63 Don’t Want to See Him

I felt nauseated, uncomfortable, disgusted. But, more than anything, I was disgusted with myself rather than the whole situation. I recalled our morning together, and it made me want to vomit.

Why am I so weak in front of this arrogant stud? Just a minute ago, I had been a complete idiot to even entertain the thought that something could happen between us in the future.

Seriously, Vicky?! Why are you such a fool?! You felt his fake care and immediately fell for his acting skills. It was even more infuriating, feeling embarrassed by my naive trust in just anyone.

And my imagination wouldn’t help—it mercilessly painted scenes of the two of them naked, entwined, him passionately doing with her everything he once did to me, maybe even better. She moaned sweetly, shivering with pleasure he gave her. His magnificent body glistened with sweat over his rugged, tattooed muscles while the brunette beneath him arched gracefully with her perfect figure. Not like me, postpartum, with some fairly ugly stretch marks on my stomach and my “tired” breasts, bandaged from constant nursing.

Next to such impressive men, there would always be women to match—model-level women. And here I was, completely out of the competition… some small, awkward misfit in comparison. He wouldn’t even take me anywhere to avoid embarrassing himself. I’d exist only for Yartsev’s bedroom, so he wouldn’t be bored during lonely, “bland” evenings. Like they say, “when you drink fine wine every day, sometimes you just want ordinary tea…” or something like that. And I’d be that ordinary tea, just for variety.

"What are you doing here, Mila?" Kirill barked angrily at his mistress. But I didn’t want to know any details about their time together, past or future.

I spun around sharply and walked away silently, saying nothing, making no useless scene. I heard my fiancé curse heavily behind me and then catch up, grabbing my hand and turning me toward him.

"Vicky!" he called, but why was it so hard to lift my eyes to him? "I don’t know what she’s doing here! I didn’t invite her."

"You know, it doesn’t really matter," I finally found the strength to look into his green eyes, pushing my pain deep inside. "Whether you meet here or at Nazar’s… however you said it… She finally waited her turn patiently, and with the snap of her fingers, she spreads her legs, not pretending to be untouchable. Beautiful, available… You can have anything… Everything is by the contract, right?" I tried to speak calmly, as detached as possible, but I probably didn’t succeed as much as I wanted.

"Right," Yartsev said, looking at me with a heavy gaze.

I pressed my lips together and stared at him for a few more seconds, wanting to see… something, though I didn’t even know what. Maybe remorse, or even a tiny spark of some warm feeling for me?

But I don’t see anything. Either he hides his feelings well, or—more likely—there simply aren’t any, and I’m just trying to comfort myself with something. So I walk away calmly. I haven’t felt this awful in a long time. Only after I’ve walked a good distance do I realize my face is wet with silent tears.

“Ah, to hell with it!” I mutter to myself under my breath, wiping my eyes discreetly. “May your damn dick fall off!”

By the time I walk into the café, I’ve calmed down a little. I spot Marina waiting for me.

“Were you crying?” my friend immediately asks the moment we sit at our favorite table.

“Mhm,” I mumble, trying not to burst into tears again. The hurt and unfairness feel like claws squeezing my chest.

“What did that bastard do now?” the girl fumes, and I see her hands clench into fists.

“You better ask what he hasn’t done,” I exhale heavily and dab my eyes with a napkin. Marina’s eyes widen when she notices something.

“Holy crap, look at the rock on your finger!” she blurts out. “I’ve missed a lot, haven’t I?”

“I didn’t have time to tell you,” I start, but the waiter interrupts us. We order from memory—we know the menu by heart in this place. “Marina, yesterday he put on such a show in front of my parents!...” I look at my friend in agony just as more customers walk into the café. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me?!”