My Russian Billionaire Boss 🔐 | Part 16: The Ex Who Still Owns a Piece (Patreon)

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

The black Mercedes glided down the long concrete ramp into AetherLynx’s underground parking lot like we were descending into the belly of the beast. The tires hummed against the polished floor. I sat rigid in the back seat beside Viktor, the leather cool beneath my thighs. My navy suit — the one he had bought me with that black Amex card weeks ago — felt too crisp, too expensive, like it belonged to someone else. The jacket hugged my shoulders perfectly, but the tie around my throat suddenly felt like a noose. Every breath pulled in the faint scent of Viktor’s cologne mixed with the new-car smell of the Mercedes, and my body remembered exactly how he had fucked me against the gym mirror. The ache between my legs was a constant low throb, a secret reminder that the man next to me had claimed me hard and deep before we ever stepped into this car.

Viktor stared straight ahead. His jaw was locked tight. He had not spoken more than a handful of clipped words since that text had lit up his phone last night. I had caught a glimpse of the screen before he flipped it face-down: a text from Irina. “We need to talk.” He had not shown it to me. He never did. But I felt the shift in him like a storm rolling in.

The driver pulled into a reserved spot near the private elevators. We stepped out into the cool, echoing garage. The air smelled of concrete and faint exhaust. Viktor adjusted the cuffs of his suit once, then started walking without waiting for me. I fell in step beside him, our shoes clicking in perfect sync. The elevator doors opened the moment we reached them. Inside, the mirrored walls threw our reflections back at us — two men in tailored suits, one tall and broad and radiating controlled power, the other trying desperately not to look like he was still carrying the memory of that man’s cock inside him. Fuck, why do I keep replaying that moment again and again. Kai Lennox, you are a love struck idiot. Shut up and focus.

When the doors opened on the top floor, Irina’s assistant was already waiting. She was young, sharp-eyed, dressed in a crisp white blouse and pencil skirt. Her smile was small and knowing, the kind that said she had been briefed exactly who we were and why we had come. “Mr. Volkov. Mr. Lennox. This way, please.”

She led us down a wide corridor lined with glass walls that looked out over the city. Sunlight poured in and bounced off steel beams, turning the whole space into a gleaming monument to money and ambition. The building was a direct mirror of Volkov Security — same sleek lines, same feeling of untouchable control — except everything here felt sharper, more aggressive, like it had been built specifically to remind Viktor that he was no longer the only king in Silicon Valley.

Irina’s office occupied the entire end of the floor. The assistant pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped aside. “She’s expecting you.”

We walked in. Irina sat behind a massive black glass desk with her back to us, the chair turned toward the windows. The city sprawled out below her like a circuit board she already owned. For a long second the only sound was the soft click of the glass door closing behind us.

Then she spun the chair around slowly.

Her dark hair flipped in a dramatic arc as the chair came full circle. She was polished, beautiful, and cocky as hell. The kind of woman who knew exactly how much power she still held over the man standing two feet away from me. Her cream blouse was unbuttoned just enough to show the delicate line of her collarbone. Her lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile.

“Good to see you, Vik.” The nickname rolled off her tongue like honey — intimate, familiar, loaded with years of history. She let her gaze linger on him for a beat too long before turning it on me. “And you… Mr. Lennox.”

My stomach twisted hard. Jealousy flared hot and ugly in my chest. I hated how easily she said his name like that. Like she still had the right.

We sat. Viktor took the chair directly in front of her desk, back straight, shoulders squared. I lowered myself into the one beside him, close enough that our knees almost brushed. My hands felt clammy against my thighs.

Viktor did not waste a single second on pleasantries. “I don’t have time for greetings, Irina. Why did you call me here?”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs with deliberate slowness. The soft fabric of her skirt stretched tight over her thighs. “Straight to business. You never change.” She tapped one manicured nail against the edge of the desk. “During the Seattle conference, my tablet was breached. Someone accessed everything. All my private files. All my upcoming product roadmaps. All my personal correspondence. It is quite the security failure for a company that prides itself on being untouchable, don’t you think?”

Viktor’s face stayed perfectly blank. “That is unfortunate. But I fail to see why you called me here.”

Irina stood. She walked around the desk with slow, measured steps, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor. She stopped right beside Viktor and rested her hand lightly on the sleeve of his suit jacket, fingers brushing the expensive fabric. There was zero anger in her touch — only calm, almost affectionate confidence, like she already knew she had won this round.

“I traced the compromise back to a Volkov Security IP address.” She let the words settle between us like smoke. “So yes, Vik. You see, that’s why I called you here.”

Viktor’s hand slammed down on the desk so hard the surface vibrated. He pushed to his feet in one sharp motion. “That is a lie.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Boss,” I said quickly, voice lower than I meant it to be. “Calm down.”

Irina’s smile never faltered. She walked back to her chair and sat again, crossing her legs once more so the skirt rode just a fraction higher. She looked completely at ease. “Yes, Boss. Calm down.” She echoed my words with mocking sweetness. “Be thankful I am not calling the cops on you, Viktor.”“....At least not yet.”

The tension in the room thickened until it felt like the glass walls might crack under the pressure. I could hear my own pulse in my ears. Viktor sat back down slowly, but his shoulders stayed rigid, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek.

I tried to speak, desperate to cut through the storm. “Ms. Volkov—” I caught myself and corrected quickly. “Ma’am. There must be a mistake.”

Irina lifted one finger and moved it slowly side to side in a lazy no. “Come on, Kai. Don’t think I’m a fool. The moment you started decrypting my data, I got a ping. And well, well… it pinged straight to Vik’s penthouse.”

Viktor stayed quiet for a long, dangerous second. Then he leaned forward, voice low and controlled. “I can assure you, Irina. It must be a mistake.”

Irina tilted her head. That cocky smile widened, slow and predatory. “Baby… Baby… Baby… Stop…. Enough with these lies.”

She turned her eyes fully on me. The smile stayed, but her gaze sharpened like a blade. “Found the videos yet, Mr. Lennox?”

Viktor’s head snapped toward me so fast I felt the air shift. His gray eyes bored into mine, confusion and something darker flashing across his face. “What videos?”

I put my hand on his thigh under the desk. My fingers pressed hard into the muscle through the fabric of his trousers, trying to anchor him, to warn him, to beg him without words. “Not here,” I whispered, barely audible.

Irina leaned back in her chair and studied us both like we were pieces on a chessboard she had already solved. She looked utterly relaxed, one leg still crossed over the other, skirt stretched tight. “So here’s the deal, Vik. Delete every copy of the data you took from my tablet. Stop coming for AetherLynx. Stop trying to steal what I built. Otherwise I will release snippets of that evidence.” She did not say the word videos. She only smirked at me again, a private little curl of her lips that made my stomach drop.

Viktor’s brow furrowed. He looked genuinely confused, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. “What evidence are you talking about, Irina?”

She ignored the question and kept going, her voice smooth as silk. “And maybe… let’s say, hypothetically speaking… if certain board members and investors who still believe Viktor Volkov is the untouchable straight billionaire savior of cybersecurity were to find out the truth about Mr. Volkov… the same people whose money keeps Volkov Security afloat… the same people who sign those massive government contracts… well. That would be quite the problem, would it not?”

Viktor stared at her. I watched the exact moment the words landed. His hand tightened on the arm of the chair until the leather creaked under his grip. Confusion still clouded his eyes — he had no idea what she was talking about, not fully. Not the way I did after those three stolen seconds of video I had watched at two thirty in the morning. The way he fucked Alexei. The way he kissed them after saying “I love you”. She was talking about the St Petersburg archive. She must have left the videos and text logs on her tablet on purpose.

Before Viktor could answer, the office door opened again. Irina’s assistant stepped in, tablet in hand. “Ma’am, the board is waiting for you in the conference room.”

Irina rose smoothly. She smoothed her skirt down and walked toward the door with that same confident stride. Viktor stood too, his voice low and dangerous. “What are you talking about, Irina? Where are you going?”

She paused at the threshold. She looked back at me instead of him. That same cocky smile curved her lips, slow and triumphant. “Why don’t you ask the assistant you’ve been sleeping with. He sure as hell would be having second thoughts about you right about now.”

She walked out. The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.

Viktor turned to me slowly. His gray eyes locked on mine. The question was written all over his face — hard, demanding, edged with something that looked dangerously close to fear. The same question I had been carrying since last night, the same question that had been burning in my chest like a live wire.

I swallowed hard. My hand was still on his thigh under the table, fingers trembling against the expensive fabric. The penthouse felt a million miles away. The archive felt like it was sitting between us now, heavy and alive, waiting to explode.

And I had no idea how to tell the man who had fucked me raw against a mirror that his ex-wife had just dug up the one piece of his past he had buried so deep it could burn everything he built to the ground.────────────────

My Russian Billionaire Boss 🔐| Part 17: The Weight of Old Footage