Page 45 of Ruthless Lullaby

I pour another drink and offer one to Pavel, a rare occurrence while he’s on the job. He accepts and we both down the vodka.

"Listen, Pavel," I tell him, "this woman is... special."

Pavel nods, understanding in his eyes. I know he has questions, but he knows when to ask them and when to keep his mouth shut.

"I want you to keep discreet tabs on Mindy Williams’ whereabouts and movements," I tell him after a calculated moment.

Pavel gives a measured nod of understanding. "Consider it done, boss. I'll have the tech guys install a satellite tracker on her phone. They can do it remotely. She’ll never know she's being watched."

I allow myself a grin at the thought of owning such an insidious level of access to Mindy's personal life.

"Spasibo, Pavel," I tell him, feeling some of the previous tension leave me. "I knew I could count on you to handle this delicate situation appropriately."

As Pavel nods and turns to leave, I lean back in my chair. The image of Mindy still lingers in my mind, invading my every thought. It’s clear that she’s gotten under my skin and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Driven by a sudden idea, I boot up my computer and dive headfirst into an online shopping spree, my mind laser-focused on one thing: spoiling Mindy rotten. Designer dresses? Add to cart. Luxury perfume? Gimme two bottles of the good stuff. Jimmy Choos? Give me a pair of the most expensive ones. I'm clicking through pages of high-end fashion sites like a man possessed, not even glancing at the totals racking up.

But this isn't just me being sugar daddy Santa Claus. Every lavish gift I'm picking out is another strategic move in my master plan designed to achieve one thing: make Mindy mine forever. Each pretty trinket is a shiny link in the chain I'm going to wrap around her bit by bit.

Five minutes after finalizing my order, a notification pings – the package is locked and loaded, ready to ship to New York High.

I pull my mouth to a grin, then I fire off a quick text to her:

“Parcel for you at reception of New York High. MK.”

Chapter Eighteen

Mindy

I'm lying on the bed my head spinning.

This morning, I sealed my fate. The contract Maron Korolev gave me lies in the glove compartment of my car; signed.

It wasn't an impulsive decision. I had been mulling it over for the last few days and always came to the same conclusion: it’s the only way. The only way to save my family. Even if it means sacrificing myself and my dignity.

So, I took a deep breath and put my name on the dotted line.

Then, I hid the blue folder in my car's glove compartment till I can give it to Maron. I should feel happy, right? Like I just secured my future. But instead, I can't shake off this feeling of unease. Have I just sold my soul to the devil? Is this really my only chance to fix things and escape the guilt I’ve been carrying for years? And did I just willingly make myself Maron Korolev's sugar baby?

I shut my eyes, attempting to slow my breathing. It's pointless. My thoughts continue to spin, leaving me torn between two potential outcomes: either I blindly stumbled into an opportunity of a lifetime with the man of my dreams, or I just made the stupidest, and biggest mistake of my entire life.

I mentally weigh the odds.

Positive: The financial benefits are incredible. I can finally pay for Mom's treatment without constant anxiety.Perhaps I can even bail out Alexis and send her to rehab. If she lets me.

Negative: I just turned myself into Maron Korolev’s personal whore. A whore with skills - an accounting degree and the ability to sing.

Positive: Being a personal whore to the sexiest man I ever encountered with a libido to match mine is not all bad. I can have sex with him every night without having to think about taking desperate and awkward nudes to spice up my sex life. Based on my night with Maron, our encounters will be spicy enough to keep my libido in check. I have a feeling we’re just getting started.

Negative: I'll have to move to Maron's house and I won’t get to see Betty every day. We won’t get to spend casual evenings together, lounging on the living room couch, alternating between sweet and savory snacks, binge-watching series, and laughing ourselves into tears.

Positive: I won't have to pay rent and live in a shared apartment that's barely bigger than a shoebox. Maybe Betty could also use a bit more personal space.

Negative: But then again, maybe I’m letting Betty down. If she decides to stay in our old apartment, her rent will double.

A notification buzzes on my phone, jolting me out of my circular thoughts. I reach for it, my curiosity piqued by the unexpected interruption. As I read the message, my eyes widen in disbelief.

“Parcel for you at reception of New York High. MK.”

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