Chapter 202 Epilogue Ivan POV
I dropped all the kids off at school this morning.
Seeing her is always hard. Not because it hurts anymore, at least not in the sharp, unbearable way it used to, but because I know she still loves me despite every one of my shortcomings. For the longest time, I convinced myself it was only because I’m the father of her children. That kind of love never fully dies. But this morning shattered that lie completely.
There was something in the way Elena looked at me.
Something dangerous.
Something hopeful.
Who the fuck am I kidding, though? I don’t even know what hope looks like anymore. Elena is happily married to Liam. It’s been five years. Five fucking years, and somehow she still manages to haunt every inch of my life like she never left.
I stare up at the massive painting of her hanging in my private meeting room.
Calling it a meeting room is generous. It’s really more of a man cave designed by a deeply disturbed rich asshole, me. The only entrance is the hidden door connected to my bedroom. Inside there’s a full bar stocked with obnoxiously expensive alcohol, a black leather couch sitting over an antique rug worth more than most of my cars, a stripper pole because apparently I’m emotionally stunted, and a ridiculous glass desk I now regret buying.
No man should have a transparent desk while jerking off to a painting of his ex-wife.
And yet here I am.
Again.
I do it every fucking day of my miserable existence.
The room smells like whiskey, expensive cologne, and shame.
My dress shirt hangs open halfway down my chest, untucked from my slacks. My tie is draped over one shoulder while I fist my cock hard, staring up at Elena’s painted body like a complete fucking psychopath.
The door suddenly swings open.
“Fuck!” I grunt, jerking one final time as I come all over my abs.
“Motherfucker,” Dimitri laughs from the doorway. “Are you jerking off to her painting again?”
I grab tissues off the edge of the desk and clean myself up quickly before tucking myself back into my slacks.
“Fuck you,” I mutter. “When did you get in?”
Dimitri drops into the chair across from my desk like this is a perfectly normal conversation to walk into. Because it is, we have shared more girls since Elena.
“Marie and I are staying in LA for a few months,” he says casually. “I figured I’d drive the four hours and check on your miserable ass. She’s recovering.”
A slow smirk spreads across my face.
“Finally getting her oogling nipples fixed?”
“Asshole,” he spits immediately while heading for the bar.
I grin to myself.
I know exactly how much Dimitri hates talking about Marie’s fake tits. Honestly, I’ve never understood the appeal. The scars alone are enough to turn me off completely. Marie looked beautiful before the surgeries, but Dimitri has always had a thing for huge tits.
Truthfully, no doctor alive has ever managed to recreate what Elena naturally has on her chest, and I think that’s the real reason he keeps putting poor Marie through all this bullshit.
It’s sad when you think about it long enough.
Dimitri pours himself a drink before lifting the bottle toward me silently.
I nod. Why the hell not?
Mason handles school pickups. I do mornings.
Dimitri walks back toward my desk and slides a glass of cognac toward me.
“So,” he says slowly, “does Elena know you’re the one who stole the painting?”
I bark out a laugh.
“No. But I’m pretty sure she suspects it. So I guess that’s basically a yes.”
I take a long swallow, letting the burn settle in my chest before setting the glass back down.
“I could have her back if I wanted to,” I say finally, leaning back in my chair.
Dimitri rubs his chin slowly. “What makes you say that?”
“The way she looked at me this morning.”
My body reacts instantly just remembering it.
“Her eyes while he was going down on her in the middle of the fucking dining room,” I mutter.
Dimitri nearly chokes on his drink.
“What?”
“Katia forgot her favorite pen at home,” I explain. “The stupid thing has a fuzzy little unicorn on top of it. She dumped her whole backpack across the school parking lot looking for it. Ten-year-old girls and unicorns, man.”
Dimitri snorts.
“So I went back to the penthouse to grab it. I walk through the front door and immediately hear her moaning.”
“I love the way she moans,” Dimitri says without missing a beat.
“Shut the fuck up and listen,” I snap, glaring at him while he smirks into his glass.
I lean forward, elbows on the desk.
“I’m walking through the house fast because obviously I need a fucking glimpse of what’s happening. As I pass the dining room opening, I see her.” I stop for a second, dragging a hand down my face. “Spread across the chair. One leg over the armrest. Silk robe hanging open.”
The memory alone makes my cock twitch again.
“Fuck me,” I mutter quietly. “How has gravity not touched her yet? Her tits still look eighteen. Perky. Perfect. Milky skin. Pink nipples practically begging to be touched.”
Dimitri groans dramatically.
“Liam’s face was buried between her legs,” I continue. “Her head was tipped back, hair everywhere, completely lost in it. Then she looks up.”
I pause again, adjusting myself beneath the desk.
“Our eyes lock.”
The room goes quiet.
“She bites her bottom lip slowly,” I say, my voice roughening. “I didn’t even realize I was palming myself until her eyes dropped and caught me doing it.”
Dimitri watches me carefully now.
“She held eye contact with me while she came.”
Even now I can still feel that burn in my chest. That ache deep in my stomach that never really leaves. God, I love that woman.
And maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe I always will.
If only my dick didn’t twitch every time another woman with pouty lips looked my way, maybe I wouldn’t have destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dimitri says finally, leaning back in his chair. “She’s happy with Liam. He’s good to her. Anything come up on him?”
I shake my head bitterly.
“No. The asshole’s fucking perfect. I’ve had him followed since they started dating.” I take another drink. “The whole spoiled playboy act? Total bullshit. He’s basically a fucking angel.”
Dimitri grins slowly. “Maybe one day he’ll have an accident.”
“No.”
I answer immediately.
And I mean it.
“No,” I repeat more firmly. “He loves her. She loves him. They have twin toddlers now. That’s not happening.”
I lean forward again, staring down into my glass.
“You know I’m no good,” I admit quietly. “And I hate seeing her hurt. I’m never doing that to her again.”
For the first time all morning, the truth settles heavily in my chest.
“I will handle my kids. Let her be happy. But if she decides to cheat on him…” I say, letting out a shaky breath, “I’ll be right there to give her an outlet.”