Page 216 of Filthy Promises

After taking care of business (pregnancy bladder is no joke), I’m washing my hands when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Moments like this always catch me by surprise. You just go about your life, one day at a time, and thenbam,you catch a glimpse from just the right angle and realize how far you’ve come.

The woman staring back at me is almost unrecognizable from the nervous marketing associate who once stumbled into Vince’s office at exactly the wrong moment.

Who is this person?

My hair is professionally styled, my makeup flawless, the crimson dress hugging my pregnant curves in a way that somehow manages to look both elegant and powerful, which is a miracle, given that I’ve basically got a watermelon duct-taped to my belly.

Against all odds, I look like Ibelonghere—like I was born to stand beside Vincent Akopov as he reshapes his empire.

Honestly, it’s a little unnerving.

When I emerge from the restroom, I decide to take the long way back. I need a moment to gather my thoughts before diving back into the social fray.

I’m rounding a corner when a familiar voice stops me cold.

“Well, if it isn’t Rowan St. Clair. Or should I say, Mrs. Akopov now?”

I turn slowly to find Kevin Peterson—my former boss from Marketing—leaning against a pillar with an alarmingly full tumbler of whiskey in hand. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Kevin,” I greet him, keeping my voice pleasant while mental alarm bells start ringing. “I didn’t know you were on the guest list.”

“Last-minute addition,” he says, pushing off the pillar to approach me. “The firm I’m with now does a lot of business with city officials. Couldn’t miss the opportunity to see what the infamous Vincent Akopov is up to these days.”

There’s something in his tone that makes the hairs on my neck stand up. Kevin was never particularly kind to me at Akopov Industries—he took credit for my ideas, assigned me the grunt work nobody wanted, and once “accidentally” spilled coffee on my presentation minutes before a client meeting.

But he wasn’t, like, amonster.

This feels different. There’s a nastiness simmering here I don’t remember.

“The shipping expansion is quite impressive,” I say neutrally. “Vincent has a remarkable vision for the company’s future.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does.” Kevin takes a messy glug of his whiskey and wipes the back of his hand across his lips. “Though I have to wonder about theoriginsof the capital investment. Money like that doesn’t just appear overnight, now, does it?”

My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression carefully blank. “Akopov Industries has been profitable for decades, Kevin. The capital has always been there.”

He chuckles, the sound oily and unpleasant. “Come on, Rowan. We both know what’s really going on. You think that stuff goes unnoticed? The mysterious meetings, the ‘offsite’ appointments that never appeared in the official calendar, the visitors who never signed in at reception…” He inches closer, lowering his voice. “I’ve been doing my own research. Interesting things happen at the docks when Akopov ships come in. Even more interesting things happen to people who ask too many questions.”

Cold dread pools in my stomach, but I straighten my spine, channeling every ounce of composure I’ve learned from watching Vince these past months.

“That sounds like speculation, Kevin. Dangerous speculation.” My voice takes on an edge I didn’t know I possessed. “I’d be careful throwing around accusations without evidence.”

“Oh, I have evidence,” he counters with a guffaw. “And I’m meeting with people who’d be very interested in it. Federal types, if you catch my drift.”

My first instinct is panic—to rush back to Vince, to warn him, to run away from this entire situation.

But something deeper, something steelier, takes over instead.

This man is threatening my family. My husband. My child’s future.

I won’t fucking stand for it.

“That’s a fascinating career move,” I remark. I step closer just like he did to me, invading his personal space just enough to make him uncomfortable. “Tell me, does your new firm know about the embezzlement investigation from your previous position? The one where thirty grand mysteriously disappeared from the Harrison account?”

Kevin’s face pales. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I assumed you knew!” I widen my eyes in mock concern. “It was all quietly handled, of course. But those records still exist. I’d imagine the FBI might find them just as interesting as whatever fairy tales you’ve concocted about my husband’s business.”

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