

I glance at Oleg in the driver’s seat of my shiny new SUV, his powerful frame making the luxury vehicle feel suddenly small. Water droplets still cling to his broad shoulders, catching the sunlight like diamonds on bronze. His shirt hangs open just enough to reveal the brutal geometry of his chest, a deliberate tease that makes my mouth go dry.

The bastard doesn’t even have to try.

While I squeezed myself into a scrap of fabric masquerading as a bikini to get his attention, all he has to do is leave a single button undone and I’m fighting the urge to climb him like a tree.

Life’s funny that way.

Not funny like ha-ha, but funny in the same way Child Services showing up at our door when I was a kid was funny.

The kind of funny that leaves scars.

“Nope,” I lie, popping the ‘p’ like the emotional equivalent of bubblegum.

“You’ve been quiet since we left Artem and Faye’s.”

I release a breath that feels too heavy for my lungs. “Just thinking about families. How different they can be. I would have killed for a home like that growing up. Two parents who actually loved each other… You can’t put a price tag on that kind of normal.”

“Some people try to.”

The implication is obvious: People like me. People who sign contracts promising babies in exchange for security. People who think they can buy their way into happiness, one desperate decision at a time.

“When Nanna was helping me cook,” I say, if only to change the subject, “she made it sound like you and Oriana were really close.”

The temperature in the car goes frigid. His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, and I watch his walls slam up like rocket ship blast doors.

“We were kids. It was a long time ago.”

I should take the hint. Let it go.

But for some reason, this feels like a lifeline. Like, if I can tug on this thread, it could turn into a tether. Something to hold us together.

“But it made you who you are. Oriana and Elise, they were important. If you want to talk about them with me, then you⁠—”

“Don’t.”

The single syllable is cutting. Final.

We pull up to his building, but instead of pulling into the lot, he parks out front and keeps the engine running.

“You’re not staying?” I hate how small my voice sounds.

“I have work meetings.”

“It’s Saturday.”

His lips curve into something dangerous. “Evil never rests, princess.”

I want to argue, want to crack open his armor and peek at the wounded boy beneath.

But I’ve already pushed too far today. So I nod and reach for the door handle, swallowing disappointment.

“I’ll see you later then.” I’m still ovulating, and I want to tell him, if only so he’ll have a contractual reason to come see me tonight.

But I swallow that down, too.

I start to slide out of the car when Oleg grabs my arm and pulls me back. Then his mouth is on mine, kissing me with deep, intense passion that can’t possibly be fake.

Who could fake this?

I’m breathless when he pulls away and cups the side of my face. “People are watching, and I need every man nearby to know that you and this bikini belong to me.”

I glance over my shoulder. He’s right. We have witnesses.

This is all part of the show.

My legs are shaky as I slide out of the car and make my way inside. The elevator ride to the penthouse feels longer than usual, each floor a reminder of how far I’ve climbed from my humble beginnings. And of how far I still have to go before I understand the man I’m supposedly marrying.

My phone rings as I unlock the door. Mara’s face fills my screen, her smile bright enough to chase away some of my gloom.

“Finally!” she squeals. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about little people like me now that you’re engaged to Palm Beach royalty.”

I hate that I’ve been so distant from Mara since I moved in with Oleg. But honestly, it feels worse being around her all the time and having to lie to her face.

I sink onto my pristine couch, guilt gnawing at my insides. “I know, I know. I’ve been a terrible friend.”

“You have not. Just a distant one. I figured getting engaged to a hot shot billionaire changed you.”

“God forbid. I’m the same old awkward disaster I’ve always been.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have walked into a business meeting with your former boss and emerged with a ring on your finger,” Mara points out. “The old Sutton would never have jumped into something so impulsive.”

The truth of that stings.

“It’s complicated.”

“God, I’m tired of hearing how everything is so complicated. I’m not stupid. Give me the pieces and I’ll put them together, babe.” She hesitates, clearly waiting for me to break. When I don’t, she sighs. “You told me everything about Drew. What makes this guy so different?”

I drum my fingers on the back of my phone, wishing more than anything I could tell her the whole truth.

But I settle on as much of the truth as I dare.

“He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. He’s got these walls up—we’re talking titanium-grade defenses—but sometimes, I catch glimpses of who he really is underneath.”

“Ooh. And who is The Beast under all his ogre-like layers?”

I wish I knew.

“He’s…” I shake my head. “Today, I saw him laugh, Mara. Really, actually laugh.”

“I had no idea robots were capable,” she teases.

“I thought he was this emotionless monster when we met, but…”

I take a slow perusal through the last three nights of Oleg’s hands on my body, his ragged commands and breathy praise in my ear. The flash of raw heartache on his face when I said his sister’s name. Elise’s name.

“He has a heart, Mara. And I think it’s broken.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re his rebound? ‘Cause I’ll castrate the man if he hurts you. I really will.”

I almost laugh, which, given the day I’ve had, is a testament to Mara. “No, it’s not like that. It’s— His sister. She died. In the same fire that gave him his scars, but he won’t talk about it.”

“Damn.” Mara’s eyes go soft with sympathy. “That’s heavy.”

“Yeah. And I get it, I do. Some wounds never heal. But how am I supposed to build a life with someone who won’t let me in?”

“Maybe he just needs time?”

I think about the contract tucked away in my dresser drawer. Time isn’t exactly on our side.

“You make it sound so real,” Mara remarks, studying me through the screen.

My heart launches into my throat. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She can’t know the truth. She doesn’t know about the contract.

“Come on, Sut. Rich, damaged guy sweeps you off your feet after one meeting? I know you have a romantic heart under all those hoodies you wear, but it sounds like he flashed some dollar signs under your nose.”

I gasp. “Hey⁠—”

“No offense, no offense!” she practically shrieks. “Believe me, I get it, girl. It’s tough out here in these minimum wage streets. You gotta do what you gotta do… especially if what you ‘gotta do’ is a smoking hot billionaire. All I’m saying is, no judgment.”

“I won’t lie—it’s partly about money,” I admit. “He can give me security and stability and the kind of life Sydney and I only ever dreamed of. But there’s more to him than that. He has another side to him.”

“You ain’t no gold-digger,” she declares with a quick head bob. “Got it. But speaking of gold-diggers—how is Syd?”

My stomach twists, both from the mention of my sister and the dangerously close comparison Mara just drew. Am I a golddigger?

“Radio silence. You know how she gets when she’s… dealing with stuff.”

The burner phone Drew gave me has been burning a hole in the back of my mind since the night he cornered me. I shoved it in the back of one of my drawers and tried to forget about it. I should throw it away—melt it down, strap it to a rocket, and send it into orbit.

But if I get rid of it, how will I know what’s going on with my sister? She isn’t taking my calls, so for now, Drew keeping his promise to give me weekly updates is my only hope of staying in touch with her.

“Dealing with stuff being code for ‘letting some asshole treat her like garbage’?”

“Pretty much.” I massage my temples. “I’ve tried calling, but…”

“But she won’t pick up because she knows you’ll tell her to leave him,” Mara finishes for me. We’ve both been here with Syd enough times to know this tale by heart. “Which she should, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I repeat. “But getting engaged to Oleg doesn’t exactly help my case. She thinks he’s my sugar daddy.”

Mara shrugs. “I mean…”

“He isn’t!” I insist. “Oleg is nothing like Paul.”

And I’m nothing like Sydney.

This isn’t the Palmer family curse.

It can’t be.

She catches my expression and smiles. “I can tell by the way you look when you talk about him. Whatever’s going on between you two, it’s not what Sydney has with Paul.”

No, what Oleg and I have is much more complicated.

A business arrangement wrapped in attraction, wrapped in secrets neither of us is willing to share.

“I should go,” I tell Mara. “Got some wedding stuff to look at.”

It’s a lie, but she buys it. Thank God.

After we hang up, I curl up on the obscenely expensive couch and stare at my phone. At the last message I sent Sydney, still unread after two weeks.

The urge to grab that burner phone is almost overwhelming. But Drew’s updates come with strings attached—they always do. And I promised myself I wouldn’t be that girl anymore. Wouldn’t follow the Palmer family tradition of trusting the wrong men.

Yet here I am.

Following him anyway.

Some patterns are harder to break than others.