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29 | Vincent Kovak

"𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐨..."

𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐤

I missed it all.

I missed everything.

As the soft knock on the door echoed through the room, I reluctantly shifted my attention from Clara, who slept soundly in my arms for the first time in weeks, to Nico, who entered with a solemn expression.

Without a word, he conveyed the urgency of the situation with a soft nod of his head, and I knew better than to disturb Clara's much-needed rest. We shared a silent exchange, understanding passing between us as he delivered the news.

"They found someone," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I carefully eased myself out from beneath Clara's sleeping form, gently laying her head down onto the pillow before rising from the bed. Pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, I silently promised to return soon before following Nico out of the room.

Handing me a fresh shirt, Nico filled me in on the details as we made our way down to the office. "His name is Georgie Clarkson. Thirty years old. He's been taking over his father's business."

I discarded my ruined shirt into the bin, along with my watch on our way down, eager to shed the remnants of the night's turmoil. Nico deftly intercepted a box from the maid, and as he opened it, I caught a glimpse of my new watch nestled within.

Sliding it onto my wrist and fastening it in place, I felt a sense of familiarity settle over me. It was a small comfort amidst the chaos, a reminder of the order that still existed in the world despite the turmoil we faced.

With renewed determination, I changed into fresh trousers and shoes, and a new blazer.

As I entered the office, the tension in the air was palpable. Everyone stood from their seats, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. And there he was, Georgie Clarkson, a figure of power and influence in his own right.

"Mr. Kovak," he greeted me with a firm handshake, his voice carrying an air of confidence.

"Georgie. How is your father?" I inquired, masking my own apprehension with polite conversation.

"Doing well," he replied smoothly, his demeanour unruffled despite the circumstances. "I heard you're in a bit of a pickle."

I couldn't help but admire his ability to cut straight to the point, even in the face of adversity. "And I heard you received the invitation for the bid," I countered, taking a seat opposite him.

Georgie nodded, accepting the glass of whiskey offered to him by the maid. As he settled into his seat, his gaze bore into mine with a steely intensity. "I did. I realised that they were selling a child—your child," he stated bluntly, leaning forward to emphasize his point. "I don't do bids on children. Prostitutes, yes, but kids? No."

"I know that there is a price for this," I stated, cutting through the tension that lingered in the air.

Georgie paused, his expression unreadable as he considered my words. "I want—" Before he could finish his sentence, the door swung open, and Clara strode into the room, dressed in a sleek black dress and striking red heels.

"Clara Saint," Georgie greeted her, his surprise evident in his tone. "What are you doing here? What—"

They know each other?

Clara's presence seemed to catch him off guard, and I couldn't help but wonder how they knew each other. As she wrapped her arms around Georgie, a sense of unease settled over me. They were familiar with each other, and it was clear that there was history between them.