David Pov
The days since he left have been a black fog. I've spent them buried in my office, the familiar scent of old leather and power a hollow comfort.
The city of New York, my city, sprawls below, and I feel nothing but a cold rage. Leo Hayes. His name is a poison on my tongue, a constant, buzzing static in my brain. I see him everywhere: in the blank faces of my security, in the polished steel of my desk, in the reflection of the city lights in my window. A stain I can't scrub clean.
"The board is ready for the call, David," Ivan says, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
I turn from the window, my gaze sweeping over him. Ivan is a rock, a man I can always trust. He is a part of me, a part of this organization. But right now, I feel like a stranger in my own skin.
"Cancel it," I order, my voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I have no patience for incompetence today."
Ivan doesn't question me. He simply nods, the slight frown on his face a sign of his concern. He knows me. He knows I am a man of control, a man who never lets his emotions cloud his judgment. He knows this isn't me.
The two junior associates I had fired today were not incompetent. They made minor mistakes, the kind I would normally overlook. But today, their small transgressions felt like monumental insults, a reflection of the chaos I feel inside.
A knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts. Dmitri enters, a glint of something I can't quite place in his eyes. He is my head of security, my closest confidant. I should be able to tell him everything. But how do I tell him that I, David Petrov, woke up in my bed with my daughter's boyfriend? How do I tell him that the man I slept with is Leo Hayes, a college boy I despise, and that I can't stop thinking about him?
"David," he says, his voice a silky drawl. "You've been locked in here all day. What's going on? You're wound so tight you could snap."
I turn back to the window. "Business," I say, my voice clipped, a shield I hide behind.
Dmitri's laugh is a dry, humorless sound. "Business? You fired two men today for forgetting to cross a 'T'. That's not business, my friend. That's something else."
I turn to face him, my eyes narrowing. "You've said enough." My voice is a low, dangerous whisper, a clear warning.
He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a smirk playing on his lips. "Okay, okay. I get it. You don't want to talk about it."
I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the darkening skyline. "What time is the Johnson dinner?"
"Seven," he says, his voice returning to its normal cadence. "But you're the CEO. You can be late. It's expected."
I hate this. I have no choice but to play the perfect Father for my daughter's boyfriend's family. Maya. My stomach twists with a bitter mix of guilt and shame.
She is a sweet, gentle girl, too kind for this world. I am a monster, and I am about to ruin her. She has no idea of the man I truly am. She deserves so much better. I am disgusted with myself, a father who is doing this to his own daughter.
I get ready for the dinner, I put on my suit, a finely tailored piece of armor that makes me feel like a stranger. The car ride is silent, my thoughts filled with conflicting emotions. I wish I could turn back, to hide, to pretend none of this is happening. But I can't.
We arrive late. The Johnson Estate is a fortress, a testament to their wealth and influence. The security, like mine, are silent, intimidating figures. I am led inside, and the sight of the family at the dinner table makes my blood run cold. They are the perfect picture of a family that knows their place in this world.
The air at the Johnson dinner table is thick with a pretense so fragile it could shatter with a single word. I am late, Mr. Johnson doesn't make any comment to that, he sees the predator, and he knows enough to fear him.
"We were just discussing the logistical challenges of merging our security divisions, Mr. Petrov," Mr. Johnson says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He doesn't look at me, but his words are a clear challenge, a test of my attention, my authority.
I meet his gaze, my own eyes as hard as granite. "Challenges are for the unprepared, Mr. Johnson. The Petrov company has no challenges, only solutions."
The silence that follows is heavy, a show to my dominance. Mr. Johnson's jaw tightens, but he doesn't respond. He can't. Not without losing face in front of his family.
And then I see him.
Leo.
He is sitting at the table, a picture of casual elegance, in a deep, midnight blue suit that makes his eyes look like a raging storm. He looks at me, and his eyes are devoid of all emotion. He acts like nothing happened.
The anger in me is a slow-burning fire, a need to remind him, to make him remember what we did, to make him feel the same chaos I feel. He has no right to be this calm, this composed, this… perfect.
Across the table, Leo watches me, his eyes a dark, knowing mirror of my own. He laughs at a joke my daughter makes, a perfect, practiced laugh that sounds like a lie.
Maya, sweet and innocent, turns to me, her face glowing with a naive happiness that makes my stomach churn with guilt. "Dad," she says, her voice as soft as silk, "Did you have a good day?"
The question is so simple, so painfully naive, that it feels like a physical blow. I want to tell her the truth, to confess to the monster I am. But I can't. She will hate me, she is all I have since her mother left me.
"It was a productive day, Maya," I say, my voice soft and gentle.
I glance at Leo, and a flicker of something, of understanding, of contempt, of… something else… crosses his face.
Our gazes lock, and the air between us crackles with a toxic tension. It's a silent, brutal war of wills, a battle for dominance that neither of us can afford to lose. We are a part of a world that would destroy us if they knew the truth.
Then, Leo excuses himself to use the restroom, a polite, practiced smile on his face. I watch him go, and a moment later, I stand.
"If you'll excuse me," I say, my voice flat. "I need to use the restroom."
I am directed down a long, winding hallway, and I follow the directions. I have to get out of here. I need a moment, a moment to breathe, to think, to regain my composure. I can't be near him without losing my mind.
I open the door, and I stop dead in my tracks.
Leo is standing there, leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers, a silent, swirling cloud of smoke around him. He looks at me, and his expression is unreadable.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice a low, challenging whisper.
"I… I needed to get away," I say, my voice a low, rough sound. "I needed to think."
He nods, his gaze fixed on my face. "And thinking about me brings you to the bathroom? That's not a good sign, Mr. Petrov."
"Don't call me that," I say, my voice filled with a rage I can't contain.
"Why not? It's who you are, isn't it? The cold, powerful CEO who doesn't do… relations… with men."
I take a step forward, my fists clenched at my sides. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" he asks, his voice filled with a mocking, bitter humor. "I remember a different man that night. A man who wasn't so sure of his identity. A man who wasn't so sure he wanted to stay with me. A man who was a little bit scared of what he was feeling."
My hand flies out and slams against the wall beside his head, a loud, echoing crack in the silent room. He doesn't flinch. He simply looks at me, his eyes wide and dark.
"Stop playing games," I snarl, my face inches from his. "Stop acting like nothing happened."
"And what do you want me to do, David?" he asks, his voice still low, still challenging. "Do you want me to tell everyone? Do you want me to scream from the rooftops that the great David Petrov is a fraud? That he's a man who has betrayed his daughter, his legacy, his duty for a forbidden moment of passion?"
The words are a physical blow, a harsh, brutal truth that I can't deny. My body is on fire. A desire, a need, a longing I have never felt before, tears through me. I want to kiss him. I want to shut him up. I want to make him stop talking, to make him stop looking at me with those dark, knowing eyes.
My lips descend on his, a punishing, desperate, hungry kiss. He tenses for a moment, and then his lips respond with a fire of their own, a raw, demanding passion that matches mine. He drops his cigarette, and his hands come up to my face, his fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer.
I am lost, completely lost in the moment, in the feel of his lips on mine, the taste of smoke and him on my tongue. I am a man drowning, and he is the oxygen I crave.
"Dad?" a voice calls from the hallway.
The sound is a splash of cold water. We break apart, our chests heaving, our eyes wide with shock. It's Maya. Her voice is sweet, innocent, and concerned.
We have been caught.