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

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

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft metallic whisper and sealed us inside the mirrored box. For one long second the only sound was the low mechanical hum of the car descending. Irina’s words still hung in the air like smoke. Viktor stood rigid beside me, shoulders squared, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped beneath the stubble. His reflection stared back at us from every wall. Two men in tailored suits. One radiating barely contained fury. The other trying not to remember how those same hands had pinned him against a gym mirror only hours earlier.

Viktor’s voice came out low and dangerous. “What does she have on us, Kai. Tell me.”

Us. Not me. The word landed in my chest like a spark. He had said us. Not the hacker he blackmailed. Not the assistant he fucked. Us. My pulse kicked hard. I stepped closer without thinking. The mirrored walls made the space feel even smaller. I lifted both hands and pressed them flat against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart through the expensive fabric of his shirt. His body heat bled into my palms.

“Breathe, Viktor,” I murmured. My thumbs stroked slow circles over the lapels of his jacket. “Just breathe. We are still in this together. Whatever it is, we will figure it out.”

He did not pull away. His gray eyes dropped to my mouth for a fraction of a second, then lifted again. The elevator continued its smooth descent. I could smell his cologne mixed with the faint trace of sweat from the morning workout we had never finished. My own body still ached from the way he had taken me against that mirror. The memory made my thighs tighten.

The doors opened on the underground garage. Cool air rushed in, carrying the scent of concrete and faint exhaust. Viktor stepped out first. I followed, our shoes clicking in perfect sync across the polished floor. The black Mercedes waited exactly where we had left it. The driver stood by the rear door, expression blank, as if he had seen powerful men leave tense meetings a thousand times before.

We slid into the back seat. The privacy screen rose between us and the driver with a quiet electronic whir. The moment the car began to move Viktor stared out the tinted window at the passing concrete walls. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers curled into fists. The silence stretched tight enough to snap.

I kept my hand on his thigh the entire drive. I could feel the muscle jumping under my palm. My voice came out quieter than I wanted, laced with something that tasted too much like sadness and jealousy.

“There were videos on her tablet,” I said. “St Petersburg videos. Of you. With someone else.”

Viktor did not look at me. He kept his gaze fixed on the city lights sliding past.

“I only saw a few seconds,” I continued. My throat felt tight. “You were younger. Naked. Pressing him against server racks. Fucking him hard. The way you move… the sounds you made… it was intense. Raw. You called him something in Russian. I could not make out the name but it sounded like a name. Alexei, maybe. I do not know. I slammed the laptop shut before I could see more.”

I swallowed. The jealousy burned low in my gut, hot and ugly. I hated that another man had once had Viktor like that. I hated that Irina had those moments saved like trophies. But more than that I hated how much I still wanted to be the only one who got to see Viktor come apart.

Viktor stayed silent. His jaw worked once. The car merged onto the highway and the city blurred past in streaks of gold and white. My hand stayed on his thigh the whole way home, thumb moving in small, useless circles as if that could somehow keep him from shattering.

When the Mercedes finally pulled into the private garage beneath the glass tower, Viktor stepped out without a word. I followed him into the private elevator that rose straight to the penthouse. The moment the doors closed again he loosened his tie with a sharp tug. The silence between us felt heavier than it had in the car.

We stepped into the open living area. Viktor immediately began to pace. His suit jacket came off in one fluid motion and landed over the back of the sofa. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, the movement revealing the corded muscle of his forearms. Back and forth he moved across the marble floor, muttering under his breath in low Russian.

I sat on the long leather sofa and watched him. My heart would not slow down.

“What are you thinking?” I asked softly.

Viktor stopped pacing. He turned toward me, eyes dark. His voice was rough when he spoke.

“There is more to it. Irina knew about Alexei and I. She knew everything from the start. That we were… in…”

He cut himself off. The unfinished word hung between us.

In love? Was Viktor… in love with him?

The air between us crackled with tension and unspoken history.Viktor stood there in the middle of the penthouse like a man who had just been handed the detonator to his own life. The top button of his shirt undone. His gray eyes were fixed on some point in the distance I could not reach. His chest rose and fell in short, controlled breaths. I watched the way his hands flexed at his sides, the way the muscle in his jaw kept ticking. He looked like he wanted to break something. Or like something inside him was already breaking.

I did not wait for permission. I crossed to the long marble island, grabbed the tablet and the company laptop, and carried them back to the sofa. The leather was cool against the back of my thighs as I sank down. I opened the laptop, fingers moving fast over the keys, pulling up the folder labeled St Petersburg Archive. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat. I did not know what I was looking for. I only knew I needed to do something, anything, to keep Viktor from pacing a hole through the marble floor.

He kept moving. Back and forth. The soft click of his dress shoes was the only sound besides the low hum of the air system. I scrolled through the thumbnails, the blurred images of young Viktor shirtless, sweat gleaming on his broad chest. My stomach twisted with a sharp, ugly spike of jealousy. I had seen only three seconds last night, but those three seconds were burned behind my eyelids now.

Finally Viktor stopped pacing. He looked at me. Then walked over and dropped onto the sofa right beside me. Our thighs pressed together. The heat of him bled through the fabric of his trousers and mine. 

I turned the laptop screen toward him without a word. My voice was quiet. “This is what I saw last night.”

I clicked play on the short clip.

Young Viktor filled the frame. Shirtless. Powerful. Sweat tracing slow lines down the deep cuts of his abs. He had another man pressed against the metal server racks, hips snapping forward in a hard, dominant rhythm. The angle hid the other man’s face, but the sounds were unmistakable. Viktor’s low, guttural moan in Russian. The wet slap of skin. The way his head fell back, mouth open, eyes half closed in pure pleasure. He looked exactly like he had when he fucked me against the mirror earlier that day. Dominant. Possessive. Completely lost in it.

Viktor watched stone faced. Not a flicker. Not a twitch. Only the slight tightening of his jaw gave him away. I studied his profile the entire time, heart pounding with a messy storm of jealousy and concern. The man on screen was younger, hungrier, but the hunger was the same. The way he gripped the other man’s hips, the way he drove his cock in deep, the way he growled something filthy in Russian. It was the same Viktor who had pinned me to glass and fucked me like the world was ending.

When the clip ended Viktor stayed silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, voice rough and low.

“Why is she bringing Alexei up? What does she know other than about our relationship?”

The word relationship landed heavy between us. I did not answer right away. I could not. My mouth felt dry. I wanted to ask him a thousand things. Was it love? Did you look at him the way you look at me now? Did you ever call him yours the way you called me yours in Seattle? Instead I stayed quiet.

Viktor reached over and took the laptop from my hands without a word. His fingers brushed mine. The touch lingered a second longer than necessary. He set the computer on his own thighs and started digging deeper into the archive, fingers flying across the keys with a kind of furious focus I had never seen before. I watched him. The way his shoulders tensed under the open collar of his shirt. The way the strong column of his throat worked when he swallowed. The way his breathing changed, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to stay in control. The erotic undercurrent hummed between us even now. I could not stop staring at his hands, at the veins standing out on his forearms, at the way his jaw flexed every time he clicked on another file.

I asked softly, “What are you looking for? I’ve been trying to decode this since Seattle. I haven’t found anything else.”

He did not answer. He was deep in the files now, eyes locked on the screen, completely absorbed. The silence stretched. The penthouse felt smaller, the air thicker. I sat there beside him, thigh pressed to his, watching the man who had taken me apart twice that day slowly come apart himself over something I still did not fully understand.───Late That Night…

The clock on the laptop read 2:37 am in the morning when I finally stood up. Viktor had not come out of his private office since late afternoon. He had not eaten. He had not spoken to me again. The only sound I had heard for hours was the occasional low click of keys and the faint Russian curses he muttered under his breath.

I walked down the hallway on bare feet. The penthouse was dark except for the soft blue glow leaking from under the office door. I pushed it open slowly.

Viktor was slumped in the big leather chair behind his desk. The laptop was open in front of him, casting harsh light across his face. His eyes were red. His cheeks were wet. He looked wrecked, like he had been crying for a long time and trying to hide it. The untouchable CEO was gone. In his place was a man who looked like the ground had opened beneath him.

I stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind me. “Hey… Viktor.”

He did not look up right away. I crossed the room and stood beside his chair. My hand settled gently on his shoulder, feeling the tension locked in the muscle there. “Is everything okay?”

Viktor wiped his face quickly with the back of his hand, embarrassed that I was seeing him like this. He straightened a little, but the damage was already done. His voice was rough and quiet when he finally spoke.

“Yeah… I finally found the thing Irina has.”

I leaned in and looked at the laptop screen. The video was paused on a still frame. Young Viktor and Alexei in the old St Petersburg office. They were fully clothed this time, standing close in the soft glow of a desk lamp. Alexei’s hands were on Viktor’s waist. Viktor’s forehead was pressed to Alexei’s. Their fingers were laced together. It was not sex. It was something softer. Something that looked like the moment right after. The kind of quiet, tender intimacy that made my chest ache.

I stared at the image. My mind spun. Confusion, protectiveness, and something deeper, something that felt dangerously like love, all tangled together inside me.

Why was he crying?

What did Irina have that was worse than the fact that Viktor once loved a man? That he was happy with someone else before me? That he let another man hold him like this, touch him like this, see him like this?

What the hell was on that screen that could break someone as untouchable as Viktor Volkov?

I had thought the archive was just sex. But the way Viktor was looking at that still frame… it was something far more dangerous.It was love. And Irina knew exactly how an old memory could ruin the man I was already falling for.

────────────────My Russian Billionaire Boss 🔐| Part 18: The Truth He BuriedHere are the upcoming episodes:Episode 19: Let Me Take Care Of You, Viktor31st MayBonus Episode 2: The Man In My Arms (Viktor's POV - Personal Trainer Exclusive)31st MayEpisode 20:  The Weight of What I Must Do8th JuneEpisode 21: The Messages We Send in the Dark12th JuneEpisode 22: Before the Doors Opened17th JuneEpisode 23: Title Withheld21st June