Mafia Billionaire’s Forlorn Wife
Chapter 22

“Billionaire Rhys Mikhailov seen strolling around Central Park in New York with childhood friend Amelia Clark— the oil heiress from Boston. The two were in a long term relationship for about two years before his sudden marriage with the Italian heiress, Arabella Mancini. Reports suggest that the marriage had been a business arrangement. Could America’s most loved couple be rekindling their spark? Is it time for Ms. Mancini’s exit from Rhys’ life? Find out more in the Seattle Scoop!”

A tear rolls down my cheek as I stare at the screen of my iPad, at the photo of Rhys and Amelia walking a little too closely in the snow clad paths of the Central Park.

This is why I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so close to him. This is why I should not have allowed myself to start hoping again after the last time we slept together.

It was a week ago and since then, Rhys had gone back to being distant and cold towards me once again.

I hear Frida entering the kitchen once again as I roughly wipe away at my tears, not wanting her to see the current state that I am in but when she sees my face, her lips press in a thin line, “what did Mr. Mikhailov do now?” She asks with a trace of anger in her words as she approaches me.

Her eyes fall onto the screen of the iPad and she lets out a string of curses in Russian that would make anyone’s ears bleed. With the amount of time that I have spent with her since my wedding five months ago, I am learning Russian from Frida and she started by teaching me all the not-so-civilised words.

“I am going to put sugar in that Borscht that he loves so much!” She grumbles as she paces through the length of the kitchen in anger, looking more like a mother ready to scold her child for doing something wrong. “That Clark girl was never any good for him. Always bossing me around with no respect. She use him. She cheat on him. And he does this now?” Frida continues to ramble on and on about how much she hates Rhys for doing this and how she will scold him when he gets back from work tonight but all I can think about is the fact that my name has been dragged through the mud for long enough.

I don’t care that Rhys doesn’t want to accept me as his wife, and I don’t care that he wants to go around with Amelia or whatever model he chooses for the week. But when the press drags my name through the mud because of his actions…that is something I care very much about.

“I’ll be back in the evening.” I mutter, not bothering to explain as Frida stops in her rant and looks at me questioningly but I am rushing out the door.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mikhailov.” Vernon greets me on my way out but I don’t say anything to him as I blur past him, knowing exactly what I wish to do.

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“Where is Mr. Mikhailov?” I snap at the redhead working at the reception who is currently looking at me with wide eyes, slightly afraid because of the anger oozing out of me.

“In c-conference room D, Mrs. Mikhailov, but he’s in a meeting—”

I am already stalking towards the direction she pointed at before her words are spoken. I am too furious to care about his stupid f*****g meeting right now.

Now, I know that the Conference Room D is meant for important board meetings only and it is located inside the spacious office suite where Rhys works.

I find a curly haired brunet working on the computer at his designated desk just outside Rhys’ office and I assume him to be Rhys’ assistant/secretary Jeremiah.

His eyes widen when he sees me as he abruptly stands up from his chair, “Mrs. Mikhailov, you can’t go in there right now, the boss—”

“Try and stop me, Jeremiah.” I spit, brushing past him as I push open the doors to Rhys’ personal office suite before heading straight to the first door to my right.

“Ma’am he’ll be really angry, and—”

Jeremiah is once again cut off because he obviously cannot physically restrain me, since…well, I am the boss’ wife, so I am pushing the door open and stepping inside the darkened conference room before I change my mind.

I don’t care how rash my actions are, but Rhys will NOT play with my public reputation for much longer.

The man presenting something on the screen stops speaking as the lights turn on and all eyes turn towards me, including my darling husband who is sat at the head of the long table.

Under the dim lighting of the room and amidst the classical and vintage interiors, Rhys’ face looks even more daunting than usual and I would have been scared had I already not been so angry.

“A word, darling?” I chide, making sure to keep my chin held high as I only regard Rhys with my gaze, without even bothering to pay attention to the fact that there are about twelve different men and women sitting in the room right now.

A muscle in his jaw ticks in annoyance as he looks just ready to give me a piece of his mind. However, I quirk my brow at him, challenging him if he really wishes to disrespect me in front of all these people and he purses his lips together.

“Everyone out.” He growls, his fist clenches on the table as he doesn’t lift a finger while every single person around the table gets up, greeting both him and I, before taking their leave and walking out of the second door in the farther end of the room.

I take a step closer towards the table when it is only the two of us left in the room as I glare at my husband heatedly.

“You really have the nerve to come here and ruin my meeting.” He growls, standing up as he walks around the table and approaches me.

I glare at him, “you’re ruining my reputation, the least I can do is ruin a f*****g meeting.” I snap, “why the f**k do you need to have meetings anyways? Aren’t you the head of the Bratva?”

“How did I spoil your reputation?” He questions, choosing to ignore my other statement as I swipe my phone out of the back pocket of my denim shorts before scrolling through the browser until the article about him and Amelia pops up again.

I dejectedly turn the screen around and show it to him, “I do not care who the f**k you roam around with. I don’t care who you f**k. But currently they are calling me a f*****g home wrecker because I came between the two famous America’s sweethearts. There are people actually attacking me on all my social media platforms because of this stupid f*****g article, Mr. Mikhailov.”

He grabs my phone from my hand, his thumb swiping on the screen as he reads it through with a tense expression in his eyes. And once he’s done, he rolls his eyes and hands it back to me.

“I’ll take care of it.” He states nonchalantly as he turns around and begins to walk away.

“Is that all you have to say for your actions?” I glower, unable to believe that this is actually the man that I fell in love with.

He turns back around to look at me, “what do you want me to say?” He asks raising one of his eyebrows, his midnight blue eyes are filled with genuine confusion that makes me gape openly at him.

“You are not going to apologise for cheating on me in public?” I blurt out, unable to resist the incredulity of this situation as I gape at him.

I know I had promised myself that I would never bring this up in front of him, that I would never show him how much these news articles hurt me, but I am unable to stop myself anymore.

His behaviour is completely inappropriate.

“I have never cheated on you, Arabella. And the sooner you get that notion out of your head, the better you’ll sleep at night.” He tells me in a condescending tone, as if he is talking to a child and it makes me clench my hands into fists.

“How dare you?” I seethe, “how dare you stand there and lie straight to my face like I am some dimwit who has no access to the internet? I see you frolicking around with women every time that you’re on your business trips, Mr. Mikhailov. At least you can just accept it like a f*****g man, you know?” I can’t believe his audacity.

He looks at me coolly, “I don’t need to explain myself to you. But now that you’re asking, I would like to remind you that even before we were married, the press always loved to speculate if I am seeing someone the moment I step outside with a person of the opposite gender. Most of the women that you have seen in these articles are just acquaintances that I have only ever met for business luncheons or for Bratva side of work.” He tells me in a much calmer voice than I would expect out of him, “and as far as Amelia is concerned, you know well enough that she is my friend from childhood and sometimes, she gets me caught up in some binds that I cannot get out of. This photo that you just saw was clicked when we were going to meet an artist that is going to design her studio apartment in New York. She needed company and I can’t exactly refuse her.”

The vine of jealousy crawls up my chest and claws at my heart until the thorns are all digging into the soft organ and it becomes difficult for me to breathe.

I can’t exactly refuse her.

Because this statement reminds me of a small snippet from one of our earlier conversations.

“I want you to love me.”

“That I can’t.”

He has no qualms with refusing me for the most basic rights that I have as his wife, but Amelia, her he cannot refuse.

“I don’t care about any of that.” I spit, “I am done with you making a joke out of this marriage in the public eye. Straighten your act or you will realise that I am not that better a human being than you either.” I would never willingly seek out the attention of another man, but I am damn good at making people see what they want to see and it won’t be too hard to give Rhys a taste of his own medicine.

His eyes darken, “what do you mean?” He questions, “are you telling me that you wish to see other men?” He is barely keeping his anger out of his words.

I give him a smile, “I am not entirely opposed to the idea.” A growl rumbles from his chest. I am not scared. I don’t care. “So don’t tempt me.”

And saying that, I turn around and walk out of the conference room right before I bump into someone on my way out.

“Oh, I’m so sorr—” my words stop in the middle the moment I see who I bumped into.

It’s the devil herself— Amelia.