Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife Book 1)

by Sienna Blake

  Terrance is as shocked as I am. My husband has all this old money, money passed down from generation to generation. His lineage is part of the royal line, for heaven’s sake. How the hell is his company sinking?

  “But…how…?” Terrance asks.

  Yes, how did this happen?

  How was Edgar able to keep it from his own advisor?

  My husband lets out a small huff. “Does it matter? We’re in this mess. I’m trying to get us out.”

  I back away from the door, my stomach churning. It all makes sense now. My husband is desperate. His simpering behaviour towards Dimitri makes sense.

  Does Dimitri know my husband’s company is in trouble? Or is his supposed investment just a way for him to slither his way into our household?

  His own business advisor didn’t know his company was sinking. If Edgar can hide it from Terrance, he’ll be able to hide it from Dimitri. There’s no way that anyone would invest in my husband’s company if they knew that it was about to go under.

  I must warn Dimitri.

  I shove that thought away. I cannot betray my husband. My fate, Emily’s fate, is tied to his fortune. If his company sinks, so do we.

  Let Dimitri spend all his money saving Edgar’s company. It’ll be karma. Besides, Dimitri chose to come here. If he makes the stupid mistake of getting into bed with my husband, that is his own damn fault.

  27

  ____________

  Alena

  I walk into the Worthington Manor library, a beautiful large room filled with floor-to-ceiling ash-wood bookcases packed with more books than I could ever read in my life. It’s one of my favourite rooms. I was going to come here and read until dinner. I start when I spot a man I don’t recognise standing by the window, gazing out.

  “Hello. Who are you?” I ask.

  He spins towards me, a handsome man of perhaps mid-thirties dressed in a light grey suit. Long dark hair tied back in a bun, smooth, tanned skin across a strong jaw, exotic dark eyes. He smiles, lighting up his face. “You must be the lovely Alena Worthington.” He walks with a slight limp as he approaches.

  “I am.” I shake the hand he offers me. “But I don’t know you.”

  “I’m Javier Garcia, Dimi’s advisor.”

  “Dimi?” I flinch. Only I used to call him Dimi.

  He laughs. “Mr Wolf, I mean. Sorry, I forget that he makes everyone act so formal around him.”

  This man is so at ease, it’s infectious. I find myself smiling at him, offering a seat in one of the chairs that are placed around a low table. I notice a tea set is laid out, steam curling from the spout of the teapot. I don’t have time to think anything of it before Javier sits right next to me instead of taking the armchair.

  I clear my throat. “You know Dimitri well, then?”

  This earns me another laugh. “Too well.” Javier leans in towards my ear. “I know all his deepest, darkest secrets.”

  His deepest, darkest secrets? My mind scrambles to decipher his words. When Javier pulls back, his eyes are twinkling at me. Did Dimitri tell him about me?

  He can’t know about me. He wouldn’t be looking at me with such openness and joy.

  I clear my throat. “I think that would be a very heavy burden. I hope he’s paying you enough.”

  He breaks out into a long peal of rich laughter. “Ah, Alena,” he says softly, “you are as lovely and spirited as he says you are.”

  Dimitri thinks me lovely? Javier must be joking. Mistaken. I can’t imagine Dimitri would have any kind words to say about me based on his behaviour towards me.

  I am desperately curious now. Through Javier, I see a way to peer into Dimitri’s life without him knowing. Dimitri would never tell me where he has been and what he has done. “How did you meet Dimitri? In America?”

  “Ah yes. It was a few years ago when his company was just beginning to take off. He found me and plucked me from the gutters. Literally.”

  “Really?”

  Javier nods. “He gave me a chance when no one else would. He was generous with his time, his money, and his heart. He’s a good man, Dimitri.” Javier’s fondness for Dimitri shines clearly on his face. “He saved my damn life. I’ll never be able to repay him.”

  I stiffen. “I see.” Is it strange that I am jealous of Javier? I’m jealous that Dimitri has bestowed the best of himself on this man and reserved the worst for me. “You and I have met two very different men,” I can’t help but say.

  Javier places a hand on my arm, his face turning serious. “Please, go easy on him, Alena. If he is cruel, it is only because he is hurting. He is not as strong as he looks.”

  28

  ____________

  Dimitri

  I’m supposed to meet Javier after I finished my call. He just arrived. Quite frankly, I am glad he is here. It’s nice to have one person here I can trust. The door to the library, where we planned to meet, is partly open. As I approach, my footsteps falter as I hear a soft feminine voice. The source of my pain, the voice that chases me into my nightmares.

  Alena is in there. With Javier.

  I stop by the door, peering round the crack. They are huddled together on the couch, talking quietly together.

  Something stabs me in my gut.

  Javier has always had a way with people. He is effortlessly loveable and endlessly patient. That’s why we have been so successful together. He is good cop, I am bad cop.

  Now he’s playing good cop with Alena. I realise I’m grinding my teeth when my jaw aches.

  She says something I can’t make out. He tips his head back and laughs, long and loud.

  The bastard’s trying to seduce her. I have my hand on the door handle before doubt smacks me in the face.

  This is Javier. I know him. He would never seduce Alena. Not with what he knows about her.

  It took years for the trust to build between Javier and me. After we met, he stuck around, refusing to go, putting up with me when I raged and screamed like a storm, coaxing me out when I withdrew into the blackened shell of myself. He may think I saved his life. Really, he saved mine. I cannot be feeling hatred towards him. I’m already stuffed with it, choking with it, drowning in it.

  I see his hand fall upon Alena’s arm. I want to rip his arm out of its socket and beat the living shit out of him with it. I barge into the library.

  Alena leaps to her feet.

  Javier merely smiles broadly at me. “There you are, Dimi. We were just talking about you.”

  I glare between Alena and Javier. “I did not give you permission to speak to her about me.”

  He just snorts at me. “Don’t worry, Dimi. I wasn’t giving up your secrets.” He winks at me, the bastard.

  “You’re fired.”

  Alena gasps, a hand flying to her lips.

  Javier just laughs at me. “Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss.” He turns to Alena. “Don’t worry, he’s not serious.” I want to hit him for even looking at her.

  “I am,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Javier shakes his head, his eyes still on her. “He’s not. He fires me at least once a day.”

  “And for some reason you won’t stay fired.”

  Javier ignores me and keeps right on talking to her. “Truth is, he can’t live without me. I’m the only one who isn’t afraid of him. I know he’s really a marshmallow inside.”

  “I’m right fucking here.”

  Only then does Javier pay me any real attention. He gives me a patronizing look. “Sit down, Dimi. Here,” he nods towards the tea set on the table in front of him, “have a cup of tea to calm the savage beast inside. The English swear by it.”

  Alena stares between us, her eyes wide. “I think…I think I might leave you two.”

  “No, stay,” Javier says.

  “Good idea,” I mutter under my breath at the same time.

  Javier sighs. “If you leave, Alena, the conversation will become half as charming and my view will become infinitely less appealing.”

  I he
ar a growl and realise it’s coming from the depths of my throat.

  Alena makes her apologies as she suddenly “remembers” an errand she is supposed to be doing. She departs, swiftly, her lashes cast down as she passes me. I can see the bob in the smooth column of her neck. I catch a whiff of her perfume. The scent of vanilla hits me in the gut like a punch. My hands curl into fists by my side.

  The door clicks shut behind me, signalling that she has left the library. My fury remains.

  Javier smiles at me, despite how I glare at him. “I like her.”

  I stiffen. “You are not paid to like her.”

  “She seems so different from the wretched creature who you described carelessly ripping out your heart.”

  She is a wretched creature. Don’t be fooled just because she dresses so prettily and speaks so softly. “Appearances can be deceiving.” I change the subject before he can argue with me. “Have you found what I asked you to?”

  “Not yet.” He leans forward, pouring two cups of tea from a delicate white and blue china teapot. “Sit down, Dimi. Relax for one second. Here,” he waves a shortbread at me, “have a cookie, there’s a good boy.”

  I scowl, not moving towards the chair beside him. “If you haven’t found what I’m looking for then why are you here and not in London?”

  He shrugs and picks up his teacup, his pinkie extended. “Needed to get a bit of country air into me.” As he takes a sip, his eyes slide to the door where Alena just exited. “I also wanted to meet her.”

  I bite down a furious retort. “Well, now you have. Get your ass back to London and get me what I need.”

  “Can I at least finish my tea?”

  “No.”

  Javier chuckles. He finishes his tea and four pieces of shortbread, making a point to slurp and smack his lips, while I stand there shooting daggers at him. The damn insubordinate man. I should fire him. Again. For good this time.

  Javier stands and brushes his suit down. I still haven’t moved.

  “Relax, Dimitri,” Javier says, patting my shoulder as he passes. “No need to be…jealous.” He strides out of the drawing room, leaving me alone with my tempest of thoughts.

  Jealous? I scoff internally. I’m not jealous.

  The memory of Javier’s hand on her arm sears through my brain, making me want to run after Javier and beat him to a pulp. I grab the closest chair, trying to hold myself back, trying to calm myself, trying to steady my breath coming out in short bursts.

  You are jealous. The realisation stings.

  I can’t be jealous. I don’t want Alena. How could I after what she did to me? I hate that she’s managed to charm Javier, that’s all. That’s all. I know what a snake she is underneath.

  I hate her, I remind myself.

  I hate her.

  I hate her.

  29

  ____________

  Alena

  Javier spoke so warmly to me, and so highly of Dimitri, that after I leave him, I feel…hope. Perhaps I am wrong about Dimitri’s return? Perhaps, under his anger, the same man I love is waiting for me. Waiting to take me away from this place. He just needs time. Encouragement.

  As the days go on, Dimitri ignores me. He hasn’t said one word to me since that day when he burst in on Javier and me.

  Javier has returned to London. I fight disappointment at his quick departure. I can’t help but feel like I had an ally in him. Like, perhaps he could have shed some light on the confusing man in front of me. Perhaps that’s why Dimitri sent him away.

  Dimitri might be ignoring me. But he openly flirts with Emily in front of me. At breakfast. At lunch. At dinner. I can’t stand his presence. It cuts me open.

  And Emily, poor Emily. I can hardly stand to be around her anymore. All she wants to do is to talk about him. My screams inside become more and more pressurized until I can’t take it anymore.

  I hear a groan behind me, feel fingers on my hip, a pulse inside me. My husband has just come.

  I float back into my body as he lifts himself off me. He flops onto the bed, looking at me with a frown on his face. “What have you done with your hair?”

  I touch the strands by my face. It’s gone back to its wild and curly natural way. “I…I haven’t been straightening it lately.” I don’t have the patience to straighten it every morning like I had taken to doing.

  My husband studies my face, his lip curling up. “I don’t like it. It makes you look like a gypsy.”

  I shrug. I’m beyond caring what my husband thinks.

  Dimitri used to love it this way. My heart lets out a small throb. I roll off the bed and head to his en suite, grabbing my robe as I go.

  In the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m twenty-one but I feel so much older. I feel like a prisoner in my own home. Not that this has ever really been home to me. But it’s as good as it gets for me. Dimitri thinks he can come in here and fuck it all up.

  You are not a victim here, I tell myself. You still have influence in this household.

  I wrap my robe around me like armour and step out of the en suite. My husband is sitting on his bed in his robe, his legs stretched out, reading glasses on his nose, and a pile of papers in his hand.

  “Edgar?”

  He looks up over his glasses. “Yes?”

  I step closer, chewing on my lip, wondering how I should approach it. “How long is Mr Wolf staying?”

  Edgar puts down his papers. “For however long it takes him to agree to a business deal.”

  “So a few days?”

  “Weeks, more like it. Maybe even months. Who knows how long it might take for us to negotiate a contract.”

  Shit. I can’t deal with Dimitri for weeks or months. I clear my throat and offer my husband a smile. “I just think that perhaps he’d be more comfortable staying at your penthouse in London.”

  “I already suggested that to him.”

  “You did?”

  “He said that he hates the city. He’d be more comfortable here at Worthington Manor where there’s fresh air and it’s quiet.”

  No no no. It’s because I’m here and his life’s mission is to torture me.

  I try another tact. “Won’t he get bored here with so little company?”

  “He seems to enjoy Emily’s company.” There’s a knowing sparkle in my husband’s eyes.

  I wince internally. He has noticed Dimitri’s fondness for Emily too.

  “Regardless,” he continues, oblivious to my pain, “he shouldn’t be bored on Saturday.”

  “Saturday?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” He pushes his glasses back up his nose and lifts his papers. “I’m throwing him a party.”

  30

  ____________

  Alena

  Saturday comes. The house is alive with people rushing about, getting ready for the party; caterers carting in trays of food, a jazz quartet tuning up in the corner of the ballroom, florists setting up elaborate displays of lilies and white roses in the centre of every table.

  I’ve already been faking an illness the last few days so I won’t have to suffer through meals with Dimitri, laughing with Emily and ignoring me.

  Now I actually feel sick.

  I wrap myself in my robe and walk down the corridor to my husband’s chambers. I want to beg off the party. Surely, Edgar will take pity on me.

  I chew my lip as I enter my husband’s bedroom with a knock. He’s holding up two silk ties in front of him in the mirror, one pale blue, another pale green, both of them I hate. “Edgar?”

  My husband frowns when he sees me. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  “I have a headache.”

  I’m not lying. My temples are throbbing, my hands sweaty, my heart has been an erratic mess all day. I cannot face seeing Dimitri with Emily at the party. I cannot.

  “Take some painkillers.”

  “I have. They’re not working. I’m just going to skip the party.”

  My husband’s face twists. He drops both ties and grabs m
y arm, his grip too tight. He ignores my protests as he marches me out of his bedroom and towards mine, just down the corridor. “You spoiled little girl.” He shoves me into my bedroom. “You will make yourself presentable and come downstairs immediately.”

  “Edgar—”

  “I don’t want to hear any fucking excuses. Do it or I will drag you downstairs myself.” He slams the door behind him.

  I cannot escape Dimitri. As much as I try.

  Later, I fuss with my hair one more time as I stand in front of the dresser. I tried to straighten it earlier but my hands were too shaky. The best I could do was to put some product in it that would tame the frizz. Even then, my hair tumbles around my head like a violent wind has gone through it.

  I smooth my hands over my dress, a red silk Valentino gown that nips in at my waist and shimmers around my ankles. I take a steadying breath. This is your house, Alena. Don’t let him stop you from being comfortable in your own house.

  I lift my chin and exit my room, the strains of the violins growing louder as I make my way through the hallway, my heels clicking against the marble. I stop at the top of the stairs to the ballroom, gripping the balustrade as I survey the room, steeling myself, my stomach doing flips.

  The ballroom is the most beautiful room in Worthington Manor, the grand masterpiece. It rises two storeys, chandeliers drip like a crystal canopy from the vaulted plasterwork ceiling, the hundreds of light bulbs sparkling across the black and white Spanish marble floors which are now crammed with my husband’s friends, all in their finest. My eyes scan the room. Without meaning to, I know I’m seeking him out. I spot Mrs Bates hanging around the edges of the room near the entrance to the serving kitchen, surveying the crowd, making sure that every waiter is doing his job correctly, occasionally stopping one to straighten his tie or fuss at his tray. There is Terrance, by my husband’s side, looking too eager to please. He just needs a collar. I spot Emily, a pretty flower standing by one of the large windows, talking to someone who isn’t—thank God—Dimitri.