“I’m sorry,” I say, hyper aware of everyone watching me. But I don’t care. I don’t care what they think, what they’ll think after they leave. All I care about is that my husband forgives me. “I’m sorry, Wolfgang. Please…” I swallow. “I’m begging you to forgive me.”
“Get up.”
I shake my head.
“Victoria… love of my life…” he mocks. “Get up and leave the room before I do something we’ll both regret.”
“Do it, then! Do whatever you have to do. I need you to—”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to reconvene at a different time, gentlemen. Seems my wife woke up in some kind of mood.”
Some kind of mood… as if we’re not going through something. As if I’m not literally at his feet, begging for forgiveness. We’re back to where it all started—to the part where he doesn’t care about me. Only this time is worse, because all the fascination he may have had about me before is gone. Spent.
When the other men are out of the room, he turns to me. “I thought I made myself clear. We’re done. Why are you still here?”
“Because we’renotdone!” I shout, still kneeling as I look up at him. “We’ll never be. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. In the end, Wolf, you’ll have no choice but to forgive me. Because I love you, and you know it, and I made a mistake—a terrible, terrible mistake that I’ll regret forever…”
“You’re not going to give up?” he asks.
“No. Never.”
He smiles—that cold, empty smile of his that reminds me of our first encounters—and gets up, shoving his hands in his pockets as he towers above me. I hold my breath, waiting for something—anything. Praying he’ll give me something to hold on to—hope.
“Then I wish you luck, Victoria. Because one thing you should know about me is… once I’ve moved on from something, there’s no turning back.”
And then he leaves me there, breathless, aching, and alone.
I blink, and he’s gone.
I don’t cry, and my shoulders don’t shake this time. I’ve done that enough. Instead, I sit here, on his office floor, feeling empty, numb.
I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to be here, nor there. I feel like a ghost. Like a shell with no life in it. I’ve never experienced this feeling before.
Minutes— maybe hours—pass. My knees hurt, and my stomach growls. And suddenly, out of nowhere, hands wrap around my shoulders. Someone’s kneeling with me. Calling my name.
“What?” I ask, shifting my attention back to the present, to the man in front of me.
“I asked if you were okay,” Mikhail says.
“I don’t… I don’t know.”
“He can be such an asshole. Come on, let’s get you up.” I let him pull me up, holding on to his forearms. When I’m back standing, I come back to my senses. And I step back, away from him.
“What are you doing? Why are you here, cornering me?”
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Cornering you?” I don’t reply. And he sighs. “Look. He’ll come around. You just need to give him some time.”
“Why the hell do you even care? You got what you wanted. I don’t need your pity or your advice. Just… go. Leave me alone.”
I look to the side, but not before I notice a flicker of something traverse his face. Hurt, maybe? No. Why would my words have any effect on him?
“Did I get what I wanted? Or did my mother get whatshewanted?”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“Wolf told me all about you two trying to steal his position,” I say.
“My brother may be smart, but he’s not omniscient. He can’t know what he never asks about.”
