Chapter 32 32

Chapter 32 32

GEORGIA

I went to bed without saying a word to Rhys, and the next morning I woke up and left the house before he could see me. Yesterday's argument was quite tough and the words I used were harsh and unprecedented. Sometimes it would look like we were arriving at something, only to be back at square one —enemies and irritated flatmates.

At the same time, I was angry at the guards. No matter what, I was entitled to my own ounce of privacy. But I could not fire or sanction them, I was their boss and they were also acting on orders.

2 hours after I set out from home I arrived at the news office. Stepping out of the car I took a close look at the building. This place was my dream—I remembered fantasising about this ugly building as a teenager and as a college intern. Now, aiming for a bigger position got me into this unwanted marriage. Will I give blame or accolades to fate?

"Madame, do you need us to help you get inside?"

"Help? Whatever do you mean?"

I didn't turn to look at the guard, my anger wouldn't let me.

"I mean, we could have you carried upstairs or..."

"Shut the fuck up! And start to mind your business from now on. Or, do you have a baby sister you want to wed to Rhys?"

"What! Madame. I don't..."

"Of course you wouldn't, if you ever give Rhys any more sensitive information about me, you're going to wish you were never born. Now get out!"

I watched as the guard scurried away, guilt and sadness settling into my heart. 10, with my hand tightly around my handbag and my files I headed into the building. I could hear chattering from my colleagues but the instant I pushed the office door open, they went silent.

I remained at the entrance for a second, letting my eyes roam the river of nervous faces in the room. Then I shrugged.

"Good morning everyone, I hope we had a pleasant yesterday?"

Everyone gave a response, except Kathleen whose eyes might as well have been bullets aimed at my skull.

Finally, I stepped away from the door and headed to my desk.

"This is no longer your part of the office." Kathleen's voice said. "You have been promoted to senior reporter, and will no longer have to move around scouting for news bits and pieces. Also, you get your own office, a receptionist, and a 75% raise in your salary. Plus, 2 fully sponsored vacations."

She stopped for a moment and narrowed her eyes at me.

"Your nepotism has finally paid off, Georgia. Turns out marrying that man isn't a worse decision after all."

"What is the meaning of this Kathleen?" I couldn't keep down the anger in my tone. "You are not allowed to use such mean words regarding my husband or my profession."

"But you could get the promotion deserving of somebody else." She replied. "What do you think you are? First, you nearly got this news house closed down because you wouldn't stop meddling in their affairs of the politicians and the higher men. And now, you've jumped the gun, another achievement handed to you without any effort."

A thought crossed my mind then— Rhys. This was his work, and I wondered what he told Helen.

I turned around to enter the new office but Kathleen stopped me once again.

"Some of these days you will get into trouble, Georgia, and there will be no one to save you."

"Worry about yourself first," I snapped back. "The sands under your feet are sinking."

That left her mouth agape, and I walked away.

The new office was befitting— pristine furniture, windows with an ocean view, artworks, an air conditioner, a refrigerator, a coffee maker, and all the others. It was marvellous, but it wasn't satisfactory, not at that moment. When I finally took a seat, my mind returned to Dimitri and the ongoing investigation. Rhys already tried to disable me, putting me in a position that doesn't require exposure or adventures. But this case was more for me than it was for him.

So, I picked up my phone and sent a text to Dimitri telling him I was ready to meet. Within the next minutes, a black limousine arrived, then was in the VIP lounge of the biggest five-star hotel in town.

"Would you like more drink, Miss Georgia?" Dimitri questioned his voice mingling with the loud jazz music in the background.

"Mrs Mikhaliov." I corrected with a smile, then I tipped my glass of sparkling water. "I think I'm fine with this. Thank you."

"Why do you appear comfortable in this setting, I mean, your life. I mean it's no news that Rhys influenced and masterminded this union of yours. Do you claim to be handicapped?. Because if you are I can help you. If you wish to end your marriage to Rhys. I can give you back your freedom all at no cost or reciprocation."

I shook my head and then leaned forward.

"The time is all gone. Those times when I felt trapped and caged. I've accepted my fate. I cannot leave this marriage. But there is something, though, I am in this Union because it is my choice to be, because I am being forced. Trust me, Rhys is a man of honour. You can have as many women as you want, but don't you have one bugging him? We're starting to find ourselves, Rhys and I, interacting, and I trust him to a great extent. Again, marriage, according to mafia women, is mostly about respect and boundaries. I have put this into practice, and I have been at peace."

"I have an offer for you, Georgia," Dimitri said again, casting a knowing glance at me. "You will do well as a politician, but I haven't seen mafia women in this field. There are many for the purpose of childbirth and fancy show-offs. You are not meant for this life, you're strong brave and articulate. You should be ruling a country.

When I got home that night, the lights in the living room were dim, the air heavy with the scent of Rhys’s cologne. He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through something on his phone, but the moment he heard the door open, his eyes shifted to me. The silence that passed between us was the kind that stung, a quiet recognition that last night’s argument had built a small wall between us.

"You're back early," he said, his voice low.

"Not really," I replied, setting my handbag on the table. "There was a lot to do."

He nodded once, then looked at me again. "How was work?"

"It was fine," I said. "Busy, as always."

He looked away for a second, then sighed. "About the promotion."

So, he was going to admit it.

"What about it?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"I arranged it," he said simply. "You’ve worked too hard to still be treated like a junior reporter. I wanted you to have what you deserve."

I stared at him, unsure of what to say. His face held no guilt, no shame. Just quiet certainty.

"You shouldn’t have done that," I said softly.

"Why not?"

"Because now everyone thinks I earned it through you. It undermines everything I’ve ever worked for."

He tilted his head, confused. "Does it matter what they think? You have power now. You can use it however you wish."

"I don’t need borrowed power, Rhys. I wanted mine to be real."

He didn’t respond immediately. His eyes softened for a moment, but only a moment. "Sometimes, real power doesn’t come clean. You should know that by now."

I wanted to argue, to tell him how wrong he was, but instead, I said nothing. There was no point. Rhys lived in a world where power was never earned, only taken.

He got up and walked into the dining room, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly across the tiled floor. "Dinner’s ready," he said.

We ate in silence for a while. The meal was good—grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and wine—but my thoughts were restless. I watched him across the table, the way he cut his food so carefully, his shoulders stiff, his eyes focused on his plate.

Then, out of nowhere, he said, "You know I kill people, right?"

I froze. The words hung between us, casual yet heavy.

"I mean," he continued, "it’s not random. It’s not like I wake up one day and decide to take someone’s life. It happens once in a while, maybe a few days each month. But never without a reason. Never someone who doesn’t deserve it."

I stared at him, my fork slipping from my fingers. "You talk about it so easily."

He took a sip of wine. "It’s easier when you stop trying to justify it. The world I live in isn’t fair, Georgia. You either kill, or you get killed. And sometimes, you kill to protect what you love."