BAD WIFE

Chapter {16}

Nikolai sat stiffly at the head of the long, oval table, surrounded by his executive team. No one spoke. No one dared. The air was thick with apprehension, the tension suffocating. Every pair of eyes darted toward him and away again, afraid to hold his gaze for too long.

He hadn't said much all morning. But his silence screamed.

His mind was stuck on a loop—an image of Baylee crawling into Conner's bed, the way she once slipped beneath his sheets like she belonged there. The betrayal dug beneath his skin like splinters he couldn't pull out. It pulsed, throbbed, burned in his chest.

The idea that she could seduce her best friend's husband—his sister's husband—was almost beyond comprehension. But that image kept flashing behind his eyes like a curse. Was this who she'd been all along? Had he been a fool not to see it?

A sharp crinkle echoed across the table. He looked down. His hand had balled a report into a wrinkled mess.

"Sir," his assistant said gently, her voice thin as paper.

He flicked his glare toward her, eyes dark and unforgiving.

She hesitated. "We... we need that document."

He didn't respond. He simply held it out, crushed and ruined, and watched her flinch as she retrieved it from his grasp.

"Meeting's over," he announced coldly, standing without waiting for acknowledgement. "Dismissed."

Chairs scraped quietly as the team scrambled to their feet, hurrying to exit without another word.

He stalked off to his office, the door swinging shut with a final click behind him. His steps took him straight to his desk, where he braced both hands on the edge, leaning forward, head bowed.

He wanted to destroy everything.

The urge to sweep every object from his desk, to shatter glass and tear the books from the shelves, pulsed through his arms. But he held himself back. Barely.

He couldn't forgive her. Not this time. He couldn't even look at her without questioning everything. Maybe she did him a favor by leaving. Maybe he'd been blind—willfully blind.

Maybe it really was true: like mother, like daughter.

Knock. Knock.

The door creaked open.

Melissa stepped in with a bright smile. "Hey... are you ready?"

He turned slowly to face her.

She looked cute. Her romper was pastel pink with soft ruffles along the straps, paired with delicate sandals and a dainty gold necklace. Her hair was flat-ironed smooth, makeup subtle, almost innocent. She wasn't Baylee. Not even close. But she was trying.

And maybe that's exactly what he needed.

She stood there expectantly, and he gave her a slow once-over—not out of lust, but calculation. She was sweet, available, drama-free. Everything Baylee wasn't.

Maybe it was time to stop chasing chaos.

"Let's order in," he said, making his way around the desk to sink into his chair. "I'm not really hungry."

Melissa followed, stepping behind him and resting her hands on his shoulders. "Still stressed?"

Her fingers began to gently knead his tense muscles.

He exhaled heavily. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said softly, thumbs circling. "Your whole family's been through hell. It's okay to be off."