Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“That man was not my father.”
Fyodor swallows, shocked by my outburst. He can be because he doesn’t know the hell I went through under that man’s reign and how badly it still affects my life to this day.
If it weren’t for him, Mara would already be mine.
“Leave.” My narrowed gaze is for Fyodor, but my demand is for Veronika.
She tries to lessen the tension pilfering the air of oxygen. “Just think about it, Ark. That’s all we’re asking. We could be amazing together and do many wonderful things.”
While batting her lashes, she places her hand on my chest and leans in to kiss my cheek goodbye. I pull away, causing her to almost stumble. Just her hand on me makes me furious. I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions if her overly glossed lips were to touch me. And don’t get me started on her choice of perfume.
It reminds me of her.
I wait for Veronika to leave before walking around my desk. I need something bulky between Fyodor and me to ensure I use words instead of my fists while announcing my anger about his blatant disrespect.
“Who do you work for, Fyodor?”
He looks at me in shock, and it pisses me off.
“Who do you work for?” I ask again, louder this time. “Me or my mother?”
“You,” he answers, his reply just as loud, his anger as apparent. “Of course you.” He tries to soothe tempered waters, his paycheck as vital to him as his life. “I only brought up your mother because she contacted me last night.” Stupidly, he steps closer. “She said you told her to back off and that you need space.”
“Because I do!”
I’ve never spoken a bad word about my mother in my life. If she says something, even something I disagree with, I keep my mouth shut. It isn’t that I trust her word and know she would never lead me astray. It is because she knows all my deepest, darkest secrets.
Pacifying her pacifies my worry that she will destroy any chance I have of power. Not the power some men wrongly believe they have. The ultimate power. The top tier of the ladder. I want to rule the nation because those on the top perch will never be shit on again.
But I couldn’t do that Friday night. My mother doesn’t know a thing about Mara, her background, or the fight she displays with nothing but a glance, yet she tore her to shreds by assessing her credibility through a paparazzi image.
I went to war. I fought for a woman who scares me as much as she intrigues me, and I was winning… until my mother noticed Mara wasn’t the only female in the photograph.
Tillie’s whitened face is barely visible in the image the paparazzo took of us in the back of the cab, but once you notice her in the crook of her mother’s arm, you can’t miss her. Her face is as precious as her mother’s, and her eyes are just as soul-stealing.
Not even my mother could deny those facts. She used them against me multiple times throughout her two-hour tirade. Her belief that I am moments away from becoming the monster from my nightmares was so on-point not even a fifth of whiskey and a recently replenished bathroom could take the edge off.
I stewed over her claim for hours and see myself doing the same again now when I dismiss Fyodor from my office as if his disrespect doesn’t warrant further punishment.
He’s almost out the door when I hand him the final nail for his coffin. It’s up to him what he does with it. “Speaking with my mother behind my back again will see you standing at the end of an unemployment line. Do I make myself clear?”
Guilt colors his tone when he answers, “Profoundly, sir.”
18
MARA
Things feel tense when I enter Ark’s apartment. The mood is somber, and the air is heavy with sentiment. Anyone would swear the article in the newspaper Darius was reading when Tillie and I slipped into the back of his town car this morning had Ark’s approval rating falling instead of steadily rising.
His team should be celebrating, so I’m perplexed about what happened.
Ark didn’t have a change of mind, did he?
I didn’t hear from him over the weekend, so I assume the schedule a courier handed me Saturday afternoon is still valid. And I’m not late. It only takes fifteen minutes to walk from Tillie’s school to the Chrysler building, but since Darius said my collection and drop-off from work includes a detour to Tillie’s school, I’ve arrived for my shift thirty minutes early instead of the usual fifteen.
“Hey, Mara.”
A touch of pinkness impinges on my cheeks from the way Rafael greets me. It reminds me of Rio from Good Girls, another of Mrs. Lichard’s favorite shows. Tillie isn’t allowed to watch that one, so Mrs. Lichard saves it for the nights Tillie doesn’t beg for a sleepover. Tillie is as obsessed with Mrs. Lichard’s cooking as she is with John Pearce.