Chapter Twelve: A War of Pride

Anastasia Greene Johnson

My mood had been off since morning. I barely spoke to anyone, not even Brynn. Every few seconds, I found myself scanning the room, convinced someone was watching me. Concentrating on work was practically impossible.

By noon, Brynn finally snapped and cornered me.

“Right. Are you going to tell me or not?” she asked bluntly. “You know I didn’t ask earlier because I thought you’d tell me when you were ready.”

That was exactly the problem.

The moment I told her, she’d probably call the police, the army and half the government if necessary. She knew why I’d fled London in the middle of a stormy night with a toddler in my arms. She’d seen me helpless, wandering the streets of Brooklyn when I first arrived three years ago. She’d helped me find this job when I desperately needed one and even paid the deposit on the apartment Ruslan and I lived in.

She’d been there when nobody else was.

Which was precisely why she hated the man I’d run from—a man she’d never met but knew enough about to despise for turning me into the frightened mess she’d found.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered.

“You know damn well it’s not nothing. You literally burnt a tortilla because you were too busy staring into space. So talk.”

There was no way to tell her without sending her completely off the rails.

When I remained silent, her expression shifted. I could practically see the gears turning in her head.

I’d assumed she’d forgotten yesterday’s message because she’d been drunk.

I was spectacularly wrong.

She remembered everything.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” she asked, her lips tightening.

I looked away. She immediately caught my shoulders and turned me towards her. A storm was brewing behind her eyes.

“Tell me, Ana. Did he come to your place yesterday? Did he threaten you again? Did you call the—”

“No, Brynn. It’s not like that.” I cut her off wearily.

“Then what is it? Just fucking tell me!”

So I did. Piece by piece. Every message. Every detail.

Her face hardened with each one.

“That fucking bastard!” she exploded, slamming the pan into the sink so hard that several chefs turned to look. “I’m going to kill him.”

And that was precisely why I hadn’t wanted to tell her.

I sighed and dragged her towards the far corner of the kitchen, away from prying ears.

“Brynn, listen—”

“What am I supposed to listen to? That lunatic is stalking you and you still haven’t reported him? Does that sound sensible to you? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You know it’s pointless. I tried before and ‘he’ bribed them. And he’s a genius, Brynn. He’ can hack practically anything. He’d wipe whatever CCTV footage showed him’ and erase the evidence before anyone could touch it. The police can’t do anything to him.”

Her anger didn’t fade. If anything, frustration joined it.

“Then what are you supposed to do? Live terrified for the rest of your life because of that asshole?”

I leaned against the wall, defeated.

“He won’t divorce me, but he won’t leave me alone either. And now I’m scared for Ruslan. What if he tries to take him again? I have to collect him from school today. I’m leaving early.”

“That’s it.” Brynn’s tone turned firm. “If he refuses to sign, get legal help. Simple. You need a good family-law solicitor. I know someone who can help, and he’ll charge you less because of me. Want to meet him today?”

A solicitor?

Now?

I can barely cover Ruslan’s school fees and household bills with my salary. Hiring one would—

“Ana.” Brynn cut through my thoughts. “You’re thinking about the money, aren’t you?”

I shifted awkwardly.

“Well. . .”

“You don’t have to pay everything upfront. He can file for interim legal fees against that bastard. Use that money to cover him. Then, once you win and get divorced, you can pay the rest from the maintenance. Hell, let the asshole give you a million-dollar monthly allowance if he’s so determined to make your life miserable.”

Her idea wasn’t terrible. It was fairly common in divorce cases.

But I didn’t want Ethan’s money. I didn’t want anything from him.

And he knew that. Reason why he’d sent that expensive necklace last night. Because he wanted to see if I would take it. If I did, it’d give him a chance to call me helpless again. And if I went to court asking for a divorce along with maintenance, he’d see it as proof that I couldn’t survive without him or his money. Even if I won the case, I’d still lose the stupid war of pride between us.

Three years ago, I’d told him I could live without his money, his protection or his help—not even for Ruslan.

I couldn’t take that back now.

Explaining all that to Brynn was another matter. She only cared about getting me away from Ethan. The ego battle meant nothing to her.

I rubbed my forehead.

“Fine. I’ll think about it. Just give me some time. And Ruslan’s feelings are involved too. I need to speak to him first.”

Brynn frowned.

“That poor kid still can’t let go of that bastard, can he?” she said quietly. “Why don’t you tell him the truth, Ana? He’s old enough now.”

I shook my head.

“No. I don’t want to destroy his innocence yet. He’ll learn what kind of man his father is when the time comes.”

Brynn studied me before finally sighing.

“Fine. Take your time. But don’t take forever. If he’s already monitoring you, he’ll figure out what you’re planning sooner rather than later.”

I nodded, unease settling back into my stomach.

__________________________________________________________________________

Nothing particularly noteworthy happened as I finished my shift. Before leaving early, I spoke to Mrs. Stanfield and lied that Ruslan wasn’t feeling well. I wasn’t comfortable bringing my private life into work.

I was desperate to leave.

And, naturally, the universe had other plans. Because apparently, whenever you’re in a hurry, fate likes to throw a banana skin directly beneath your feet.

Samuel, a high-school student who worked part-time as a waiter, was carrying a squeeze bottle of ketchup when he tripped over a customer’s foot sticking carelessly into the aisle.

The bottle flew. A bright red spray followed.

And, naturally, it landed straight across my white skirt.

“Oh, my God!” Samuel looked horrified. “Ana, I’m so sorry! I—I should’ve been more careful!”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t annoyed.

I didn’t particularly care about the skirt, but turning up at Ruslan’s school covered in ketchup wasn’t exactly ideal. He’d be mortified in front of his friends.

Still, I couldn’t blame Samuel. The idiot customer who’d caused it hadn’t even bothered looking up, let alone apologizing.

Moments like this made me despise the job. The phrase the customer is always right deserved to be buried six feet underground.

I exhaled slowly.

“It’s fine, Sam. You don’t need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”

I shot the offending customer a sideways glare.

“Just let it go, Ana,” Samuel muttered when he saw me glaring at the enormous man happily devouring his fourth cheeseburger. “It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, well. . .” I sighed. “Guess I’ll have to wash it off.”

“Yeah. And. . . sorry again.”

I waved him off and headed for the washroom.

With a face like a rainy Monday morning, I stood before the mirror, staring blankly at my reflection. The cold porcelain beneath my fingertips steadied me. For about thirty seconds.

Why is it always me? Is fate having a laugh at my expense lately?

Then voices drifted from behind the partition of the toilet stalls.

A man’s voice came first, low and irritated, but strangely familiar.

“Why the hell are you still pestering me? Whatever happened last night ended last night, all right? I’ve already paid you.”

Then came a woman’s voice—sultry, amused and far too comfortable.

“Oh, come on, darling. That was hardly compensation. You fucked me till dawn. Quite the stamina for someone so obsessed with cleanliness.”

My breath caught.

For the love of God. . . what have I walked into?

My throat went dry.

I should leave. Any sensible person would.

I turned quietly, intending to disappear and come back later once the coast was clear.

But, because apparently the universe wasn’t finished tormenting me, the door handle suddenly rattled.

I froze. My pulse hammered against my ribs as panic crawled up my spine.

Oh, crap.

If they found me hiding there, even accidentally, I’d never recover from the embarrassment.

Then the man spoke again, his voice sharp with irritation.

“Fine. Take this, and for fuck’s sake, keep your mouth shut. If it isn’t enough, name your price.”

The woman laughed softly.

“That’ll do. But if you ever come back to New York, you know where to find me.”

“No, thank you. If I’d known you were. . . well, a hooker, I wouldn’t have gone near—”

“Oh, don’t be such a jerk. I’m no professional, honey. I simply appreciate pleasure. Besides, didn’t I prove I’m clean?”

A weary groan followed.

The door handle rattled again.

I instinctively ducked behind the wall, holding my breath as though I could somehow merge with the tiles.

“Whatever. Nobody hears about this—especially my aunt. And, as agreed, we’re strangers.”

The door creaked open. Footsteps followed.

I barely dared breathe.

Then a tall man stepped out, dressed in a black leather jacket and ripped dark jeans. Roguish. Familiar. Hauntingly familiar.

A woman followed close behind him.

And the moment I saw their faces, the ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

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