Chapter 5 A call boy huh!

The flash of cameras was blinding as soon as the car door opened. The noise of the paparazzi shouting David’s name hit Aysel harshly. She stepped onto the red carpet, and the cool night air should have felt refreshing against her flushed skin, but the lights made her feel exposed and dizzy.

She felt a hand on her back. She knew it wasn't a gesture of affection. David was just making sure she didn’t trip and embarrass him.

"Smile," David whispered through his teeth without moving his lips. His fingers pressed slightly into her waist. "Look at the cameras, Aysel. We need to look like a lovely couple." Aysel did what he asked because she had practiced this role for five years.

She tilted her head, softened her eyes, and curved her mouth into a smile that looked genuine to the crowd, but inside, she was screaming. The gold dress felt tight around her ribs. Every breath was a shallow struggle against the fabric and the rising nausea in her stomach. She feared she might throw up right there on the red carpet, and that thought made her sweat turn cold and clammy.

They moved through the glass doors and into the ballroom. The atmosphere shifted from chaotic noise to a suffocating wall of heat and sound. A live orchestra played something classical in the corner, but it was drowned out by the buzz of hundreds of conversations and the clinking of crystal glasses.

The room smelled of lilies and roast beef. The mixture was thick and bothersome, hitting the back of Aysel’s throat and forcing her to swallow hard to keep the bile down.

"I need water," she said, her voice thin and desperate.

David didn’t look at her. He was too busy scanning the room for people with more money than him. "In a minute," he said dismissively. He tightened his grip on her elbow to steer her to the left. "There’s Mr. Henderson. He is the key to the new funding round. Pull yourself together, Aysel."

He pulled her through the crowd, and she felt like a doll being yanked by a rough child. She focused on her feet, forcing one heel in front of the other, counting her steps to keep her mind off the spinning room.

They reached a group of older men in tuxedos, and David switched on the charm instantly. His face lit up, and his voice dropped into a smooth, confident baritone she used to love. Now, she only heard the lies in it.

"Mr. Henderson!" David exclaimed, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. "So glad you could make it. You remember my wife, Aysel?" Mr. Henderson looked at her with polite eyes. "Of course. Lovely to see you again, Mrs. Vance, you look radiant tonight."

"Thank you," Aysel replied, proud that her voice didn’t shake. "It’s a wonderful party."

She stood there while the men talked about markets and mergers. She felt like a ghost haunting her own life. She stood next to her husband, pressing her purse gently against her stomach.

"Oh, look who it is," David said, his voice shifting to a lighter, eager tone. Aysel looked up, and her stomach dropped. Sienna was walking toward them.

Sienna wore a red dress that was low and tight. She moved through the crowd with the confidence of someone who knew she was being watched. She held a flute of champagne in one hand, her eyes locked on David.

"Good evening, Mr. Vance," Sienna said, stopping just inside their circle. She glanced at the investors, flashed them a dazzling smile, and then her gaze slid to Aysel. The smile didn’t fade, it grew colder. "Mrs. Vance. I didn’t think you were coming. David mentioned you weren’t feeling well."

The audacity took Aysel’s breath away. Sienna was no longer just a mistress in the shadows. She stood here in the light, mocking her in front of the very people David was trying to impress.

"I am feeling fine," Aysel lied, standing a little straighter despite her dizziness. "My husband needs me here."

Sienna laughed, a soft, condescending sound. "Of course he does, behind every great man, right?"

She stepped closer to David and brushed imaginary lint off his lapel. It was a tiny gesture, intimate and claiming. Aysel saw Mr. Henderson raise an eyebrow.

David didn’t push Sienna away or look embarrassed. He seemed energized by the attention of two women, as if it proved his worth.

"Sienna is my new executive assistant," David explained to the group, but his eyes lingered on her bare shoulders. "She has been helpful in the transition."

Aysel felt heat rush up her neck, but it wasn’t embarrassment this time. It was rage. It was a hot, molten anger that finally burned through the numbness she had been feeling for weeks. He was humiliating her, parading his affair in her face, expecting her to smile and accept it because he thought she was weak.

"I am going to get a drink," Aysel said, interrupting David mid-sentence.

David stopped and looked at her with annoyance. "Aysel, we are talking—"

"I need water," she repeated, her voice hard and flat this time. "Excuse me."

She didn’t wait for his permission. She turned her back on David, Sienna, and the investors, and she walked away. She felt David’s glare burning into her back, but she didn’t care. She needed to get away from them before she screamed.

She pushed through the crowd toward the bar in the corner, but the room was so packed that she could barely move. The noise grew louder, the lights brighter, and the air hotter with every breath. She felt a bead of sweat roll down her spine.

She reached for a waiter passing by with a tray of water, but her shaky hand missed the glass. She stumbled slightly, her heel catching on the thick carpet. For a terrifying second, she thought she might fall.

She braced herself for the impact, closing her eyes and preparing for the humiliation of collapsing in the middle of the gala.

But she didn’t hit the floor.

A hand shot out of the crowd and gripped her upper arm. It was firm, steady, and incredibly powerful, holding her up with surprising ease.

"Careful," a voice rumbled, low and close to her ear.

That voice sent a shockwave through Aysel’s body, stronger than the nausea. It was a voice she had heard only once before.

She froze. Her heart stopped for a second and then raced at double speed.

It couldn’t be.

Slowly, she lifted her head, terrified of what she might see, and looked up into the face of the man who had caught her.

The room seemed to vanish. The noise faded away, leaving only him.

He wore a tuxedo that fit him so well. His dark hair was styled back, revealing the sharp, harsh lines of his face.

But it was his eyes that held her in place. They were dark and cold, looking down at her with a recognition that chilled her blood.

It was the call boy.

But he didn't look like a call boy, he looked like a king among peasants.

Aysel's lips parted, but no sound escaped her. She felt trapped in his grip, staring at the ghost she thought she had left in a hotel room. The expression on his face told her this was no accident.

He tightened his fingers around her arm and leaned in closer. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper that only she could hear.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Aysel."

He knew her name.

At that moment, it felt like the floor dropped out from under her. The nightmare she had been fleeing had just walked through the front door. He held her as if he never planned to let go.

The music in the ballroom seemed to stop, even though the orchestra kept playing. The crowd's chatter faded into a dull roar that sounded like the ocean in Aysel’s ears. She stared at the man holding her arm. Her mind struggled to understand how he could be there. This man belonged in a dark hotel room, not under the crystal chandeliers of the Vance Tech Gala.

"Let me go," she whispered, her voice weak and barely audible.

He didn't release her. Instead, he pulled her slightly closer until she could smell him. The scent of cedar brought back memories of that night. He looked down at her with unreadable eyes, and a small, cruel smile touched his lips as he adjusted his grip to support her weight. He knew she was seconds away from falling.

"You look faint," he said smoothly. His tone held a double meaning only she understood. "Perhaps you need some fresh air, Mrs. Vance."

He said her married name like it was something shameful.

Aysel tried to pull back her arm, but his fingers tightened like steel. He didn't squeeze, but he didn't let go either. He turned her away from the packed bar and led her toward the edge of the room where the doors opened to a terrace. She went with him because her legs shook too much to fight back. She was terrified that if she caused a scene, he would reveal her secret to everyone in the room.

They stepped onto the stone balcony, and the cold night air stung her bare arms. But she barely registered it because the heat from the man beside her was overwhelming. He walked her to the stone railing and finally let go of her arm, but he didn't step back. He stood close enough that his jacket brushed against her shoulder. He boxed her in, leaving her no way to escape.

"How are you here?" she asked, gripping the cold stone railing until her knuckles turned white. "If you’re here for more money... I don't have it on me."

He laughed, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a white envelope.

Aysel stopped breathing. It was the envelope she had left on the nightstand.

"Money," he repeated, tapping the envelope against his other hand. "You left quite a tip, Aysel. Five thousand dollars. You must have saved for a long time to afford a night like that."

"Keep it," she said quickly, glancing back at the glass doors to ensure no one was watching. "Just keep it and go, please. If my husband sees you..."

"If your husband sees me," he interrupted, lowering his voice, "he will probably offer me a drink. In fact, I believe he has been trying to get my attention for months."

Aysel frowned, confusion cutting through her panic for a moment. "What do you mean? Why would David want to talk to a..."

She couldn't say the word.

"A call boy?" he finished for her, his eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "Is that really what you think I am?"

Aysel looked at him closely. She noticed the custom fit of his tuxedo, probably worth more than her car. She saw the way he carried himself with an unapologetic arrogance. She spotted the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist, worth more than David’s entire company.

A cold pit opened in her stomach.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

Before he could reply, the glass doors swung open and a voice echoed.

"Mr. Sinclair!"

Aysel froze. She knew that name, everyone knew it. Ruan Sinclair was the shark of New York, the billionaire investor who devoured companies for breakfast. He was the man David had been obsessing over for months.

She turned her head slowly.

David approached them, excitement lighting up his face like a child meeting his hero.

"Mr. Sinclair," David repeated, reaching out to shake the man's hand with a sweaty, eager grip. "I'm so honored you came. I didn't see you arrive. I trust my wife has been entertaining you?"

The world tilted on its axis.

Aysel looked from David to the man she had slept with.

Ruan Sinclair shook David’s hand, but his eyes remained fixed on Aysel. He watched the color drain from her face and the realization shatter her composure, and he smiled.

"She has been very entertaining," Ruan said. "We were just discussing how we met."

David laughed, oblivious. "Is that so? I didn't know you two knew each other."

"We met briefly," Ruan said, taking a step closer to Aysel until she could feel his body heat through her dress. "About six weeks ago at a hotel."

Aysel stopped breathing, her heart pounded against her ribs, so hard she feared it would crack a bone. He was going to reveal everything right there.

David looked confused. "A hotel? Aysel doesn’t go to hotels."

Ruan looked down at Aysel, noticing the terror in her eyes. He saw how her hand moved instinctively to cover her stomach.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. To David, it appeared as a polite whisper, but to Aysel, it felt like a death sentence.

"A call boy, huh?" he murmured. He pulled back, looking at David with a shark-like grin.

"I must be mistaken," Ruan said. "She just reminds me of someone I had a very memorable transaction with."

David laughed again, relieved the awkward moment was over. But Aysel felt as though the floor had opened up and swallowed her whole.

She was pregnant and trapped. The father of her baby was the man who controlled her husband’s future.

Ruan turned his attention back to her, his gaze dropping to her stomach for a fleeting moment before locking

onto her eyes.

"I look forward to working with you, David," Ruan said, but his words were directed at her. "I have a feeling we are going to be seeing a lot of each other."