Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

56. Andrik

56

ANDRIK

“ F or fuck’s sake, will you shut that thing up!”

I shoot my hands up to my hair and tug ruefully. Days ago, I would have given anything to hear those moans, to have them shred my eardrums. Now they torment me until I am a mere inch from my grave, begging to fall in.

“I’m trying,” Konstantine assures me as his fingers move wildly over the keyboard. “But as quickly as I take down a video, another one pops up.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “You should be grateful Maksim put a block on all phone activity during the swimsuit competition. If he hadn’t done that, I would have had hours of footage to remove from the net.”

He laughs like anything he said is funny. He can because he doesn’t know how sick and unhinged those noises make me.

She’s my…

I’m fucking my...

Since I can’t say the word, I pick up the cause for the anger sluicing my veins and throw it to the ground. For what my toss misses, my boot takes up for. I stomp on Konstantine’s laptop and then make a beeline for the bar before I shift my focus from mainframes to people.

“Jesus Christ.” Konstantine bobs down to collect the ruins of his laptop. “You could have just asked me to turn the volume down.”

I clutch my whiskey glass so hard it almost cracks. It was meant to be easier when she left. I’m meant to be able to breathe now. But I can’t. The pain is crippling, and I don’t know if I am strong enough to survive it.

When not a single denial roars to life, I mutter, “Accept their offer.”

Konstantine’s damaged goods are now the least of his worries. “There is stupid, and then there is stupid . That is the latter. We will get Zakhar a heart, but not like this.”

“They’re taking too long. This is an easy solution.”

“This is suicide!” he yells back. “That’s not a possibility, Andrik. It is?—”

“Don’t call me that. You’re not allowed to call me that! No one is allowed to call me that anymore.” No one except her.

Furious at my inner monologue, I hook my glass at the shelves across from me. I don’t relish how its collision sends multiple awards and priceless antiques tumbling to the floor. I’m too busy sculling whiskey straight from the decanter.

I need to numb the ache, blanket the shame. I need to fucking forget, but she’s in every frame. I can’t get drunk enough to forget her.

I laugh like a madman when a voice from outside my office trickless through the chaos swirling in my head. “Follow their rules. That is all you need to do.” My father enters my office like I haven’t imagined killing him again and again and again since he shared the secret I plan to take to the grave. It is only one of the few joys I currently have. “Give Dr. Fairmont permission for the insemination.”

“No. I can’t. I don’t want to…” I stop before I say too much. I was going to say I don’t want to hurt Zoya like that. That the cruelness I unleashed the last time we spoke is enough for her to hate me for eternity. I can’t add more. Right?

When the denials come hard and fast this time, I give in. I hand over the strings and let the federation puppeteer me, because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter.

I’m dead no matter what.

“Okay.” With my reply too soft for anyone to hear, I repeat it. “Okay.”

“Yes,” my father hisses like a snake while slapping me on the back. “Thank you.” He squeezes my shoulder and leans in close. “Your son thanks you.”

I don’t need to follow the direction of his gaze to know who he is signaling to. The heaviness it adds to my chest tells me everything I need to know, and it sees me cracking open a fresh bottle of whiskey like the empty one in my trash wasn’t opened only an hour ago.