55

[REBECCA]
Beneath the layers of hurt and disappointment, a seething anger consumed me, directed at Artemy and myself alike. I couldn’t help but question why I cared so deeply. It was an unfamiliar and unsettling sensation coursing through my veins-anger. I struggled to recall the last time I allowed myself to experience such a raw emotion. I had mastered the art of suppressing my feelings, becoming numb to the world and everyone in it. Yet now, I found myself wounded, let down, furious, and even jealous.
Artemy had been the source of my laughter, smiles, and inner peace. But now, my heart ached as if he had snatched it all away. I wasn’t supposed to care, no matter how hard I fought to detach myself emotionally. Alas, I had failed.
Turning my gaze away from the door, I lowered my eyes to the bouquet clutched tightly in my hand. A sigh, laden with dejection, escaped my lips as I turned my back on his office, slowly trudging toward my room. As I entered, I discovered Lynda seated on my bed, my book resting on her lap. The sound of my presence prompted her head to snap up, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Becca?” Lynda queried, her tone laced with puzzlement. Placing the book on the bed, she gestured for me to approach. “What’s wrong? I thought you were going to see Artemy.”
Swallowing hard against the lump of sadness in my throat, I shook my head and held the flowers close to my chest. “He was with Bernadette.”
At first, silence hung heavy in the air, then Lynda erupted. “What?” she exclaimed, rising angrily from the bed. “That little-”
“I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him. He didn’t see me.” The image of Artemy and Bernadette flashed before my eyes, igniting a sudden surge of anger within me. I stared at the flowers, and without a second thought, I flung them onto the bed.
“Aww, baby…” I heard Lynda’s soothing whisper beside me. Turning toward her, I faced her and placed my hand over my chest.
“What is this feeling? I despise it. Is this what jealousy feels like? If it is, then I want no part in it.”
Lynda’s eyes reflected sympathy and understanding. She stepped closer, placing both hands on my shoulders. “What does it feel like?”
“It hurts. I feel helpless, sad, and then furious. Maybe I’m angry at myself because I detest being consumed by these emotions.”
As I gazed upon the discarded flowers, remorse washed over me. It was a perplexing mix of emotions. Leaning down, I reached out and retrieved the bouquet, pulling it close to my chest. Pressing my face against the velvety petals, I closed my eyes and let out a sigh.
A solitary tear trickled down my cheek, landing softly on the petals. “I thought our connection meant something to him,” I whispered.
“It did. I know it did. He’s just too stubborn to admit it,” Lynda countered.
I shook my head in response.
Lynda released a weary sigh from behind me, her hand finding its way to my shoulders.
“Tell me something,” she whispered. “Why do you think you’re feeling like this?”
I shrugged.
Lynda smiled at my gesture. “You have feelings for him,” she stated confidently.
I inhaled sharply, my heart fluttering at her words while my stomach coiled with nerves. Her statement was jarring yet undeniably true.
Lynda was right. I did have feelings for Artemy. Whenever he was near, it felt as if my mind and body were no longer my own. His presence brought me a sense of lightness and freedom. And when he was distant, my heart yearned for him, wishing he were by my side once more.
Reluctantly, I admitted to myself that Artemy had become the source of my happiness. He had bestowed upon me a joy I had never experienced before. Simply being in his presence made me smile effortlessly, and my heart found tranquility in his company.
I refused to acknowledge Lynda’s correctness. She let out a small laugh, mischief twinkling in her eyes.
“Do you trust me?” she inquired.
Taken aback by her sudden question, I nodded slowly. “Yes, of course.”
“Will you do whatever I tell you to do?”
Puzzled, I stared at her and posed a question of my own. “What do you mean?”
“Just trust me, alright? I’ve got a plan. Just go with the flow and do as I say,” she urged.
Shaking my head, I gave her a serious look.
“Lynda, what are you talking about?”
“I’m really sorry. I mean, really sorry. I’ll apologize more later,” she said, nervously biting her lip and wearing an expression of guilt. I saw her wince, and suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my ankle. Did she just kick me?
“Ow!” I exclaimed, doubling over in pain.
“Sorry.” Lynda took the bouquet from my hand and pushed me onto the bed, ensuring I was seated comfortably.
As the sharp pang shot through my ankle, my reflexes kicked in, causing me to flinch involuntarily. Leaning forward, I sought relief by gently massaging the throbbing area with my hand. In that moment, my gaze shifted towards Lynda, who wore a pout on her face.
Confusion washed over me as I mustered the words to express my astonishment, “Why did you do that?”
Her response caught me off guard, leaving me dumbfounded. “Just trust me, alright? Endure the pain for now. I’ll return soon,” she said, gradually stepping backward. Before I could form a coherent reply, she darted out of the room, leaving me behind in a state of bewilderment.
Lynda’s actions had always carried an air of unpredictability, but this time, she had truly outdone herself. My mind raced with questions, wondering what on earth she could be up to now.
***
[ARTEMY]
Settling comfortably into my sofa chair, I observed Bernadette as she placed her handbag delicately on the coffee table before taking a seat across from me. Impatience welled up inside me just as I had been about to depart and see Rebecca. Bernadette’s sudden arrival caught me off guard; I had completely forgotten about her report. My thoughts were consumed with Rebecca alone.
All I wanted to know was whether she had appreciated the flowers.
“Well?” I inquired, my impatience evident. Bernadette was supposed to give me a debrief, but it had slipped my mind entirely. I had been preoccupied with thoughts of Rebecca.
“Not much to report,” Bernadette responded. “Raffaele and his crew are still mistreating the women. It’s the same old story. Nothing has changed. With his increased power, it’s going to be even harder to put an end to the abuse in the brothels and clubs.”
I had sent Bernadette undercover to monitor the clubs, posing as a prostitute so she could gather internal information for me. So far, nothing had shifted.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I ran my hand through my hair. “Damn.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more, but…” Bernadette trailed off.
“You’ve done more than enough. But I want you out of there now. It’s becoming too dangerous, and each time you go, you put yourself at risk. Your services won’t be required any longer,” I informed her.
Confusion flashed across her face briefly before she nodded. “What should I do now?”
“You’re free to do as you please. Just stay away from the clubs, understood?” I responded firmly.
Bernadette nodded, keeping her gaze lowered in a display of respect.
Leaning back against the sofa, I crossed my arms over my chest.
“You may leave,” I commanded.
“Oh.” Bernadette’s mouth fell open in surprise. She had been expecting something else, but today, she wouldn’t get it. No longer.
Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she flashed a seductive, sultry smile. She licked her lips and gradually moved closer, her short skirt riding up as she did, revealing more of her thighs.
“Artemy,” she whispered, rising from the couch and circling the coffee table towards me. Irritation coursed through me at her desperate attempt to seduce me.
Just a few days ago, I would have eagerly reciprocated her advances, surrendering to the passion that coursed through our bodies, lost in the heat of the moment. But now, my thoughts were consumed by Rebecca. Her radiant smile, the blush that colored her cheeks, and the lingering taste of our shared kiss. She had taken control of my every thought and sensation, overshadowing anyone or anything else in my world.
As Bernadette leaned in, revealing a glimpse of her alluring cleavage, I raised a hand to halt her advances. “Bernadette-” I began, but our conversation was abruptly interrupted by the violent crash of the door swinging open. Startled, both Bernadette and I turned our heads to see Lynda rush into the room, clearly breathless.
“Becca,” Lynda gasped, her voice filled with urgency. “She’s been injured.”