Chapter 13 THE FIRST DAY
Constantine's POV
I don't sleep, like… I just can't.
I lie on Ivy's lumpy couch, staring at the water-stained ceiling, and watch the hours tick by on my phone. 3 AM. 4 AM. 5 AM. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is blood spraying across brick walls. I hear the crack of bones. I feel Wyatt's hands on my throat, his voice in my ear telling me I belong to him. Right there, i also think about my mom and dad. I pick my phone to check that credit alert from earlier. I sigh and then check my account balance, maybe it's still a prank. It isn't. Two and half million us sitting there, staring right back at me. I would probably visit them today and call their centres that I have the money for their treatment now.
It is already 6 AM, I just give up on sleep and drag myself to the bathroom. Ivy's still asleep in her bedroom, thank God. I don't want to face her questions about where I was last night, why I look like I've been through hell.
The shower water is lukewarm at best, but I stand under it until my skin turns pink, scrubbing at my back from when he arched me and my thighs that still ache, trying to wash away the feeling of him. It doesn't work. Nothing ever works since he is involved.
By 7 AM, I'm dressed in another pair of my best (and I mean, mid) clothes because I have not had the chance to go and shop for some clothes. I stare at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman looking back. She has these…hollow eyes, pale skin. The faint shadow of a bruise on my neck that I try to cover with concealer.
I look exactly like what I am, someone who sold herself to survive.
I flag down a taxi and the taxi ride to Wyatt Enterprises costs money I technically have now but feels wrong to spend. Everything feels wrong. The leather seats. The clean streets we pass through. The gleaming building that rises up ahead of me like a monument to everything I've lost. My body…
I walk through those glass doors at 7:50 AM. Ten minutes early, because I'd rather die than give him another reason to humiliate me.
The receptionist, the same blonde from that day looks up and her expression shifts. Recognition, then that same disgust.
'Top floor,' she says without me having to ask. 'Mr. Gorshkovsky is expecting you.'
I take the elevator up, my heart pounding harder with each floor. When the doors open, I step into that cold hallway and force my legs to carry me to his office.The door is open.
He's sitting at his desk, already working, his white shirt crisp and perfect like last night never happened. Like he didn't kill three men with his bare hands. Like he didn't fuck me on his couch until I broke. He doesn't look up when I enter.
'Close the door.'
I do almost immediately.
'There's a bag on the chair. Change into what's inside. You have five minutes.'
I turn and see a large designer shopping bag sitting on one of the chairs. My stomach twists. I walk over and look inside. I see clothes. Professional clothes. Blouses, skirts, slacks, all in my size. There are even shoes…heels that probably cost more than my entire entire life would.
'I don't understand,' I say quietly, my body frozen to the ground.
'You have four minutes now.'
His voice is cold like ice. I don't ask again. I immediately grab the bag and look around for somewhere to change
'Here is fine,' he says, still not looking at me. 'I've seen everything already. There is no point in modesty now.'
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't argue. I turn my back to him and as soon as I do that, a thought flashes in my mind that this is a small, pathetic rebellion. I shake it off and start undressing. I can feel his eyes on me even though he's pretending to work. Feel the weight of his gaze on every inch of exposed skin. Goosebumps fill my skin as I try not to tremble.
I pull on the clothes he bought. A cream silk blouse that fits perfectly. A black pencil skirt that hugs my hips. The shoes are uncomfortable but beautiful. When I'm done, I turn back to face him.
He looks up then, his ice-blue eyes dragging over me slowly, assessing.
'Better,' he says flatly. 'Sit.'
I sit in the chair across from his desk, my hands folded in my lap, trying to ignore the way the skirt rides up slightly. He slides a folder across the desk. I hesitate for a second before I open it. There are documents inside it. I see hospital transfer documents…my mother's name at the upper part of one. Then the second paper contains my dad's own name. My breath hitches.