Page 59 of Slightly Married
Not her.
As Stella continued with her fake story, every instinct screamed to tell her I knew exactly how the moonlight looked reflecting off the water from Konstantin’s bedroom balcony, because I’d been standing there with him.
My fingers twitched with the urge to pull out my phone and show her the dozens of photos of us together on those verybeaches she claimed to have visited with him. But something in her eyes made my need to call her out dissolve into pity.
This woman wasn’t my rival. She was trapped in denial, constructing elaborate fantasies to avoid facing rejection.
“I’m sure he appreciated having someone who understands him so well.”
Her face brightened. “He’s still having nightmares, you know,” she continued. “About the four men who attacked him on the yacht. I hold him when he wakes up screaming.”
Before I could respond, Stella’s phone rang. “I must take this,” she said, already turning away. “We’ll catch up soon!”
During the ride to K’s office, Stella’s bizarre stories replayed in my mind. The way she’d spoken about Corfu—our Corfu—as if she’d been there with Konstantin instead of me was unsettling.
I debated whether to tell K about the encounter. On one hand, he should know his ex wasdelulu. On the other hand, bringing it up might seem petty or jealous, especially when we were finding our footing.
Besides, he’d been so consumed with work lately... Would adding this to his plate help anything? I absentmindedly touched my flat stomach, realizing I had bigger news to share than Stella’s delusions.
When the elevator doors slid open on the executive floor of Olympus Motors, I stepped into a space showcasing modern luxury. The first sedan ever built by the company gleamed on a slowly rotating platform at the center of the reception area, bathed in dramatic spotlighting.
The top floor housed five executive offices, though only three were currently filled. According to K, when they moved to this sleek glass and steel building five years ago, they had offices built for Santo and Matthaios for whenever they joined the business. With Matthaios running his own company and Santo obsessedwith racing cars rather than selling them, that dream seemed permanently on hold.
The space boasted of refined masculine energy. Leather seating in deep navy, contemporary sculptures of abstract automotive forms, and framed vintage racing photographs that chronicled the Christakis family’s long-standing love affair with speed and precision. Every element spoke of power, tradition, and an unwavering commitment to excellence.
As I approached K’s office, clutching the cheesecake box from the cafe, the sound of raised voices made me slow my steps. Andreas sat tensely at his desk, his attention fixed on my husband and an older gentleman whose suit hung loosely on his frame.
“You owe me!” the older man’s voice slurred. “I deserve something for what happened!”
“I’ve already given you money this month,” K responded. “This can’t continue. You need rehabilitation, or there will be no more assistance.”
The man scoffed, swaying on his feet. “I don’t need doctors.” His voice cracked with raw emotion. “I need you to pay for what you did to Theo. My boy. He shouldn’t have been on your yacht.”
“K,” I called out, wanting to put an end to this confrontation.
All three men turned toward me. Andreas looked relieved, while the older man’s bloodshot eyes narrowed with confusion. K immediately crossed to me.
“What are you doing here?” His tone was softer than the one he’d been using moments before.
I lifted the white box. “Thought I’d surprise you with your favorite cheesecake from that place on Ermou. And cash in on that office tour you’ve been promising.” I flashed a smile that intentionally included the older gentleman, hoping to defuse the situation.
K squeezed my arm before turning back to the man. “I will send you the money, but this is the last time without treatment.” He shifted his attention to Andreas. “Find someone to take him home. No stops.”
“Yes, sir,” Andreas responded, already reaching for his phone.
When we entered K’s office and the glass door clicked shut behind us, I set the cheesecake aside and wrapped my arms around his waist. He returned the embrace, resting his chin atop my head.
“Who was that man?” I asked when we pulled apart, though I suspected I already knew.
“Theo’s father,” he answered, his voice rumbling against my ear. “Losing his son destroyed him. He was once a titan of industry, but grief transformed him into what you just saw.” Unspoken guilt hung heavy in his voice.
I reached up to stroke his face, feeling the slight roughness of his five o’clock shadow beneath my fingertips. “His son’s death is not your fault, K. The four armed men who attacked you are the ones to blame. Not you.”
I was about to tell him about the baby—our little nugget who wouldn’t exist if he hadn’t survived—when something in his expression changed.
“How do you know it was four men?” His voice had a steel edge.
“What?” I blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift.
