Page 80 of Boardroom Sins

He storms away down the hall. After a minute of indecision and a longing glance back at the door we came through, I follow him.

I emerge outside into the frigid night. The chauffeur from earlier is waiting at a side entrance, his car purring behind him. Lukas stands at the rear door, holding it open in a mockery of chivalry.

I don’t look at him as I clamber into the backseat. Even though the heat in the car is blasting.

Lukas doesn’t get in. He leans down, one hand braced on the roof of the car, and his head dips into the open door. He grabs my wrist so I can’t scoot away. His face is inches from mine.

“One more thing,” he says.

I hold my breath.

His lips brush the shell of my ear. The contact sends a jolt straight down my spine.

“I noticed you didn’t wear the lingerie that Säsha sent over.”

My blood freezes.How does he?—?

“Next time you receive instructions from me,” he continues, his voice a husky rumble against my skin, “youwillfollow them to the letter… or you might find yourself on stage at the next gala, wearing nothing at all.” His breath is warm, but his words are ice. “Am I clear?”

He reaches down to the hip slit of my dress and pulls it aside just far enough to reveal the plain white edge of my panties. His fingers in such an intimate place make me feel hot and frozen all at once.

His face twists in irritable disgust when he sees proof of my defiance.

Then his hand retracts. Lukas straightens up. He looks at the driver and gives a single nod.

He shuts the door, and just like that, the strangest night of my life comes to a swift and merciless end.

26

LUKAS

NYC DEMOLITION PERMIT

Structure to be Demolished: Father/Son Bond

Location: The Plaza Hotel

Date: November 22, 2025

Method: Public humiliation

Rebuild Possible: No

The taillights disappear around the corner. I stand there for a long time afterward, in the bitter-cold dark, watching nothing.

My cock aches. Not the good kind—the kind that means I’m in trouble.

The red dress was a mistake. I knew it when I chose it. I knew it when I saw the photo. And I knew it fordamnfucking sure tonight, when Rae walked into that ballroom and every head turned.

Elena wore red the night we met. It didn’t fit her right, but that didn’t matter. She was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

Rae isn’t Elena. I know that. The resemblance is passing at best. Hair color, yes, and eye color, too. The delicate bones of their faces share a certain shape.

Okay, fine, they’re virtually fucking identical.

But when she stood on that stage tonight, trembling and defiant, I felt a familiar place crack open inside me. Something I thought I’d sealed shut and buried deep for good—literally—eighteen years ago.

I pull out my pack of cigarettes and light one. The smoke sears my lungs from the inside out. I’m finding myself needing these more and more lately. Whenever I think of Rae, I smoke. That’s how I’ve gone through half a carton in a week.