I’ve never been the confident type.
It doesn’t matter that I believed myself to be a fairy when I was young or that I mingled with pirates all my life. The only truth that remains is I couldn’t even make eye contact with people.
But I am right now.
Even though it’s through my glasses, I’m staring at him. The stranger whose actual name is Knox Van Doren.
The stranger whom I just so shamelessly told that he could have me—sexually or otherwise, he can just have me.
I sounded confident, too, as if I’m not melting on the inside. As if my skin isn’t catching fire and I’m not about to self-combust. That’s what happens when things don’t go according to plan. I lose it.
Like I lost it when Babushka was thrown away and basically given a death sentence. I might not make eye contact, but I can be as lethal as the people who raised me.
If not more.
Knox Van Doren.
That’s his full name. I found it after I ran from the elevator and browsed the higher employees in Weaver & Shaw and googled them. Sure enough, his name was there, with the junior partners.
And I might have researched him all night long. He comes from a mega rich family in England. His father owns an empire that’s recognized on the international scale and knows tremendous growth.
Not only that, but Knox also gained a reputation in the American press because of his antics and charming side. In the law circuit, he’s known to be a cunning devil in disguise who’s super picky on which clients to accept.
Those who are lucky to be represented by Van Doren might as well have acquired their “get out of jail free card.” Is what one of the magazines wrote about him.
I read countless articles about him and each one painted him in a more sinister light than the previous one.
What? A girl has to look out for herself.
The fact that Knox knows my real name and keeps repeating it and suspecting me is dangerous. Not only that, but it could ruin everything I’ve worked for. My new beginning.
My freedom.
Babushka’s life.
And desperate times call for desperate measures. Which is why I suggested that he have me.
Or that’s what I tell myself as I get incinerated by his presence. There’s something about it, about being so close to him that our breathing mingles together and I’m trapped by his size and his broad shoulders and those golden, intense eyes that could have been created from the combination of a forest and fire.
Or maybe a forest on fire.
There’s something about being so far beyond my comfort zone that it feels both foreign and exciting.
Delirious.
Maybe even addicting.
And like any addict, I can’t help sniffing in more, breathing in more.
Just taking in more.
“You,” he repeats slowly in that deep voice of his, with that eternal calm that still manages to steal shivers from my soul.
“Yeah, me.” It’s less confident now, betraying all the chipped things inside me.
His index and middle finger sneak beneath my chin and lift. The act is so minimal, but he might as well have doused me with gasoline and set me on fire. A touch. It’s a mere touch, so why the hell does it feel like a whole experience?
“What makes you think I want you?”
The sting of his words burns and jostles one of the broken pieces in my chest, but I grab on to my confidence with bloodstained fingers. “You did two weeks ago.”
“That was before I knew you were a liar.”
“What does that matter when I’m offering myself?”
“You were a good fuck, Anastasia, but not good enough to go against my principles for. I don’t do liars. So you’ll have to give me something first.”
“Forget it then. My offer is off the table.”
His lips curve in a cruel smirk. “I’ll be the one to decide that, and believe me, when I figure out who you are and what you’re after, you’ll be well and truly fucked. Hold on to these little lies while you can.”
He releases me with a slight shove and I stumble backward, my thigh hitting the chair.
“Oh.” He stops at the entrance and turns to face me. “Don’t even think about leaving or I’ll make this personal.”
Then he’s out the door.
I slide onto the chair, my nails digging into my palms and my heart nearly hitting the floor.
He’ll make this personal? Personal? Then what has he been doing ever since he saw me in the elevator? Making it impersonal?
Just what type of man did I get involved with?
Even my desperate attempt of offering myself has failed. How the hell am I supposed to keep myself and Babushka alive now?
“How are you, my little bunny?”
I clench the phone in my hands and resist the urge to bawl my eyes out, to tell her everything is not fine, that it won’t be anymore.
That I could be in danger and so will she.
Instead, I force a smile, straighten my spine, and stare out the window at the gigantic buildings of NYC. Then I speak in Russian since her English is rusty, “I’m fine, Babushka. How are you? Are they treating you well in the clinic?”
“Of course. The nurses are so nice and the food is exquisite. Not as good as your momma’s, but it’s close enough. How is she? Did she leave that lowlife yet?”
This time, I can’t help the tears that gather in my lids. Babushka isn’t my blood-related grandmother, but she practically raised me when I was young. She hid me in her house whenever Mom told me to run. The reason I traveled through the forest was to reach her place.
She protected me when she didn’t have to and made me my favorite orange cake and gave me treats.
Then she sang to me in Russian so I would fall asleep and not think about what Mom was going through.
In the morning, she’d braid my hair, heat me some milk, and give me cookies. She kept me safe until Mom could come to fetch me.
Even though she was old, she never once complained about taking care of me and always laughed when I told her stories about my fairy adventures.
She’s much older now, though, in her late seventies, and suffers from dementia that requires intensive care. It’s one of the main reasons I left, to get her the medical help she needs.
All the money I stole from my family is slowly being paid to the Swiss clinic where she’s staying right now. As soon as I disappeared, that’s where I went—moving her to Switzerland from a small town in West Russia. The small town she was expelled to soon after my mother died.
I cried and begged and even asked for help, but no one heard me. In fact, I was reprimanded for it because we can’t show weakness and we certainly don’t beg for those beneath us.
That’s when I decided to take things into my own hands.
It took me years to find her, and I’m still not officially reunited with her. Actually, she barely remembers me now, but that’s okay.
She protected me when I was young and I’ll do the same now that she’s old.
“Yeah,” I say in a cheerful tone. “She left.”
“Good. Good. I was always telling her he was no good for her or you, but Sofia was too scared and always flinched the moment he walked in. She should’ve asked your father for help, but she was so stubborn, saying that your papa could be even worse.”
“He’s not.” I’m breathing heavily into the phone, forming a sheen of perspiration on the screen.
“Right? Just because he leads that type of life doesn’t mean he won’t take care of you both. I’ll talk some sense into her again when I see her.”
“She’s…gone, Babushka.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah. She’s no longer with us. She died fifteen years ago.”
“No…that’s not true… I was talking to her just yesterday when I did your hair…”
There’s a shuffle from the other side before the nurse’s voice reaches me. She speaks in English. “She’s a bit tired.”
“Is she okay?”
“Don’t worry. These episodes happen often in cases like hers, but she’ll be fine in a bit. She does ask about you all the time.”
A tinge of guilt wraps a noose around my neck. I should be with her, but I can’t. If they find me with her, they’ll blame her for the whole rebellion I singlehandedly plotted.
This time, they’ll make sure to end her life. In front of me, too, so I’ll learn to never mess with the system.
I hang up after I tell the nurse to call me if anything happens. It takes me a few seconds to gather myself, wipe my eyes, and stop being caught in the memories of the past.
Then, as I do during every lunch break, I take the elevator to the floor where the partners’ offices are.
It’s been a week since I joined W&S and was caught by Knox. Anyone else would do their best to keep their distance. Not me.
My family was a lot of things, but careless wasn’t one of them. I learned early on that the best way to beat an enemy is to learn as much as possible about them.
Their daily habits, their morning routines, and even their night ones. That’s where their weaknesses lie.
In the habits. In the routines.
That’s why I hacked into his computer, his phone, and his car’s GPS. What? I needed to know what he was up to at all times. And yes, that might sound a little bit stalkerish, but he messed with me first. He threatened me first.
No one threatens me and gets away with it. No one.
I shake my head at that. I really sound like them right now, even though I’ve done everything possible to be separated from them.
In my digging about, I discovered that his father isn’t his biological one, but he’s still the foster son of a powerhouse English businessman, Ethan Steel, and has a twin and a foster sister. Said foster sister married into the King family, which is another influential name in the UK.
He comes from money and power, something I should’ve expected, but it still makes me antsy. I hate those two words. Money and power. They belong to the world I escaped from.
And I need to escape his orbit, too. Because even though he didn’t pay me a visit, I can feel him biding his time, waiting, pining for the right moment to attack.
If anyone is going to do that first, it’ll be me.
So I head to the open office area that situates the interns, junior associates, and some paralegals. The junior partners’ offices are on the opposite side, where they can overlook the interns if they open their blinds.
Knox’s are always open, giving everyone a 3D view through the glass wall of his office. It’s like he has nothing to hide.
And he doesn’t. From what I’ve learned, he’s a ruthless criminal defense attorney and is always in demand, probably because of his offensive style in court.
He’s known to be provocative, even toward the victims, which has earned him a notorious reputation. Naturally, he gets a lot of case requests, but I also found out that he refuses about eighty percent of them. Another thing that’s bizarre for lawyers, but apparently, the founding partners of W&S give him free rein on that. Which I assume is why he refused every other firm’s offer to join them.
When I come here, I pretend to be getting a coffee from the break area that’s dedicated to the staff and try to gauge if anything is different.
Usually, there’s nothing, and I’d have to sneak out before he notices me.
Today, however, is different.
The moment I step out of the elevator, the sound of hushed murmurs reaches me in waves. I slowly inch forward to find a small crowd watching a scene.
And the location is Knox’s office.
A girl stands in the middle, wearing a pale violet dress and matching heels. Her face is red and even from a distance, I can see the tears and anguish in her eyes.
She’s a myriad of motions; her hands flailing around as she talks, then she hugs herself and more tears follow.
My spine snaps in a line at the scene. It’s so similar to Mom’s when she was married to my abusive stepfather.
The self-comfort. The involuntary jerking. Even the tears that don’t seem to be planned.
In the midst of her small breakdown, Knox sits behind his desk, fingers forming a steeple at his chin, listening.
There’s not an ounce of emotion on his hard face. Not even the fake empathy some people wear as a façade.
He’s in his true element. Unfeeling. Completely detached from her anguish as if she and her grief don’t exist.
My nails dig into the heels of my palms as I clench my fists. Is that how my mom felt with Papa?
That he was too emotionless to feel for her?
That no matter how much she cried, he’d never see those tears or her pain? Is that why she refused to ask him for help?
“Twenty bucks says that he’ll reject her,” one of the interns, a brunette with darker skin, says.
“Call,” her colleague, a tall ginger male replies. “I say that he’ll accept her case.”
“No way.” The brunette shakes her head. “He hasn’t moved during her entire speech.”
“He’s just listening to the facts like he always does.” The ginger waves two bills. “Who’s with me?”
Not many are. A debate breaks out among them about how Knox doesn’t accept many cases and that he’s been on a rejection spree lately.
I’m half-listening to them, half-focused on the girl who keeps touching her hands, her elbow, anywhere she can reach.
“Who are we betting on?” a friendly voice asks, having just arrived to the party.
I immediately recognize him by the accent and slowly step back. It’s Daniel Sterling, another junior partner and Knox’s closest friend. If they’re not working or in court, they’re together.
Unlike Knox, Daniel specializes in international law and has a generally charming presence. Probably because the dimples make him appear friendly, but the jury is still out on whether or not he is.
Despite my spy skills, I haven’t figured him or Knox out. On the outside, they appear to be two hotshot Englishmen who came to study and work here. Their reputations are stellar—or mostly good, aside from their manwhorish ways—and they built their careers tremendously in so little time. They’re often in the limelight at social events and are the talk of magazines and the press—the press I only became aware of after I became Jane, since I didn’t have hardly any focus on it as Anastasia.
However, something tells me that’s not the end of it. I lived in a dangerous world long enough to know that what lurks beneath the surface is often much more nefarious than what’s visible.
“We’re betting twenty bucks on whether or not Knox will reject her,” the brunette replies without looking at him.
“I’ll raise you a hundred on that. He’ll reject her. See that slight twitch of his fingers? It means he’s bored and will kick her out in about twenty seconds.”
Everyone turns around to Daniel and he grins at them, showing his dimples.
They’re flustered for a second, only a second, but then he hops to a sitting position on one of the desks and beckons them over. “Anyone here have popcorn?”
Low laughter breaks out and then they’re all surrounding him, watching the show and chatting among themselves.
I stay on the outskirts, feeling like I need to be there for some reason.
“Three, two…” Daniel counts with his fingers. “And go.”
At that exact moment, Knox stands up, opens the door to his office, and directs the girl out.
She doesn’t move, sniffling and jerking in place, then she goes to him. “Please…I have no one to ask for help.”
“Yes, you do. A thousand other attorneys, in fact. I’ll have my secretary send you a list of recommendations.” He’s speaking calmly albeit emotionlessly, like when he promised to find what I’m hiding the other day. “Besides, I’m a criminal defense attorney. Come back when you need to stay out of prison.”
“I don’t care. I’ve done my research and I know you aren’t afraid of a challenge and could take on a civil case if you wanted to.”
“I just said I don’t want to. Best of luck finding another attorney.”
“No one is like you. Please. They’re scared to go against him.”
“Not my problem. Have a nice day.”
And with that, he goes back to his office and closes the door and pulls down the blinds. The girl nearly collapses and has to grip the wall for balance.
“Told you.” Daniel grins. “You’ll pay me later. Now, back to work.”
They buzz to their desks and he strides to his office humming a tune.
The scene from a moment ago vanishes as if it never existed.
Everyone seems to have forgotten about the girl who’s slowly walking to the elevators, still using the wall to hold her up.
I follow her and click the call button when her hand shakes, unable to push it.
“Thank you.” She sniffles, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she’s touching her elbow again, and there’s a spot there, a hint of something violet that seems to have been hidden with foundation.
My chest squeezes and all I can see is how Mom used to do the same to hide the bruises, especially from me.
“Don’t take it personally,” I whisper. “He doesn’t accept many cases.”
“I know, but he was my last hope. I heard he doesn’t care who he goes up against, but maybe he does. Maybe everyone is right. Maybe I shouldn’t have started this.”
“No,” I tell her without thinking. “Don’t say that, please. You’re doing the right thing.”
She looks up at me then, her dark eyes filled with moisture, but she’s not crying anymore, because there’s a little smile there. “Thank you for saying that. You don’t know how much it means to me.”
The elevator dings open and she smiles again before she steps in.
But I don’t like the way it disappears the moment she’s inside, how her shoulders hunch and the tears come back.
Maybe there’s something I can do.
A crazy idea forms in my mind.
Knox told me he’s coming after me, but he won’t know what hit him when the tables are turned.
