Betrayed By Him: Claimed By The Boss

The private elevator of the Upper East Side penthouse hummed quietly.

Katia stood in the center of the mahogany-paneled box. Her shoulders ached with a dull, heavy throb from the fourteen-hour flight from London.

She rolled her neck, feeling the tight muscles pull at the base of her skull.

The brass doors slid open with a soft chime.

She gripped the handle of her Rimowa suitcase and pushed it forward onto the familiar marble floor of the foyer. The apartment was completely silent.

She kicked off her black heels, her bare feet hitting the cold stone.

As she reached for the console table to drop her keys, her gaze snagged on the floor.

A pair of red Christian Louboutin stilettos sat carelessly near the edge of the Persian rug.

Katia's hand froze mid-air. The metal keys bit into her palm.

She stared at the red soles. She knew those shoes. She had complimented them last Tuesday in the boardroom.

They belonged to Sienna, Caleb's twenty-two-year-old executive assistant.

Katia's thumb pressed hard into the knuckle of her index finger, a nervous habit she couldn't break. The skin turned white under the pressure.

A sound drifted down the long hallway.

It was a high-pitched, breathy giggle. A woman's voice.

Then, a low, guttural groan followed. A man's groan. Caleb's groan.

Katia's lungs stopped working.

The air in the foyer suddenly felt too thick, too heavy to inhale. A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck, chilling her skin.

Her stomach cramped violently, a sharp, twisting physical pain that made her want to double over.

The blood drained from her fingertips, leaving them completely numb.

The leather straps of her Hermes Birkin bag slipped from her grip.

The heavy bag hit the thick rug with a dull thud.

The sound was entirely swallowed by another, louder moan echoing from the master bedroom.

She didn't think. Her body moved on pure, mechanical autopilot.

Her bare feet stepped silently against the cold hardwood floor of the hallway. Each step felt like dragging her legs through wet cement.

The sounds grew louder. Wet skin slapping against skin. Heavy, rhythmic breathing.

She stopped outside the heavy mahogany door of the master bedroom.

It was cracked open. A sliver of bright afternoon sunlight spilled into the dark hallway, illuminating the dust motes in the air.

She didn't hesitate. She didn't tremble.

She raised her right hand and pushed the door wide open.

The hinges didn't make a sound. The afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, blindingly bright against the king-sized bed.

Caleb was on top of Sienna.

Their bodies were tangled in the white Egyptian cotton sheets Katia had picked out three months ago.

Sienna's eyes fluttered open. She saw Katia standing in the doorway.

A piercing, terrified scream ripped from Sienna's throat.

She scrambled backward against the mattress, frantically pulling the white duvet up to her chin to cover her bare breasts.

Caleb jerked hard. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with panic.

His skull slammed violently against the solid oak headboard with a dull, heavy thud.

Katia stood perfectly still in the doorway.

She didn't scream. She didn't cry. Her face was a blank, unreadable mask.

Her spine was completely straight, her posture rigid.

Caleb scrambled off the bed. His face was flushed a dark, ugly red, his bare chest heaving as he gasped for air.

He grabbed his dark trousers from the floor and shoved his legs into them, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"Katia," he gasped.

He ran a shaking hand through his messy brown hair-his telltale sign of panic and guilt.

He took a heavy step toward her, reaching out his hands to grab her shoulders. "Katia, wait. Let me explain."

As his fingers brushed the fabric of her blazer, Katia stepped back.

The movement was sharp, filled with pure, visceral disgust.

Caleb's hands froze in the empty air between them.

His face flushed a deeper shade of red. The panic in his eyes morphed quickly into a defensive, ugly anger.

"Don't look at me like that!" Caleb shouted, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

"You're never here! You're a machine, Katia! You care more about your Wall Street deals than you do about me! What did you expect me to do?"

The muscles in Katia's jaw locked so tight her teeth ground together.

She curled her hands into tight fists at her sides. Her manicured nails bit so hard into her palms that she felt the sharp sting of broken skin.

She slowly uncurled her left hand.

She looked down at her ring finger. The three-carat oval diamond caught the sunlight, flashing brilliantly against her pale skin.

Her heart beat a slow, heavy rhythm against her ribs.

She reached over with her right hand, pinched the platinum band, and pulled it off. It slid over her knuckle with ease.

She looked at Caleb.

She threw the ring.

It flew through the air and struck him dead in the center of his bare chest.

Caleb flinched.

The heavy diamond bounced off his skin and hit the hardwood floor.

It rolled twice, making a sharp, metallic clinking sound before coming to a stop near Sienna's discarded underwear.

"The wedding is off," Katia said.

Her voice was flat, devoid of any pitch or emotion. It sounded like it was coming from a dead woman.

"I want you out. You have until Friday to buy out my half of this penthouse."

She didn't blink. "If the money isn't in my account by 5:00 PM, my lawyers will freeze your startup's assets."

Sienna peeked over the duvet, her face pale. "Katia, please, we didn't mean-"

Katia snapped her gaze to the younger woman.

Her eyes were dead, cold, and entirely devoid of mercy.

Sienna choked on her words and snapped her mouth shut, shrinking back against the headboard in pure terror.

Katia didn't look at Caleb again.

She turned on her heel, her bare feet carrying her out of the bedroom.

She walked down the hallway, her posture rigid, leaving the apartment and the last six years of her life behind.

Katia walked out of the glass double doors of the luxury building.

Her bare feet were shoved hastily back into her black heels. She stepped onto the Manhattan pavement.

A sharp gust of October wind hit her face.

A violent shiver ripped through her body, rattling her bones and making her teeth click together.

She raised her hand, ignoring the dull sting in her palm where her nails had broken the skin, and waved at a passing yellow taxi.

The cab screeched to a halt against the curb.

She pulled the heavy door open and slid onto the cracked, cold leather seat.

"Where to?" the driver asked, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.

"Audrey Hale's lounge. SoHo," Katia said. Her voice was raspy, the words scratching against her dry throat.

She turned her head to look out the window.

A light drizzle began to fall, smearing the neon lights of the city into blurry, bleeding streaks across the glass.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, but her chest felt like it was wrapped in tight iron bands.

The taxi pulled up to an unmarked black door on a quiet street in SoHo.

Katia handed the driver a fifty-dollar bill and didn't wait for the change.

She pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold rain.

The drops hit her face, mixing with the cold sweat on her skin.

She walked up to the heavy steel door of the lounge and pushed it open.

A wall of deafening bass and electronic music slammed into her chest, vibrating against her ribs.

The air inside smelled of expensive perfume, sweat, and gin.

Katia pushed her way through the crowded, grinding bodies on the dance floor, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead.

She reached the mahogany bar.

The bartender, a tall guy with full tattoo sleeves, recognized her instantly. He slid a crisp white napkin across the polished wood.

"Katia. You look like hell."

"Dry martini. The strongest gin you have," she ordered, her voice cutting through the noise.

He placed the chilled glass in front of her.

Katia didn't bother with the olive. She picked up the glass and tipped her head back.

She swallowed the ice-cold liquid in one continuous, desperate gulp.

The alcohol burned a harsh, fiery trail down her throat. It hit her empty stomach like a lit match.

She coughed, her eyes watering, the edges of her vision blurring from the sharp sting.

"What the hell are you doing?" A voice cut through the heavy bass.

Audrey, wearing a skin-tight red dress, marched out of the VIP section, her heels clicking aggressively against the floor.

She reached Katia and immediately snatched the empty martini glass from her hand.

Audrey's dark eyes scanned Katia's pale face and rain-soaked clothes.

"Who did this? Who do I need to kill?" Audrey yelled over the music.

Katia turned her head. Her throat felt raw.

"Caleb," she whispered, the name tasting like ash and bile on her tongue.

Audrey's expression hardened instantly. The concern vanished, replaced by a cold, lethal fury.

She grabbed Katia's wrist and pulled her away from the bar, dragging her toward the back of the club.

Audrey pushed open the door to her private VIP room.

The heavy soundproof door clicked shut, instantly cutting off the thumping bass and the chaos of the club.

The silence in the room was heavy and suffocating.

Katia's knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the tufted leather sofa. She pulled off her damp blazer, letting it drop to the floor.

Audrey filled a glass with warm water from a pitcher and shoved it into Katia's hands.

"Drink. Now."

Katia took a sip. The warmth did nothing to thaw the ice in her veins.

She let out a dry, hollow laugh.

She stared at the blank wall and recounted the last thirty minutes. The red shoes. The open door. The white sheets.

Audrey grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray and slammed it onto the glass table.

The loud crack made Katia jump.

"That piece of shit," Audrey spat, her hands on her hips. "That absolute garbage human."

Katia leaned her head back against the leather. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably.

"I spent two years getting his startup funded, Audrey. I begged my contacts. I vouched for him."

Her voice cracked, the first sign of the dam breaking.

"I don't even feel heartbroken. I just feel... dirty. I feel sick."

Audrey moved to the sofa. She sat down and wrapped her arms tightly around Katia's thin shoulders.

She pulled Katia against her chest.

The physical contact shattered the last of Katia's control.

A sob tore out of her throat. It was an ugly, guttural sound that scraped against her vocal cords.

Tears spilled over her eyelashes, hot and fast, soaking into the fabric of Audrey's red dress.

Audrey stroked her hair, her eyes narrowing at the wall with a dark, calculating look.

"I know guys," Audrey said softly, her voice deadly serious. "I can have his office trashed by morning. His computers smashed. Everything."

Katia shook her head against Audrey's shoulder.

She pulled back, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.

She reached into her purse, pulled out a tissue, and wiped the wetness from her cheeks.

She pressed her thumb hard into her knuckle. "No."

Katia crumpled the damp tissue in her fist and tossed it into the small brass trash can beside the sofa.

She reached for Audrey's half-full martini glass and downed the rest of it.

The gin burned her throat again, but this time, it numbed the sharp edges of her panic.

Audrey watched her, her perfectly arched eyebrows drawing together in a deep frown.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Audrey said, crossing her arms.

"Look, if you want to get back at him, let me call some guys. I have three male models on speed dial who would kill to spend an hour with you."

Audrey pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, and shoved it in front of Katia's face.

Images of chiseled jawlines and eight-pack abs glared brightly in the dim room.

Katia pushed the phone away, her stomach rolling at the thought.

"I don't want a cheap distraction, Audrey."

She rubbed her temples, feeling a massive headache building behind her eyes.

"I feel like I'm covered in mud. I just want to take a scalding hot shower and sleep for twenty-four hours."

"You can't go back to the penthouse," Audrey pointed out. "His stuff is there. You'll just smell his cologne and lose your mind."

Katia fell silent. The muscles in her neck tightened.

Audrey was right. The thought of stepping back into that foyer made her physically nauseous.

"Book me a room," Katia said, her voice steadying. "The most expensive suite in the city."

She unzipped her purse and pulled out a sleek, black credit card.

"And use this. It's the authorized user card Caleb gave me for emergencies, tied to his main account."

Audrey's eyes lit up with malicious glee. A wicked smile spread across her red lips.

"Oh, I love a good revenge charge."

Audrey dialed a number on her phone.

"Corbett Grand Hotel, VIP line," she whispered to Katia, covering the receiver.

Within two minutes, Audrey had leveraged her status as a high-profile club owner to secure the Presidential Suite on the top floor.

She hung up the phone.

"Done. Top floor. Are you absolutely sure you don't want me to send a little room service? A guy who knows how to use his tongue?"

Katia pressed her fingers against her throbbing forehead. "No, Audrey. Just... no."

Katia stood up.

The alcohol hit her bloodstream hard. The floor tilted slightly beneath her feet, and she swayed.

Audrey jumped up and grabbed her elbow. "Whoa. Let me come with you."

Katia shook her head, pulling her arm away. "I need to be alone. I need quiet."

She picked up the black credit card from the table and shoved it into her pocket.

She grabbed her blazer and draped it over her shoulders. The cold, calculating look returned to her eyes.

Audrey sighed and handed her a sleek black keycard a server had just left on the table.

"Room 6002. The car is waiting out front."

Katia took the card, didn't look at the number, and shoved it into the pocket of her blazer.

She pushed the heavy door of the VIP room open.

The deafening bass of the club crashed over her again.

She walked through the corridor. Her steps were slightly heavy, her balance slightly off, but she kept her spine perfectly straight.

The bartender nodded at her as a massive bouncer pushed the heavy front door open for her.

A black Lincoln Town Car idled at the curb.

The driver, wearing a sharp suit, stepped out and opened a large black umbrella, shielding her from the rain.

Katia ducked her head and slid into the plush leather backseat.

The driver slammed the door shut, sealing her in the quiet darkness.