Chapter Five

Serena Pov

8:50 p.m.

I sat on the edge of the bed, glaring back at the black card lying on the table across my view, my hand clenching on the sleeves of my PJ's as flashbacks of the man’s warning from the event echoed at the back of my mind:

“Don't be late, Serena. Adrian Volkov doesn't offer second invitations.”

Meanwhile, Bella sat across from me, her legs crossed over each other on the couch as she took the last sip of the wine, her eyes blinking at my pitiful state, “You’ve been staring at that thing for an hour now like it’s some sort of bomb.”

“It might as well be.” I laughed nervously and rubbed my palms together. Where was I even going to start? How was I going to address Adrian on the line? Sir? Mr?

Calm down, Serena. He's a CEO; you're one too. No Biggie.

Bella grinned, clearly enjoying my inner turmoil, and leaned back onto the comfort of the couch, “All your life, it's been one bombshell after the other. So, what’s one more explosion to add to it?”

“What on ea—”

“Besides!” She shrieked, forcing me to press a thumb into my forehead, anticipating the headache that would follow soon. “It's Adrian Volkov we're talking about here! If his assistant was as hot as that, who knows how Adrian would look! This could be your chance to SHINE.”

“Bella,” I exhaled softly. “Can we not talk about Adrian that way? He's not someone to play with. One wrong move will land both me and my license in jail time.

“Who said we're going to make a wrong move?” She giggled.

“Bella…” I frowned, noticing the bottles scattered around her feet. “Are you okay?”

“I'm OK.” She smiled and gestured with an okay sign, my brows furrowing into one as I narrowed my eyes on her.

“Don't worry about me. "Worry about the CEO you're about to ditch.” She nodded to the clock, my gaze following her shortly, widening when I saw that it was 9:00.

Oh, shit! 59 seconds to being a minute late!

Cursing under my breath, I fumbled through my purse, tossing out the contents until my hand found my phone, then immediately dialed the number without hesitation.

I chewed gently on the insides of my cheeks, watching as the phone rang the first and second time without an answer.

Dammit, I’m screwed, ain't I?

I swallowed my frustration in defeat and let my fingers hover around the hang-up button when, suddenly, a deep, calm voice broke the silence in the room, “I like punctuality, Miss. Calloway.”

I breathed out, surprised. “Mr. Volkov?”

He clicked his tongue in what sounded like satisfaction. “You prefer formalities, no?” he asked, then, without allowing me to answer, he continued, “Or can I call you Serena?”

I blinked, savoring the way his voice caused my stomach to clench in response.

“Serena is fine,” I replied, my voice barely over a whisper.

“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t do well with formalities in work.”

There was a shuffle in the background—papers maybe—or the sound of him adjusting something smooth on his desk.

“I saw you earlier—heard you on stage, actually.” He corrected, making me raise a brow in suspicion. “Are you aware that you stole the spotlight?”

“I wasn’t trying to,” I said, my voice firm. “I was just…participating.”

“And your participation is what I'll need in my company,” he commented.

My heart skipped a beat at his comment, but I knew very well that there was much more to this.

“And if I say no?” I asked, silence abruptly taking over the call for a brief moment.

“As Killian's ex-wife, I assume you wouldn't want that to go to waste,” he said, his words slicing through me without mercy.

“What did you just say?” I gritted through my teeth, anger flaring through me at once.

“I know what Killian did,” he started, his tone calmer yet restrained than before. I know about the staged buyouts. The board votes he fabricated. The percentage that was stolen from you. Believe me when I say I've seen many wolves in sheep's clothing.

“H-how did you—” I was left speechless as I tried to make sense of the whole situation, but nothing logical came to mind.

“I oversee lots of companies, Mrs. Calloway. I own a lot of enterprises, so don't be shocked that I get to know about yours too.”

“Have…have you been watching me, Mr Volkov?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. The sound of my own heartbeat ringing loudly in my ears as I gripped the pillows resting on my laps hard.

With that, Bella's closed eyes immediately darted towards me, her eyes wide as she opened her mouth to say something, but I quickly placed a finger on my lips, shushing her just in time.

“Da.” I thought I heard him say something, but I couldn't quite wrap my head around it as the word sounded foreign. And just before I could ask what he had just said, he beat me to it and said, “Don't worry about it. I always look into my investments before closing deals with them. Hence, my interest in you.”

Interest in me.

Something about the way he said those words made my lower abdomen melt into a pool of warmth, and I was tempted to cross my legs to stop that from happening.

“What do you want me to do?”

He hummed, as if satisfied with my question and explained, “I’m working on something exclusive at the moment and I need you, Serena, to work besides me on the project. I fund everything you need both in your personal and business affairs while you execute the plan.”

My eyes grew wide. “And what do I get in return?” I asked, drumming my fingers in thought.

He chuckled, the tone filled with amusement and power, “I get to watch you destroy your ex-husband and his allies who all thought they would get away with ruining you.”

I paused, my fingers aching to dig further into the pillows as thick silence hovered between us, leaving me completely taken back and aching for vengeance at the tempting offer.

But as if sensing my hesitation, Adrian added, “But if you’re still the woman who'd let him humiliate you without retaliating or proving him wrong...hang up now and I—”

“No.” I leaned forward and sucked on my bottom lip, “Tell me where and when I'll start.”

He exhaled softly, almost like a smile in relief.

“Tomorrow morning by 8. My office. Floor 79. "The receptionist should have your name on the priority list by then.” He said the words, almost sounding cool and automated until he added, “Don’t dress to impress, Serena—dress like the woman you plan to be.”

“I—”

“Goodnight, Serena,” he said, and the line immediately went dead.

I stared at the screen in disbelief.

Not only was Adrian Volkov a stalker.

He was an asshole.

One that was going to be boss tomorrow morning.