BAD WIFE

Chapter {35}

Nikolai's father had called an urgent meeting. He strode around the oval table in the high-ceilinged conference room with the commanding presence of a man used to being obeyed, his voice loud and purposeful as he locked eyes with his top executives.

Everyone listened attentively—everyone except Nikolai.

Niko sat still, but his thoughts were a thousand miles away. He wasn't focused on corporate projections or strategic alliances. He was dreading what came after this meeting—an inevitable conversation with Melissa. He'd called her that morning and asked to meet for lunch, not because he missed her—but because he needed to end things.

The truth had hit him with brutal clarity in the security room—when Baylee grabbed his forearm. That single touch, so simple and instinctive, made something click deep inside. He couldn't give Melissa the future she deserved. He never really could. Continuing their relationship was no longer just dishonest—it was cruel.

And yet, something else was gnawing at him—something that had been eating at him ever since last night. The man who answered Baylee's phone.

He tugged at his black tie in frustration, his jaw tightening. Who the hell was he? And why the fuck was he answering her phone?

The meeting finally adjourned, and Nikolai was the first one out the door. He stormed down the hallway, barely acknowledging anyone. The moment he reached his office, he slammed the door shut, collapsed into his leather chair, and immediately dialed her number.

Voicemail.

He gritted his teeth and tried again.

Voicemail.

"Damn it, Baylee," he growled, slamming his fist onto the desk with a thud that echoed off the walls. He dialed a third time, only to be met with the same result.

Fury simmered beneath his skin. Without a second thought, he shot up from his chair and stormed out of the building.

He drove to her house like a man possessed, hoping—no, demanding—answers. But when he arrived, her security detail was gone, and so was she.

His pulse spiked. He climbed back into the vehicle, jammed Clarissa's address into the GPS, and was just about to pull off when his phone rang.

Baylee?

His heart leapt—then immediately sank.

Melissa.

He hit the answer button on Bluetooth. "Hey..."

"Hey, where are you?" Her voice was light, almost bubbly.

He glanced at the time glowing on the dash—12:10 PM. He was already late.

"I got caught up... I'll be there soon."

"Okay, hurry. I miss you."

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I'm on my way."

As he made a slow U-turn and headed toward her place, his chest tightened. It was time. He had to end this now.

He arrived at her building and knocked on her apartment door. As he waited, his thoughts—uninvited and unrelenting—returned to Baylee. Where the hell was she? Why was she doing this to him? Acting like some defiant teenager?

His head was bowed when the door creaked open.

"What's wrong?"

He looked up and found Melissa watching him with quiet concern. She wore a mid-length red dress that hugged her petite figure, her brows drawn together in confusion.