"Take me to the apartment, please," I instructed Kline as he navigated through the congested city streets. The traffic was unusually dense this evening, far busier than it typically was at this hour.

From beside me, I felt Nate's inquisitive gaze drilling into the side of my head. I continued signing the documents in my hand, striving to keep my handwriting legible despite the car's jolts and stops every time Kline had to brake in the heavy traffic.

"Why?" Nate asked, his voice breaking the silence. He shifted his focus to the back of the seat in front of him, as though lost in thought. He'd been asking a lot of questions lately, a habit that was beginning to irritate me.

"Why what, Nate?" I replied stoically, placing the completed documents neatly into a folder and pulling out the next set.

"You're done for the day. We've handled everything that was pending at the company."

"And your point is?" My tone remained icy. Nate's role was to assist me, not to question my decisions.

"I don't see why we need to stay longer in the city. Why are we going to the apartment?"

With a snap, I shut the file after signing the last of the papers, and clicked my pen before placing it in the seat pocket behind Kline's seat.

"We, are not going to the apartment. I am."

Nate's expression hardened, but he remained silent, his jaw tight as he stared out the window. The tension in the car was palpable. Kline glanced at me in the rearview mirror, a flicker of concern in his eyes, but he said nothing and continued to drive.

The city blurred past as we made our way through the labyrinthine streets. My mind was racing with thoughts of the evening ahead. The apartment was more than just a place to sleep—it was a sanctuary where I could think, plan, and strategize without interruption.

As we neared the building, Nate broke the silence. "Is there something going on that I should know about?"

I turned to face him, my eyes cold and unyielding. "What I do after hours is none of your concern, Nate. Your job is to assist me during business hours, not to pry into my personal affairs."

He nodded, though the tension in his posture didn't ease. "Understood."

The car pulled up to the entrance of the apartment building, and Kline swiftly exited to open my door.

I stepped out of the car, my movements sharp and precise, exuding an aura of barely restrained violence. The evening air was cool, but the heat of my anger seemed to radiate from me. Nate remained in the car, watching me with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

"What is it, Nate?" My voice was low, a warning in itself.

"Is this about her?" Nate asked, swallowing hard. "About Theodora?"

At the mention of Thea, my jaw clenched. I turned sharply, my hands balling into fists at my sides. The muscles in my neck tightened, the veins standing out in stark relief.

"You dare bring her up?" My voice was a growl, each word dripping with menace.

Nate raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I meant no disrespect, Conrad. I just... I thought you should know there's been talk. People are asking questions."

"People should mind their own damn business," I spat, my eyes blazing. I took a step towards Nate, the threat in my stance unmistakable. "Thea is off-limits. Do you understand?"

Nate nodded quickly, his face pale. "Yes, Boss. I understand."

"Kline, make sure Nate gets home safely," I instructed before turning to head into the building.

"Yes, sir," Kline replied with a nod.

I stared at him for a moment longer, the fury in my gaze unwavering. Then, with a sharp turn, I marched towards the building, my coat billowing behind me. The guards at the entrance stepped aside quickly, their eyes avoiding me as I stormed past.

Inside, the grand hallway was filled with the low murmur of conversations and light laughter. But as I entered, a hush fell over the room. My reputation for ruthlessness preceded me, and no one wanted to be the focus of my wrath.

I headed straight for my private floor, slamming the door behind me. I stood there for a moment, my breath coming in harsh, angry bursts. Thea. Even thinking her name brought a mix of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. I had wanted to keep her a secret, protect her from the darkness of my world. And now, someone was prying into that part of my life.

The beeping of my phone snapped me out of my rage, my anger dissipating as if it had never existed. A smirk crept across my face as I read her text. I could picture her smiling at the device in her hands, biting her pink lips the way she always did when she was around me.

'I will make you wear that hideous shirt again if you wear white.'

In the week and a half that I'd known her, I had quickly realized she was a mischievous little thing. Like me, she was quick to show her anger, whether it was by drenching me in wine or stabbing my foot with her heels.

Intrigued, I shot back a playful reply.

'Is that a challenge? Because you know I never back down from one.'

Moments later, my phone buzzed again.

'Try me.'

I chuckled, shaking my head. This was going to be interesting. Over the past ten days, her unpredictable nature had kept me on my toes, and I found myself looking forward to every encounter.

'As long as you're okay walking around with a Barbie,' I texted back, my mind drifting to the time she made me wear that pink shirt. I had looked like I had stepped out of a five-year-old girl's bedroom.

'Don't be late, Maxwell. You said 7.'

A quick glance at my wrist told me I was going to be late.

I dashed into the washroom, shedding the remnants of my tiring day at the office. The cool water hitting my skin was a welcome relief. Emerging from the shower, I stepped into the closet, and a chuckle escaped me as I stared at the line of dozens of white shirts staring back at me. Three stood out, separated from the rest—one with a wine stain, one tinged with red dye, and another with her lipstick imprint. I could never bring myself to clean them, fearing I would erase the memories if this turned out to be our last meeting.

A glimmering piece of jewelry caught my eye. I picked up the delicate silver anklet with my fingers. It had been a real Cinderella moment that day; she'd run away from the restaurant, leaving behind a small but memorable clue for me to track her down. Of course, I hadn't needed to, but at the time, I hadn't known she was associated with my mother.

I placed the anklet back on the shelf and began selecting my outfit. Tonight wasn't the night for just another white shirt. Instead, I chose a brown T-shirt paired with cream slacks, a combination that struck the balance between casual and sophisticated.

As I pulled my shirt on, I couldn't help but think about her laugh—the way it seemed to light up any room and how it echoed in my mind long after we'd parted. I slipped into my shoes and checked my reflection one last time. Satisfied, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

I paused in the hallway, considering my options. Tonight called for something special. I made my way to the garage, where my collection of cars was lined up. My eyes settled on the sleek, black sports car that hadn't seen much action lately. It was time to change that.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I felt a thrill of anticipation. The engine roared to life, and I maneuvered out of the garage, feeling the power beneath me. As I drove through the city streets, I decided to make one more stop.

Pulling up to a small florist shop, I quickly parked and headed inside. The scent of fresh flowers greeted me, a vibrant contrast to the cool evening air. After a moment of deliberation, I selected a bouquet of her favorite lilies, their delicate petals tinged with pink, a preference she shared with my mother. She had mentioned once how much she loved them, and I hoped the gesture would bring a smile to her face.

The bouquet of flowers felt warm in my hands as I made my way through the bustling streets, the shop's address firmly in my mind. Traffic had thinned considerably since the earlier rush, and I was making good time. I glanced down at the flowers once more, their soft petals a stark contrast to the anxiety buzzing in my chest. She was waiting for me.

I'd spent the last few days trying to get this moment right, trying to find the perfect way to show her that she meant more than just another fleeting interest. She was different.

As I approached the boutique, I noticed how quiet it had become, the city's usual chaos softened by the late afternoon. I pulled into the parking lot and parked in the nearest space, stepping out with a slight sense of urgency—though I couldn't quite explain why. Maybe it was the excitement of seeing her, maybe the need to make a good impression, or perhaps the anticipation of what might lie ahead. Either way, I had a few minutes to spare. I could feel the weight of those minutes, heavy in the air as I walked up to the door.

Inside, I could see her through the glass doors, sitting on a cream-colored couch in the corner of the boutique. Her posture was relaxed, but her focus was entirely on the sketch laid out before her on the coffee table. From here, I could see the delicate movement of her hand, pencil gripped firmly as she worked. The light from the windows caught the strands of her dark hair, and her profile was serene, untouched by the world outside.

I pushed the door open, the soft chime of the bell marking my entrance. She didn't look up immediately, which was unusual. I'd expected that she'd catch the sound of my footsteps and flash that captivating smile of hers—mischievous, confident, inviting. It was the kind of smile that made the rest of the world fade into the background, and I was always eager to be its sole audience.

But that didn't happen.

Her gaze remained fixed on the sketch, and the smile that should have appeared never did. As I walked closer, I could see her more clearly, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her body was tense, her eyes darting toward something in the room that I hadn't noticed before.

I paused.

I could feel the shift in the atmosphere—the subtle but undeniable change in her energy. I'd been with her long enough to recognize when something was wrong. My pulse quickened, and a deep, uneasy knot formed in my stomach.

Then she looked up at me. Her eyes weren't the warm, welcoming orbs I was used to. They were wide, pupils dilated with fear. Her lips parted as if to say something, but she didn't. She just stared at me, as if I were a stranger, a ghost she didn't know how to react to.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice low, trying not to spook her anymore.

Her eyes shifted—darting past me—before she blinked rapidly. She blinked again, as if something had gotten into her eye, and swallowed, a visible tremor running through her. My stomach twisted.

I scanned the room, instinctively protecting her from whatever threat was making her react this way.

That's when I noticed. She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at someone—or rather something—behind me. I felt a prickle of unease travel up my spine.

Who the hell was standing there? My eyes narrowed as I turned slowly, my body instinctively shifting into a protective stance. I almost reached for the gun hidden beneath my jacket, the familiar weight of it comforting in these moments of uncertainty.

But as I turned, I froze.

A pair of eyes locked onto mine—blue eyes. My own shade of blue. Eyes I knew all too well.

I could feel the air catch in my throat, a stunned silence filling the room. Every muscle in my body tensed, my heart rate spiking in a way I couldn't control. My hand hesitated just over my gun, the movement slow as if my body couldn't comprehend the impossibility of the situation.

God has got to be fucking with me.

"Mum?"

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE PRICE OF PASSION
2186 words

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