Page 5 of The Payment

Solitude crushed her like a physical weight as each breath became an exercise in surviving absolute abandonment.The room might as well have been empty as she stood alone in a wasteland of betrayal, surrounded by strangers wearing the faces of those she had once loved.Jarek’s deception cut the deepest.The memory of every kiss was now tainted with the knowledge that his love had been a carefully crafted performance.Her grandparents...God, how blind I’ve been!Years of manipulation were masked as protection with lies wrapped in silk and served with morning tea.

“There’s one thing you forgot to take into account, Jarek.”Tatiana shook off her grandmother’s comforting hand.

The crushing realization of her own naivety nearly brought her to her knees.Every warning sign she had ignored, every red flag she had painted rose-colored, and every instinct she had silenced in the name of family loyalty now openly mocked her.She had been a puppet, dancing on strings she hadn’t even known existed, entertaining the very people who had orchestrated her downfall.The bitter taste of self-contempt filled her mouth.She hadn’t just been fooled; she had been complicit in her own destruction, too eager to believe in fairy tales to see the wolves beneath the sheep’s clothing.

“Pray tell, wife,” Jarek’s cynical voice cut through the air.

With tears blurring her vision, Tatiana forced her lips into a brittle smile.She might be on her knees, but she wasn’t broken.His violent reaction earlier had revealed more than he intended—she now knew the depth of his wounds and the festering of his grief.She had touched a nerve and found the raw spot in his armor of control.

Good.Now I know where to aim.

“Some souls can never be saved, and you, my dear husband...just stepped over that line.”

Chapter Three

Jarek

Three weeks later...Four Seasons Private Residences, One Dalton Street, Boston...

Jarek looked out over the city skyline from the glass-enclosed patio where they were having breakfast.This was his favorite time of the day, with the morning sun painting Boston’s architectural landscape in shades of gold.Sixty-one floors up, they had an unobstructed view of the Charles River winding through the city.

“Your breakfast, Mrs.Farrel.”

“It’s Polov, Tony.”

The corner of Jarek’s mouth twitched at the familiar exchange.It had become his morning entertainment—his chef announcing breakfast and his wife’s immediate correction.He found her persistence amusing, this small act of defiance that meant nothing in the grand scheme.

The aroma of fresh croissants and Tony’s signature eggs Benedict wafted across the table.

“It looks delicious as always, Tony,” Tatiana offered politely and deliberately focused on her plate, cutting her food with surgical attention.She had perfected the art of making him invisible while being acutely aware of his presence.

“Is there anything else you need, Boss?”Tony asked with an accusing look in his eyes.In his early sixties, Tony believed marriage vows were sacred.Even though he had sympathy with Jarek’s need for revenge, he didn’t agree with the execution, least of all using an innocent woman in his quest.It hadn’t bothered Jarek...at least not up to now.He shook off the thought.Nothing had changed.If he had to do it all over again, the end result would’ve brought them to the exact same conclusion.

“We’re good, thanks.”

“Then I’ll finish preparing Mrs.Farrel’s lunch.Can’t have her go hungry the entire day at the office.”

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