“Taras spoke to Felix,” I say from the doorway. “Confirmed the protocol violation. He’s been reassigned to a position where he can’t make independent decisions.”
She turns, surprise flickering across her face. “I didn’t ask you to punish him.”
“You shouldn’t have to. He challenged your authority, tested boundaries he knew better than to test.” I cross to pour myself a drink. “What you said to him was correct. He needed to hear it from someone other than me.”
“I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”
“I know. That’s why it worked.” I settle in the chair across from her. “You didn’t assert authority for the sake of it. You identified a genuine security concern and addressed it. That’s exactly what you should be doing.”
Misha stretches, yawning to show needle teeth, then settles back into Janice’s lap. The kitten has become a fixture, her presence somehow making every room feel less like a fortress and more like a home.
“Can I ask you something?” Janice says after a moment.
“Always.”
“Why did you really leave me? Four years ago, after that night, why did you disappear?”
The question lands heavier than I expect. I’ve avoided this conversation, deflected it, given her pieces but never the full truth.
“You want the real reason,” I say slowly. “Not the version I told myself, or the justification I gave Damien.”
“Yes.”
I take a long drink, buying time. “The Bratva noticed you. Noticed my distraction. Damien called me in, told me in veryclear terms that you were a liability. That keeping you close would either get you killed or get me compromised.”
“So you chose to protect me by destroying me.”
“I chose to protect you by removing myself from your life before my world could consume you. The internship ending was… clinical. Clean. I thought cutting ties completely would keep you safe.” I meet her eyes. “I was wrong.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t disappear. You came back. Published that exposé that proved you’d been paying attention all along, that you’d seen more than I realized.” My grip tightens on the glass. “I spent four years trying to forget you existed. Four years convincing myself that was mercy. Then I walked into that boardroom, and I understood—there was never any escaping this. Us. Whatever this is.”
Janice is quiet for a long moment, stroking Misha’s back with absent focus. “You could have told me back then. Given me a choice instead of making it for me.”
“Would you have walked away if I’d asked?”
“Probably not.”
“Then I made the choice you couldn’t. I was older, understood the stakes better, knew what my world would do to someone like you.” I lean forward. “I thought I was saving you. Instead, I just delayed the inevitable and made sure you hated me when we met again.”
“I don’t hate you now.”
“No. Now you’re trapped, and hate would be easier than whatever this is becoming.”
She shifts Misha carefully aside and stands, crossing to where I sit. Her hand finds mine, fingers threading through.
“I want to tell you something,” she says quietly. “About why I came to New York in the first place. Why journalism mattered so much.”
I wait, sensing this is important.
“My father was a small-town developer. Nothing like you. It was little projects, local buildings, honest work.” Her voice stays steady, but I hear the weight underneath. “When I was sixteen, a bigger company wanted his land. He refused to sell. They manufactured a scandal, destroyed his reputation, drove him into bankruptcy. He killed himself six months later.”
The words make me wince.
“I came to New York to understand how power works. How men like the ones who destroyed my father operate. How money and influence can erase people who get in the way.” She meets my eyes. “That’s why your world fascinated me. Why I couldn’t leave it alone even when I should have. I wanted to understand the machinery so I could break it.”
Understanding crashes over me. “The exposé wasn’t just revenge for what I did to you.”
