Page 3 of Payback
“However, there is—”
I pressed my fingers together, emphasizing that it was time to cease speaking. I focused on the papers before me, already favoring the one at the top of the stack.
“But—”
“Maddy!” I admonished, shifting my attention to her. “When I instruct you to be silent, it means you stop talking!”
Maddy pursed her lips, and I let out a sigh, shaking my head. I continued the remainder of the journey to my office on my own. Upon reaching my office, I swung the door open, only to come to an abrupt halt just inside. The door swung closed behind me, emitting a faint click that, although usually noiseless, resonated as a distinctive warning from the universe or even from the door itself. I fixed my gaze on the figure positioned before me, attired in a dark-blue suit without a tie. The man appeared to be inspecting my spacious office, yet I had no recollection of a scheduled meeting today. While I tasked Maddy with providing me a morning briefing to ensure I remained updated, I also made sure to stay informed about every ongoing matter. Entrusting such critical tasks, whether concerning the company or my personal life, to others was not something I believed in. If I sought perfection, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands.
“Um, excuse me?” I called out, my voice breaking the silence. The well-dressed man—a rather handsome one, it must be noted—turned his attention to me. A smirk played on his lips as our gazes locked. His enigmatic dark green eyes possessed an irresistible allure, pulling you in from the first instant. Exuding an air of confidence, he projected the awareness of his own attractiveness. His dark hair was neatly styled, enhancing his appeal. Seated in a relaxed posture, one leg casually crossed over the other, hands nonchalantly tucked in his pockets, he displayed no sense of urgency. Could he be a new model? A reporter whom I had overlooked? Who was this man? A faint voice within me whispered that he seemed familiar, though I struggled to place him. A man like him, I was certain, would be unforgettable. No one could simply overlook him. One glimpse, and he would infiltrate your dreams with that enigmatic smirk and those captivating green eyes.
I advanced slowly, the echoing click of my heels resonating across the expansive room, amplified by the prevailing silence. My scrutiny mirrored his fixed gaze upon me. Not a single word was exchanged until I had settled into my large, red leather chair, placing my belongings aside.
“May I assist you with something?” I asked, experiencing an unusual tingling sensation as the man continued to watch me. Absentmindedly, I started fiddling with the sizable diamond ring adorning my finger—a blatant reminder of my marital status. While appreciating beauty was acceptable, indulging in the inappropriate act of retreating to a bathroom to satisfy myself with the image of him was absolutely out of the question. Yet, the tantalizing allure, the devil on my shoulder, whispered in my ear, tempting me to let loose a little. It argued that it had been quite some time since anything had triggered such sensations of delight within me, so why not surrender to it? I resisted the devil’s proposition, though uncertainty lingered regarding my ability to uphold my resolution. The man standing before me exuded an almost primal and potent energy, a force that was certain to provoke a reaction from me. There was an undeniable allure to a confident man—not one who veered into arrogance and rudeness, but one who struck that perfect balance where he acknowledged being desired and wanted while maintaining a subtle touch of humility.
“I believe you can,” he responded, his voice itself intensifying the pulsating sensation between my legs. I crossed my legs, battling the compelling urge to slip my hand beneath my dark pencil skirt and indulge in the tempting image of him right here and now. What was going on with me? I acknowledged the dry spell in my sex life over the past few weeks, but this reaction felt excessive. Why was I responding so intensely? Sometimes, attraction defied explanation. There were people who perfectly matched our ideal type, leading reason to take a backseat. Nonetheless, I remained committed to my values. Fantasies were one thing, yet I was unwavering in my love for my husband and my devotion to him. The insidious voice of temptation whispered that there was no harm in indulging when my husband had been distant for weeks. Still, there was a boundary I refused to cross—cheating.
“Well, how may I be of service?” I asked.
His smile broadened, taking on a mischievous tint that left me puzzled. I couldn’t quite grasp what had triggered that particular expression. My inquiry had been straightforward enough.
“Actually, I believe it’s my assistance you’ll need,” he stated.
“Pardon me?”
He retrieved an object from his pocket, raising it before me. I gazed at it, my confusion deepening.
“A USB drive?”
In his hand, he held a dark USB drive, but I couldn’t discern its contents or its purpose. Could it be another collection of explicit photos featuring Carter or perhaps compromising images involving my models? I was reaching my limit with these recurring incidents. If this drive held more explicit content, the consequences would be severe. Exhaling audibly, I extended my hand, eager to get this ordeal over with. His evident surprise at my readiness to examine the contents without inquiry played across his features. Nonetheless, his smile returned, and he placed the USB in my hand. I regarded him with disapproval, entertaining the notion that he might be a paparazzo attempting to extract a hefty sum of money in exchange for not auctioning these photos to the highest bidder. Retrieving my laptop, I powered it on and inserted the USB. I located the folder associated with the USB, which led me to another sub-folder containing various files, each labeled with a number: 1, 2, 3, and so on. I surveyed the numerous files, unsure of where to begin, given their numerical labeling without accompanying explanations.
“Just start from the top,” he instructed.
I nodded, clicking into file number 1, discovering it contained a straightforward PDF. Upon opening it, an old report from years past appeared. Reading it left me puzzled, grappling with its significance. The report detailed an old medical record, outlining a patient’s ailments and injuries.
“Why am I looking at someone’s medical file that dates back years ago?” I asked.
“Did you look at who the patient is?” he questioned.
I grew even more confused, but scrolled to the top, finding the patient’s name. When I read it, my mind needed a moment to process and accept what I was reading. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t thought about Jared Tyler in years. I had left that scrawny emo kid behind when I left high school, or rather he left before even graduating, and I never looked back. Yet, now old memories surged back as I read his name. It was truly a blast from the past, but I couldn’t discern why his name was being brought into this. He didn’t work for me. I had no idea where he was in the world. It wouldn’t even surprise me if he were dead and buried.
I shrugged and turned back to the handsome stranger. “Is that all?”
“Why don’t you proceed to the next file?” he prompted.
Tentatively, I clicked on file number 2. This one captured my interest as it contained images not of a random stranger, but of me entering and exiting my doctor’s office. Multiple JPGs show my visits, depicting me in different clothes and indicating several days passing. I was on the verge of demanding an explanation for this bizarre photographic obsession, but then I switched to a different PDF file. Unlike the first, this medical record wasn’t Jared’s. It was mine! To my disbelief, my own confidential medical file was stored on this stranger’s USB. I wouldn’t be astonished if he had a backup USB as well. I couldn’t fathom how he had obtained such intimate information.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked.
“Read it,” he urged.
“I know its contents!” I exclaimed.
My heart raced, my bewilderment mounting as I failed to grasp how he had acquired my fertility treatment records, including the absence of any positive results. I was the one battling infertility, struggling to fulfill the societal expectation of bearing a child. I was the one harboring insufficient eggs in my ovarian reserve, trying to overcome this setback. However, I had yet to conceive. Not even a miscarriage had materialized over almost five years of marriage. I was 32, my envisioned future slipping away. This, right in front of me, was not just a violation—it was a crime. This stranger had stolen medical records—not just mine but those of others as well.
“What is this? Do you understand that stealing private medical records is illegal? You’ve taken not one, but two!” I retorted.
“Does Jared’s presence in there trouble you?” he queried, an evil smirk now adorning his lips, as if he knew more than he let on.
