Page 49 of Cruel Submission

I don’t knock.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall. Arkady turns, one eyebrow lifting in that infuriatingly controlled way of his.

“Mirabel.” His voice is flat. “I’m in the middle of—”

“Are you living a double life?”

The words come out sharp, accusatory. Exactly how I feel.

He stills completely. Every muscle locks down. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” I step into the office and kick the door shut behind me. “There’s something going on round here that you’re not telling me about. The phone calls you take in Russian and then act like nothing happened.” My voice rises with each word. “Who is she, Arkady?”

His expression empties out. Becomes that blank mask he wears when he’s deciding how much violence a situation requires. “That’s none of your concern.”

“None of my—?” I laugh, but it sounds jagged. “I work here. I live here. You think I don’t notice what’s happening in this house?”

“You signed a confidentiality agreement.”

The words land like a blade between my ribs.

I stare at him. At this man who last night had his hands in my hair, his body pressed against mine, whispering things in Russian I didn’t understand but felt all the way to my bones.

“Is that what this is?” My voice breaks in half. “I’m just the housekeeper who happens to fuck you?”

His jaw tightens. A vein pulses at his temple. “Watch your mouth.”

“No.” I move toward him, needing him to see me—really see me. Not as staff. Not as the woman warming his bed. As someone who deserves the truth. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to drag me into your office, tell me there’s something you need to say, and then dismiss me like I’m nothing. You don’t get to fuck me and then act like I’m just staff the next morning.”

“You are staff.”

The words hang between us, ugly and final.

I feel them in my stomach. In my throat. In the part of me that thought—stupidly, naively—that I might mean something to him beyond convenience.

“Right.” My voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from underwater. “Staff.”

“Mirabel—”

“You know what?” I cut him off before he can finish whatever justification he’s about to offer. “You’re absolutely right. I signed a confidentiality agreement. I agreed to mind my own business. So that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

I turn on my heel and head for the door.

His hand catches my wrist—hot and tight enough to bruise.

I yank free so violently that I stumble sideways into the desk. “Don’t.”

“Listen to me—”

“No.” The word tears out of me. “I’m done listening. Done waiting for you to decide I’m worth an explanation. Done pretending this,” I gesture between us, “is anything more than convenient.”

“You think this is convenient?” His voice drops to something lethal. He takes a step toward me, and I can see it now—the violence simmering just under his skin. The part of him that runs this city’s underbelly and makes grown men nervous. “You think you’re convenient?”

“I don’t know what I think anymore!” The shout rips out of me. “Because you won’t tell me anything! You summon me to your office and then kick me out. You disappear for hours without a word. You have an entire wing of this house locked off and people coming and going, and when I ask a single question, you hide behind a piece of paper I signed.”

“There are things you don’t understand—”

“Then help me understand!” My hands shake. I ball them into fists to stop it. “Tell me why you’re keeping secrets. Tell me something, Arkady, because I can’t—”