by Colt, Elodie
“What are you going to do about your Silent Sins date?” she asks in a gentle tone, her fingers brushing over the golden dragonfly around my neck.
Yeah, what are you going to do about Ross, Ella?
The answer is easy.
Leave him be. Let him go. Give him up.
So, I do the only thing that will end his suffering, even if it feels like I’m drilling a white-hot knife into my heart—I click the red button, changing the status to…
‘Declined.’
‘Declined.’
The status update on my Silent Sins app blasts a hole in my gut. My living room starts to spin as I feel all the color draining from my face. I grip my wine glass so hard, it nearly shatters in my hand as I try to process what just happened. Thank God, I’m not stuck in a meeting for once where I have to keep my composure and explain to Nick why my mouth slackens with the sudden heaviness expanding in my core.
No. I refuse to believe this. We were supposed to be a perfect match. She can’t skip out on me. Not now. Not on our sixth date.
Setting my wine glass safely on the table, I braze my elbows onto my knees and start typing.
Rosswell: I think you clicked the wrong button
My laser-focused gaze is on the screen, and I press a knuckle to my mouth as I watch the dots move, waiting for Devon to tell me that it was just a joke.
She doesn’t. Instead, she hammers the last nail in my coffin.
Devonport: I’m sorry, Ross…
My eyes narrow as I soak in the words, my expression turning to stone.
Devonport: I know what the 6th date means to you, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for ruining this, but I don’t have a choice.
I ball my hand into a fist, the muscles in my biceps straining under my skin.
Rosswell: Just tell me why?
My surroundings blur as I stare holes into the screen, and I launch up, pacing my large living area. The dots don’t move for a whole minute. I can practically sense her biting that sexy lip of hers as she racks her brain about how to explain.
Rosswell: I need to know. Please…
Finally, she starts typing, and I try to ignore the pounding in my ears as adrenaline spikes in my system, making my hands slick with cold sweat.
Devonport: Some information has been leaked, and I fear that your anonymity is at stake.
I freeze mid-stride, my face contorting into a frown. What does she mean ‘information has been leaked?’ What does she know that I don’t? I make a mental note to call Carl later and demand answers, but first, I have to convince her not to fucking ditch me on our sixth date.
My fingers punch the keyboard, and I curse when I have to erase the text three times after hitting the wrong letters, trying to rein in my temper and regain control over my motor functions.
Rosswell: I don’t care about my anonymity. I care about you. Don’t you understand?
For God’s sake, didn’t I do everything in my power to show her that she was always more than a meaningless quickie? Is it really that hard for her to believe that I care about her more than I should? That I wanted to take her out on a date like a real gentleman because she intrigued me from the moment she opened her mouth to whisper the first husky words in my direction?
I tear my gaze away from the ceiling when my phone pings with another message.
Devonport: My anonymity is at stake, too. My privacy. My safety…
I shake my head in frustration. Why is anonymity so damn important to her? Why does she fear for her safety? Who the hell is this girl that she feels the need to hide in the darkness and never show her face?
Devonport: I know you don’t understand, but these things are important to me. It’s just too much of a risk.
Raking a hand over my neck, I continue to pace the room. Maybe she belongs to an influential or Catholic family, one that wouldn’t want her in a nefarious program like Silent Sins. Maybe that’s why she refuses to meet me in private.
Or maybe Silent Sins was always a means for her to escape reality—a brutal life she wanted to flee from, if only for a few hours. The mere thought of anyone caging her up or clipping her beautiful wings makes me seethe inside, and I grind my teeth so hard, a stinging pain crawls up my jaw.
I can feel it. She’s slipping through my fingers. Nothing I say is going to make her budge.
A rush of panic scrapes its claws down my ribcage, and I suck in a shaky breath. I’m not ready to give her up. Not until I’ve tried everything in my power to bring her to reason.
Rosswell: So, you’re just going to chuck the whole thing? Throw everything away we built up over the last few months? Throw us away?
Good Lord, I sound like a scorned ex-husband with a broken ego. What the hell is this girl doing to me?
The dots move as she types her answer, and I’m strung tight like a stretched ribbon, waiting for the next punch.
Don’t do it. Don’t shut me out now, dragonfly girl.
Devonport: Don’t forget what we signed up for here. There was never an ‘us.’
Bam. Yeah, rub it in, baby. That’s exactly what I need right now.
Rosswell: Bullshit.
I curse as soon as I hit the ‘Send’ button, knowing I should have thought this through before going for a counterstrike, so I quickly shoot another text to soften the blow.
Rosswell: You know that’s not true. We might have only ever met in the dark, but I can see through you, baby.
She doesn’t reply for a long time, and I use the moment to get my temper in check.
Devonport: Doesn’t matter. This is serious, Ross.
She’s not denying it, but she’s built up her walls once more, and I have no fucking clue how to raze them to the ground.
Devonport: I’m not saying that we can never meet again. Just give me some time to handle this. Trust me, it’s for the best…
With a pained stare, I watch as she slams the door right into my face, her dot turning from green to gray.
Devon is offline.
Deflated, I collapse onto the sofa and down the rest of my wine in three gulps.
I already had a notion this was the endgame when we texted last time. If anything, I’m surprised she didn’t kick me from her contact list, so I’m holding onto the hope that she’ll come back at some point.
‘I’m not saying that we can never meet again.’
She said she just needed time. Okay, I can live with that.
No, you can’t.
Time is quite a generous term. One week? One month? One year? I don’t know if I want to wait that long.
“Dammit,” I curse under my breath and scroll through my contacts to call Carl.
While I wait, my unseeing gaze is on the Venus de Milo statue displayed right next to the oversized TV mounted on the wall. From all the valuable collections dispersed over my place, this marble, ancient Greek sculpture from around 100 BC is my favorite, but right now, the only beauty I see in front of my eyes is the one I just lost.
Unsurprisingly, Carl doesn’t pick up, and I end the call with another curse. Reaching that guy is harder than for the pope to grant you an audience.
I tap my phone against my chin, thinking. I need to know what Devon meant about an information leak. It’s too late to call eNtimacy and talk to an accountant, but I know they’ve got a twenty-four-seven technical support hotline, so it might be worth a try.
Browsing my Silent Sins app, I navigate to the ‘Support’ tab to call the hotline. After an endless string of automatic announcements, I finally hear a beep before someone picks up.
“eNtimacy technical support, how can I help you?” some bored guy drones from the other end of the line.
“Yes, hello. My name is, uh—” I scratch my jaw, realizing I probably shouldn’t tell him my name if I don’t want to make the issue worse. “Never mind. I’m calling because I wanted to ask if you know about any security incidences that occurred at Silent Sins lately.”
The dude is quiet for
a moment, as if trying to make sense of my question.
“Sir, this is the technical support. You should talk to your Silent Sins accountant—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I cut him off, “but I won’t get anyone on the phone at this hour. My match just told me that some information has been leaked, and I want to know what happened.”
“What’s the code name of your match?”
“Devon. Uh, I mean, Devonport.”
Fumbling with the two rings on my fingers, I listen to the guy hitting the keyboard.
“Oh, I see,” he says at last, and I straighten. “Yeah, there has been a security breach.”
“What kind of security breach?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not supposed to reveal any more information, sir.”
A beep coming from my phone signals that there’s another call coming in, and I remove it from my ear to see that it’s Carl.
“Thanks.” Not bothering with a goodbye, I hang up and take Carl’s call. “Carl. Thanks for calling me back.”
“Hello, Nathan. What can I do for you at this late hour?” He sounds more amused rather than annoyed.
“I’ve heard there was a security breach at Silent Sins. What happened?”
A beat of silence follows, and then he asks, “How do you know about that?”
“Devon told me, and a guy from your support team just confirmed it. What’s going on, Carl?”
Standing up, I pace the room once again, twirling Devon’s pendant around my finger.
“I can’t tell you, Nathan. This is sensitive business information,” he replies in a firm tone. “But I can assure you that your anonymity is—”
“I don’t give a fuck about my anonymity,” I cut him off with a snarl, marching erratically back and forth. “I want to know what happened, and why the hell this was a reason for my match to cancel our date.”
“Devon canceled your date?” Carl sounds surprised.
“Yes, she did, and she’s so freaked out that she refuses to meet me in the near future,” I seethe.
He heaves a sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that, but please understand that my hands are tied here. I can assure you that we’ve got everything under control, and I’m positive that things will calm down over time. In the meantime, why don’t you date one of your other matches and—”
“Are you kidding me?” I fume. “The date with my second match was a total disaster. I’m not interested in fucking my way through all my matches. I want Devon.”
“Careful, Nathan,” Carl cautions. “Or do I have to remind you what Silent Sins is?”
‘Don’t forget what we signed up for here. There was never an us.’
I just shake my head, gaze drawn to the floor. The temptation to get him to reveal her real name is overwhelming, but I know he won’t budge.
“Fix this, Carl. Just… fix this.”
Ending the call, I hurl my phone onto the sofa and roar at the ceiling. I could breathe fire like Khaleesi’s dragon right now.
Something in my periphery catches my attention, and my eyes land on Devon’s Halloween costume lying on a nearby table. With a heavy heart, I take it into my hands, my fingers brushing over the frill and sequins. I lift it to my nose. Her scent is gone. Not even a whiff left.
I told her I ruined it, and the memory plasters a faint smile onto my face.
‘You’re my undoing, Ross…’ was her answer.
I remember the date we shared when I first made her scream. How it felt when she started to unravel beneath me. How it sounded when she uttered her first guttural moan. How I watched her turn from the skittish doe who barely dared to breathe when we were in the same room, to a wild vixen who rode me into ecstasy until I saw stars.
Each time with her was the ultimate high. And now, it’s all over. Just like that.
With an almighty scream, I grab the Venus de Milo and throw it against the TV. The screen shatters, and the statue cracks in two, landing with a loud crash on the floor.
The Sony 98-inch, 8K OLED TV? Seventy thousand dollars.
This Venus de Milo statue? Eighty thousand dollars.
My dragonfly girl?
Invaluable.
“You look absolutely dazzling, Nathan,” Brooke gushes as she smooths down the expensive fabric over my shoulders, and I mumble a thanks.
The Brioni Vanquish II was her birthday gift to me. A gift that couldn’t be any more impersonal considering I own more designer suits than a man needs, but I accepted it with gratitude and a fake smile.
My thoughts drift off to the only thoughtful gift I ever received which is now lying on my nightstand, but I quickly push the image of Devon’s pendant to the back of my mind.
Devon is in the past.
“And you look spectacular as always,” Brooke continues to dish out compliments as she gives Nick a kiss on the cheek.
We’re both in black today with silver bow ties choking our throats, and I cringe when she tightens it over my Adam’s apple. Brooke could be displayed as a rare jewel herself with the metallic-gold maxi dress hugging her slender frame and the thin straps barely supporting her plunging neckline. The piece is so long, it pools on the floor around her feet, and she has to push up the fabric every time she moves so as not to step on it. In combination with the white-gold diamond hoops from Cartier, she makes for a real eye-catcher tonight. And for good reason, because tonight, we’re hosting the most important event of the year—the Imperial Russian Antiques exhibition.
“I’m not sure about the lighting for that sapphire locket over there,” Janice voices her thoughts from next to me, wringing her gloved hands. “It drowns a little next to the snuffbox with the portrait of Alexander the Second, don’t you think?”
“Everything looks perfect, love,” Nick says, pulling her closer by the waist. “Just like you,” he adds in a seductive tone, and I have to admit that the purple off-the-shoulder mermaid dress compliments her red hair.
I try to keep my features blank as he places a lingering kiss onto her naked shoulder and look the other way on purpose as the venomous snake called jealousy uncurls in my stomach, the memory of my tongue savoring Devon’s soft skin invading my mind once more.
The place is slowly starting to fill, and the waiters are busy handing out glasses and appetizers. Everything is designed to attract the elite clientele tonight, and the first limousines are sliding to a halt in front of the entrance.
Brooke bites her lip as artists, designers, and selected reporters trickle in.
“How many security guards do we have?” she asks Nick.
“Enough to protect the president of the United States,” he assures her with a chuckle. “Plus, the Russians will have their own bodyguards, so I think the gallery and its artifacts are in safe… hands…”
“What?” Brooke asks in alarm when Nick trails off, his eyes growing wide.
“Who the hell invited her?” he asks.
We all turn our heads as a dark-haired beauty in a daring, olive-green dress and seven-inch pumps struts in with a thigh slit so high up, it nearly reaches her navel and lets her thong peek through.
I grin. “Me.”
“Who is she?” Janice wants to know.
“Adriana Chechik,” I answer, but Janice looks confused.
“Should I know her?”
Nick clears his throat, shifting. “She’s a Russian porn star. A very famous one. I didn’t know you were in contact with her manager,” he throws in my direction.
“I figured the Russians would love to meet her in person, so I pulled a few strings.”
And sent her a Harry Winston watch as a little thank you.
Sure enough, the porn queen quickly becomes the center of attention as the men gather around her, leaving their fancy wives on the sidelines.
“Well, then I’m going to welcome her,” Nick says with a lopsided grin while his soon-to-be wife rolls her eyes.
Brooke takes a few steps closer to me, clasping her hands in front of her as we watch all the VIPs and g
litzy starlets file in, among them celebrities with Russian roots like Mila Jovovich and Anna Kournikova.
“You did a great job, Nathan,” she says in earnest, and I turn to face her. “I know you worked hard to make this exhibition a successful one. Thank you.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise as I gawk at her. I can tell by the way she lowered her voice that praising me still costs her quite an effort, but I’m humbled by the courtesy nonetheless.
“Thank you, Brooke. That means a lot to me.”
She graces me with a curt nod before she suddenly curses under her breath and puts a hand on Janice’ shoulder. “Can you do me a favor, honey? The Russian interpreter will arrive any minute, and I forgot to bring the audio equipment for the translation of the tour. I think Valerie left it on her desk.”
“I’ll go get it,” Janice says with a smile and veers toward the elevator.
I frown, glancing around. “Where’s Valerie?”
“She quit.” Brooke pinches her lips, and I send her a pointed look.
“What did you do?”
“My job,” she grunts, and then turns to a guy nearby fumbling with cables. “And can someone please turn down the background music a notch? You can’t hear your own words!”
The man nods and hurries away.
I start to comment on her attitude, but her gaze travels to the door.
“Carl is here. Excuse me…”
Fisting a handful of her dress, she lifts it up and strides off to greet Carl Kelly. I shake my head in frustration. I should tell her to go looking for an assistant in the military because no one else seems to be able to withstand the drills of Crawford Crescent’s general in heels.
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and join the crowd, shaking hands when necessary and smiling into the cameras when appropriate. For a brief moment, I wonder if Vincent will get to see a picture in the newspaper, and I broaden my smile as the reporter takes one of me and a Russian oligarch who made a fortune way above the twenty-billion mark with investments in coal and metals.
After an hour of stroking egos, I motion for Janice to get the people into the sequestered room where the tour will take place. Nick is engrossed in a conversation with Adriana Chechik, and I drag him away just as he takes a selfie with her.
