Deep down, I hoped I was wrong, even though my instincts had never been wrong about matters like this. I didn’t want to believe she was part of his manipulative scheme. Perhaps that was why I didn’t bother interrogating this man about her.
I was afraid of the truth he’d spill and how I’d be forced to react. He gave up the names of his boss’s allies, but he didn’t say whether the man still had moles within my ranks. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. Not because the information wasn’t important. But because I couldn’t risk hearing her name on the list.
Emika was beginning to affect me in ways I never thought possible. If I found out that she was involved in this heinous act against me, it most probably would break me. And I hated it.
Frustrated, I struck him harder and harder, splashes of his blood staining my face.
“Boss,” Sergei’s deep voice snapped me back to the present. “He’s gone.”
I froze, my hand hanging midair.
The man’s lifeless body sat limp on the chair, his head falling forward. His chin rested on his chest, a thick thread of blood hanging off his broken nose.
With heavy breaths, I straightened, my disheveled hair framing my face. My knuckles were numb, my face still twisted in anger. I extended my hand to accept a clean white handkerchief from Sergei.
I wiped the fresh blood from my hands and carefully cleaned the splashes on my face. I flexed my fingers, rolling my wrists in a slow, massaging motion while gazing at my victim’s body.
“What should we do with him?” Sergei asked me.
I combed my hair back, letting out a quiet exhale. “Put him in a box and send him back to his boss,” I said, my voice low and even.
This would send a message to Richard that he’d crossed the line. Actions had consequences. The death of this man was on him. He started this, and I hoped he was ready to see it through to the end.
“You’re declaring war on your in-law?” Sergei asked, his voice tinged with a hint of disbelief.
I turned to him, my expression cold as ice. “He declared war on me first.”
***
When I returned home that evening, I found her working late at the office. She was still in her corporate clothes: crisp white top with a black pencil skirt.
Her eyes were fixed on the laptop screen flickering on her desk, her fingers rattling across the keyboard. She was so engrossed in work that she didn’t hear me come in.
By the time she noticed me, I was already hovering over her table. Her eyes widened in shock, and she yelped, jolting backward. She put her hand on her chest, as if to keep her heart from jumping out.
“Jesus!” she exclaimed. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
“What did you tell Richard when you visited him?” I demanded, my voice low but stern.
The color drained from her face, and her expression darkened by a whisper. “Are we back to this again? I thought we talked about this….”
“Answer the question,” I insisted.
She rose to her feet, her tone defensive. “I already told you, we talked about my mother’s condition—”
I cut her off. “What did you tell him about my family?”
“Nothing!” she blurted out, her voice cracking, lips trembling. “I didn’t tell him anything—and you really need to stop accusing me of something I haven’t done!”
Quietly, I went around her desk, my footsteps slow and deliberate. She locked her jaw, watching as I approached her with the glare of a predator.
“You need to chill, Adrik,” she said, looking right at me. “I’m not your enemy.”
“But your grandfather is.” I halted in front of her.
“I am not my grandfather,” she shot back. “Look, I get it. You can’t be too careful, and trust is a luxury you cannot afford. But I’m asking you to believe me.” She paused, searching my eyes. “I didn’t tell Richard anything. I swear.”
She sounded believable, and it was almost like she was convinced that she was innocent of this. Should I trust her?
