Four whole days had passed since that ridiculous, hope-filled morning.
Four days. Ninety-six hours. Five thousand seven hundred sixty minutes.
In that time, my so-called husband, mafia boss, and the guy I'd unilaterally decided was my crush—Kirill Orlov—had vanished off the face of the earth, like he'd been abducted by aliens.
I started overthinking everything.
Was the stuff in that envelope too gross, too sappy, so he figured cold-shouldering me was the way to make me bail? Or maybe that tenderness in bed was just booze talking, and now sober, he regretted it, felt like touching a vase like me was a total disgrace?
The self-doubt hit its peak on the fourth morning.
I sat on the living room couch, staring blankly at that black card. It had worked miracles at the hospital these past days—Aiden's room upgraded to a suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, the head nurse grinning at me like I was her long-lost mom.
But I felt like a thief with stolen cash.
"Morning, ma'am."
A booming voice snapped me out of my pity party. I looked up and saw Boris striding in, carrying a couple of black file bags. He looked like he'd just come off a battlefield, dusty and worn.
"Boris!" I jumped up like he was my savior, nearly knocking over the coffee on the side table. "What are you doing here?"
Boris blinked, probably thrown by my enthusiasm. "Uh, back to grab some files for the boss, and a change of clothes."
"Change of clothes?" I latched onto that. "Kirill's still at the office?"
"Yeah." Boris scratched his bald head, looking beat. "Boss has been killing himself these days. That merger hit a snag—those old foxes on the other side are trying to screw us. He's been crashing in the office for four days straight. Even catching a nap on that leather couch feels like a luxury."
My heart unclenched, that crushing weight shattering into dust.
It wasn't me.
Not the damn envelope, not hating me.
Kirill was just swamped.
"He's been away four days because of work?" I asked cautiously, fighting a grin.
"You bet." Boris sighed. "That kind of negotiation grind would drive me nuts. Don't sweat it, ma'am—the boss turns into a maniac when he's working, doesn't give a damn about family or anything."
"I'm not sweating it!" I denied quickly, but my face heated up. "Thanks for telling me, Boris."
"No problem." Boris grabbed the bags and headed out.
After seeing him off, the sky outside looked bluer.
Harper, he's out there busting his ass for business, and you're moping over some girly crush crap.
You should do something. Act like a wife.
The idea hit just as lunch rolled around.
Grandma Olga seemed in good spirits today, decked out in a deep purple velvet gown, silver hair combed perfectly, that signature pearl necklace around her neck. I'd always dreamed of being aconfident powerhouse like her, but back then, I never imagined we'd end up family.
"Sit, Harper." Olga tapped her cup with a silver spoon. "Your husband's been gone for days. You should do something."
"He's tied up with company stuff." I jumped to explain. "Boris said it's a big merger."
"Huh, merger." Olga snorted, slamming down her knife and fork. "Work, always work. His deadbeat dad wrecked his stomach that way—looks like he's following suit."
