Page 48 of Filthy Lies

She sets the flowers on a nearby table and clears her throat. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. For all of it.”

“I don’t want your apology. I want an explanation.” I cross my arms. “Was anything real? Any of it?”

Natalie takes a deep breath. “It started in college. Junior year. My dad lost his job, and then my mama got sick. Brain tumor. The medical bills were crushing us.”

I remember this part. Her mother’s illness, the family’s financial struggles. I’d even helped her apply for hospital payment plans.

“One day, this guy approached me on campus. Said his employer had an opportunity for me. Easy money.” She laughs bitterly. “All I had to do was befriend a certain girl in my marketing class and report back occasionally. ‘Nothing illegal,’he promised. ‘Just keeping tabs.’”

“And that girl was me,” I say flatly.

She nods. “I didn’t know why they were interested in you. They just said you were connected to something important.”

My mind races back to college—to the shy, broke girl who’d sat next to me in Marketing 301 and somehow became my closest friend. The same girl who’d later helped me get the job at Akopov Industries.

“Jesus, Natalie. You engineered our entire friendship?” The thought alone makes me sick.

“No!” Her voice cracks. “I mean, yes, I approached you because they told me to. And yes, I recommended you for the job at Akopov because they wanted you there. But Row, somewhere along the way, I forgot I was being paid to be your friend.”

“How convenient.”

“It’s the truth.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Remember when you caught the flu during finals week senior year? I stayed up all night making you soup and quizzing you for exams. That wasn’t for them. That was for you.”

I do remember. Natalie had camped out on my dorm room floor for three days, force-feeding me Tylenol and chicken soup.

“Who was paying you?” I demand, though I already know.

“I never met him directly. Not until after you were married.” She twists her hands in her lap. “I reported to an intermediary. A man named Arkady.”

The pieces click into place. Vince had been tracking me since college, long before I walked in on him and his secretary. Long before I fell in love with him. Everything—my entire adult life—had been orchestrated.

“What did you tell them?” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

“Basic stuff at first. Your schedule, who you were dating. If you ever mentioned the name Akopov or anything about the Bratva.” She looks down. “Later, it became more specific. They wanted to know if you seemed interested in Vincent. If you ever talked about him.”

“And did I?”

A hint of a smile touches her lips. “You know you did.”

The humiliation burns hot on my cheeks. All those late-night conversations—me drunkenly confessing my inappropriate fantasies about my boss—had gone straight to Vince himself.

“So when he hired me as his assistant…”

“He already knew everything about you.”

“And you just… went along with it? Watching me fall into their trap?” The anger rises in my throat. “Is that why you didn’t come when I called you that day? Right before everything went to hell?”

Natalie’s face drains of color. “What? No—I did come, Rowan.” She looks down, fingers trembling. “But I was too late. By the time I got there, you were gone. Arkady wouldn’t tell me anything,” she continues, tears streaming now. “I showed up at the Akopov estate screaming, demanding to know where you were. I threatened to go to the police with everything I knew about them.”

“You did?” My voice is barely audible.

“I thought they’d killed you, Row. And that it was my fault for getting you involved with them in the first place.”

I don’t know what to say, so I stay quiet.

“I tried to protect you,” Natalie insists. “I left things out of my reports. Downplayed how attracted you were to him. When they wanted me to encourage you to accept his assistant position, I actually tried to talk you out of it at first, remember?”

I do remember. Natalie had seemed strangely concerned about me working directly for Vince.

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