The Greek Billionaire and I (13 page)

Alarm bells started to ring inside his head, and there was a heavy aching sensation in his chest that made it hard for Mykolas to breathe. “When did she write to you?”

“Yesterday. She sent an express mail and gave me a roundtrip ticket to Athens. I live in the States now. I actually went to your house in Santorini first and when I learned you were still here, I thought there had been a mix-up and I…I didn’t want to waste this chance to meet you again so I came here.” She looked at him entreatingly. “Please tell me you’re not angry at her for contacting me?”

“No,” he heard himself say hoarsely. “I’m not.” Confused was what he was. And terrified. So damn terrified that even if it did not seem possible, he had gotten everything wrong.

“I was hesitant and scared to meet with you, you know. But her letter was so beautiful. She told me that
I
was her wedding gift to you. That she wanted you to feel it wasn’t wrong to trust or love someone. When she said those words, how could I not risk saying ‘yes’? Because I have always loved you like a son, Mickey. And this time I wanted to prove to you that I really do love you.”

When Chantal left, Mykolas made another call to his head of security. “I know you’ve uncovered everything you could about Velvet, but this time I want you to look for any connection possible between her and Lester Wilkins – a lawyer – and an American named Wayne Garfield. I don’t give a fuck what you have to pay or whose arm you have to twist, but I want information. Now.”

And then he sat back down and waited.

It was the longest wait of his life even though he knew only hours came to pass.
 

It was afternoon the next day when he heard back from his security expert. Mykolas had not slept a single moment, feeling like if he did, God would punish him and give Mykolas news that he would be too late to act on.

When he saw that his employee had sent him numerous pages of court documents, Mykolas did not know what to make of it.

The first pages were of crimes committed by Wayne and his wife Lindy Garfield. The fact that the other man was married made Mykolas grimmer. Was this man some kind of pervert who had preyed on Velvet when she was young and vulnerable, made her fall for him even if he was a married man?

The next set of papers was about a case filed by Dotty Garfield, Wayne’s daughter. There was a grainy photo of her attached to the document, and Mykolas paled when he realized it was a younger version of Velvet.

Below was her handwritten plea to the judge for a change of her name as well as withholding her identity from her parents.

Your Honor,

My name is Dorothy Garfield. I am called Dotty by family and friends. I was seven years old when I found out about the unhealthy and dangerous habits of my parents. I was ten years old when I was first exposed to the individuals who had chosen to turn such habits into profitable trades. I was eighteen years old when I survived a shootout between my parents and the suppliers they had failed to pay.
 

I am twenty now, and last month my father had provided my address to strangers with the intention that they steal my money and any valuable possession they may find in my home. I fear that this will not be his last attempt.
 

I have been advised by my legal counselor to press charges against the individuals and my parents, but I fear that this would only create a cycle of hatred. Instead, I request that all individuals who choose to profess their guilt be sent to rehabilitation and for a permanent restraining order be filed against them for my protection. Charges will be filed against those who choose not to submit a guilty plea.

Lastly, I would like to request for a change of my name. If in your kindness you see fit to approve my request, I would like my name to be changed to Velvet Lambert. Velvet is to remind me of the fabric worn by the woman my father had sent to my place of residence to perpetuate a crime. Lambert is to remind me of the last name of the couple who had called 911 when they found me bleeding in front of their door.

This is to remind me, Your Honor, that the evil in this world requires me to be strong but the good in this world will not allow me to suffer alone.
 

I humbly beg you for your consideration. It is in your power to grant me a second chance to live my life and start fresh. When I was eighteen, I was able to speak with a professional drug counselor and doctor – she, too, was a victim of crime caused by drug abuse. She told me that my best chance of surviving this ordeal was to free myself from bitterness and to love freely and without fear. I have no idea if I will be able to do this, but I want to. With your help, Your Honor, I have a chance to. So with utter humility, I beg that you approve my unconventional request.
 

Sincerely,
 

Dorothy Garfield.

Slowly, the pages slipped past his fingers, falling to the floor like daggers dipped in innocent blood. A dagger he had cruelly and mercilessly wielded to reduce Velvet to tears and used to cut her heart out.

Mykolas looked down blindly on the floor, seeing the drops of his tears splash against the papers.
Velvet.
Her name echoed in his mind like a melody from heaven that he had no right to hear.
Velvet. Velvet, Velvet.

He remembered her screaming at his face, screaming with so much pain. God, he would never forget the pain in her eyes when she had seen him with another woman. And he had deliberately made her see that.
 

Everything was so fucking clear now. The money she had given away, the money she had spent on Chantal’s ticket…the money she had saved all these years had acted like a security blanket for her, a way to make her feel strong even if she was alone.
 

But when she had met him, when she had made the mistake of falling for him, she had given it all away. She had burned all of her bridges because she wanted to prove to herself that she trusted him. She trusted him to love her and protect her.

And yet, all he had done was humiliate her.

God, God, God, what he had done?
 

And what the fuck would he do now?

Chapter Twelve

Five weeks had passed, and there still wasn’t any sign of Velvet. His men constantly monitored all planes and ships bound for America from every exit point in Greece, but so far none of them had yielded any records about having a passenger named Velvet Lambert or even Dorothy Garfield.

And today, his visits to all of Velvet’s known acquaintances, including a particularly hard one to her closest friend Mandy, had all been unproductive, leaving Mykolas exhausted and deeply worried. If anything happened to her, he might as well die. He would not be able to live with himself if she had been hurt because of his cruelty.

“Mr. Sallis?”

His secretary’s hesitant voice made him pause before entering his office. “What is it?”

“I was cleaning my drawers this morning and I, umm, I found something that may have belonged to…” As if unable to continue, his secretary simply handed him a brown box.

Opening it, Mykolas was stunned to find a recognizable piece of Velvet’s underwear – the very same one she had worn…

For their wedding.

He knew because he had been the one to help her put it on himself.

“Thank you,” he said roughly before striding into his office and slamming the door shut. He gripped the small piece of fabric hard. It was at that moment he wished he really was an idiot – or at least stupid enough not to be able to piece the clues together and figure out how his wife’s underwear had gotten there.

But unfortunately, he was only a fucking idiot when it truly mattered.

And so his mind recreated the scenario for him.

Velvet, learning about his request for her to meet him at his office—

Velvet, thinking he was no longer able to wait to have her before they left for their honeymoon—

Velvet, taking off her panties in hopes she could surprise him—

But Mykolas had ended up surprising her instead, and in the most humiliating way possible.

With shaky hands, he pushed the panties into his pocket. Right now, it felt like his only link to her even if he doubted it would yield any kind of information regarding Velvet’s whereabouts.

Taking his seat behind the desk, Mykolas closed his eyes wearily and tried to place himself in Velvet’s shoes one more time. She had left her bag in his office. She had spent all her money, and after what he had done, she wouldn’t even think of spending his.

She would feel vulnerable…naked…because of his callous actions, because of how his betrayal had turned her supposedly pleasant surprise into a twisted joke. She would have wanted to bolt. To hide. He was sure of that, but he also knew she would be too proud to ask for help from any of her friends.

What was left to her?

And that was when it hit him.
 

She had nothing left but a ticket.

****

Velvet was tired.

Not just physically, but inside, too, where the exhaustion went bone-deep. Maybe even deeper, to the point that even just
thinking
made her feel like passing out.
 

It was a Friday night, and the bar was rowdier than usual. More drunkards, too, but she hoped to God none of them would be as violent as the truckers from the other town last week. They had almost demolished the entire bar, costing Mr. Rodrigo thousands in repair work. They were put behind bars, of course, but that hadn’t given the bar owner recompense for what he had spent.

“Order, Table 3,” Bell, the British waitress, told Velvet as she passed her by while balancing two trays filled with empty plates.

“Got it,” Velvet murmured and did a quick about turn to head to where the customers wanting to order were. She had to maneuver herself out of reach of groping customers as she did, but this was something she was well used to by now. It still felt demeaning and terrifying, but at least it no longer made her want to cry.

She wasn’t weak now.

She was getting stronger.
 

Or at least she thought she was until she saw who her customer in Table 3 was.

Mykolas.

Dressed in a black shirt and jeans, he was at his most casual, his clothes seemingly chosen to make him blend in with the crowd.
 

What a joke.

He was Mykolas Sallis.

Whatever he wore, he would always draw attention to himself. He was too used to possessing and wielding power not to stand out. Even now, all the women in the bar were staring at him, some of them open-mouthed, others near to drooling. And the men were not much better. She had a feeling they would have challenged him to a fight just for the sake of bloodying his pretty-boy face if not for the pair of intimidating-looking men behind him, their blazers partially pushed behind them to reveal the guns holstered at their sides.

God, she hated him.

She hated him for finding her, hated him for seeing her wearing tight clothes that exaggerated her curves and made her boobs look bigger. But most of all, she hated him for making her believe someone like him could love her.

Mykolas was shaken by the sight of Velvet. He had hoped she would be here, had hoped that the promising trail he had followed from the airport wasn’t a dead end and when he did find her, it took everything in him not to snatch her into his arms just to make sure she was fucking real.

She had become thinner, her curves less prominent, and her face gaunt with stress. It fucked him a million times over to see her defeated, acting like she had no right to defend herself from the men who attempted to grope her. Seeing it had made him feel like killing every single one of them, and maybe he still would, after…after he asked for Velvet’s forgiveness.

When Mykolas stood up, panic cured the paralysis that had befallen her limbs. Spinning around, Velvet started to run away only to find herself spun right back and held captive in Mykolas’ arms. Velvet immediately struggled, his touch burning her, and she no longer cared who would see and what would happen. All she wanted was to get away from him.

His eyes fully focused on Velvet’s tear-stained face, he said to his guards, “Get them out.”

A few seconds later, and the club’s music was shut down and someone was announcing over the speakers that everyone who left the club within five minutes would receive a thousand euros.