Icing on the Cake Chapter 17

It was true that his organization had been involved in supplying drugs and burdening ordinary people with debt, but Yuri hadn’t been in a role that participated in such things. Because of certain events that began when his mother fell out of favor with the boss, Igor Volkov, Yuri had been branded. Though it was ridiculous that scum at the very bottom of humanity divided themselves into ranks, Yuri had become the most insignificant among that scum.

Igor never entrusted Yuri with anything involving money. Instead, he made him do all sorts of rough work. If one had to define his role, he was a hunting dog—throwing himself into danger on his master’s behalf, receiving rotten meat in return. So Yuri hadn’t exactly turned to crime to make money. He’d simply been on a leash.

The ones Yuri usually dealt with were other criminal organizations that threatened their interests. Or he stood guard outside during negotiation meetings for deals. When he wasn’t doing that, he managed the boss’s club and threw out the idiots who got drunk and caused trouble.

No one could match him when it came to physical work, but because Yuri was of traitor’s blood, unlike the others, he was always treated poorly. He was perpetually poor, scraping by on the occasional handout Igor gave him like alms. Even Alexei didn’t know the full extent of this. They were each other’s closest friends and comrades, but they didn’t share every miserable detail. Wounds only made wounds fester.

But all of this was just a pathetic excuse. Thinking this way itself felt hypocritical and revolting—Yuri felt like laughing. Whenever he saw something too repulsive, Yuri often let out a bitter laugh instead of getting angry. He often made that same face when looking in the mirror.

“No.”

Stopping the pointless recollection, Yuri denied it firmly. The only times he drank were when he had to hold his position for hours in freezing places, and even that was strictly forbidden during missions that required driving. There had been times when he was hungry enough to scavenge food thrown in the trash, but he’d never committed robbery.

However, he’d done things far worse than that.

“…Worse than that?”

Cheriot’s voice grew progressively lower. Still, the trace of willingness to see him in a good light had completely vanished, and a look both unfamiliar and familiar had settled on his face. That wary distance. The Cheriot who’d begged to be called by a nickname and tossed out jokes was nowhere to be found—instead, his brow was furrowed and his expression sour.

“There’s no reason to tell you.”

Yuri’s answer put a period to the situation. At his cold tone—refusing to make any confession that could serve as evidence—Cheriot fell silent.

The atmosphere in the room shifted. Just like when he’d spoken of the stalker earlier, Cheriot’s pheromones grew immensely heavy and thick. Though his face showed nothing, his sharply intensified pheromones made it clear his mood had hit rock bottom. Heather, being a beta, couldn’t sense pheromones and seemed unaware, but Yuri felt an immediate surge of hostility and revulsion so strong it made him nauseous.

Yes, this is how alphas normally feel toward each other. Not grinning and clinging with affection, but feeling this—this is right.

In the motionless standoff, Cheriot set his glass down on the table with a sharp clink. Following that sound, his pheromones burst forth as if to assault Yuri. A silent wave of reproach rang out.

“I see.”

Cheriot pulled in his stretched-out legs and straightened his posture. Quietly closing his gaping bathrobe, he slowly pushed himself up using the chair’s armrests. Yuri tilted his head up slightly to follow the sudden rise in eye level. Thud, thud—Cheriot walked up to him and looked down. A shadow fell along his long nose bridge, and his green eyes beneath golden lashes bored into Yuri without flinching.

After a few seconds of silence…

“Yuri, you’re trash.”

From those pretty lips that had seemed incapable of uttering anything mean, a sharp word spilled out. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to hear, but it was far milder than he’d expected—yet in that moment, Yuri’s lips went dry. A small panic surged and then subsided.

It was always like this.

The condemnation he received from people who weren’t dirty made Yuri feel ashamed. The intense emotion pressing down from all sides tormented him more than fear or terror. He’d learned countless ways to overcome fear, but he’d never found a way not to feel shame.

There was only one thing he could do now. Silently endure Cheriot’s reproach. Though he didn’t think he’d done anything particularly wrong to the other man, it was only natural to be condemned for being what he was.

“Cheriot!”

But Heather stepped in on Yuri’s behalf. She’d been watching the situation and choosing her words, but the moment she heard Cheriot’s remark, she rose from her seat. With a visibly flustered face, she approached and grabbed Cheriot’s arm, pulling him back.

“How can you suddenly say something like that? No matter what, Mr. Yuri is…”

Heather hesitated, meeting Yuri’s eyes. The way she looked at him, struggling to find words, looked so troubled that Yuri felt uneasy. He’d spoken up in the first place because he didn’t want someone like Heather to be put in an awkward position because of someone like him—yet in the end, this was exactly what had happened.

“Sorry, Heather. I didn’t mean to startle you. But if Yuri really is a criminal, isn’t that a pretty fucking awful situation for me? I went through all this trouble specifically to avoid dealing with this kind of element.”

Cheriot calmly explained to Heather with an expressionless, blank face.

“I understand that. But surely Mr. Yuri has his reasons too.”

“Who in this world doesn’t have reasons?”

A sneer formed at the corner of Cheriot’s mouth at Heather’s cautious words on Yuri’s behalf.

“That’s nothing but an excuse.”

As if daring him to argue back, Cheriot fixed his gaze on Yuri. Those warm green eyes that had been grinning just moments ago had turned completely cold. The anger in that piercing glare grew stronger with each passing second. Yuri thought this was enough, and decided to leave.

Just as he’d made up his mind to apologize and say goodbye to Heather, Cheriot spoke again. He seemed deeply displeased with Yuri standing there in silence. Frowning his pretty eyes, Cheriot stepped closer to him once more. Bending his large frame to bring his face close to Yuri’s, Cheriot asked threateningly.

“Are you listening? I said I don’t care about your reasons—get out. If you had any sense, you’d have left already. What are you still hanging around for?”

Cheriot added a taunt without giving Yuri a chance to answer.

“Don’t tell me you’re hoping I’ll thank you for coming clean now?”

That’s enough. Yuri decided to give this young, arrogant man the answer he wanted before he caused any more pointless commotion.

“Of course not.”

“Then get out. Don’t stay here.”

Yuri calmly turned around. He wanted to apologize to Heather separately, but since even bringing it up might be improper, he suppressed that personal desire. Just as he was about to turn his back and leave the room, Cheriot called out to him.

“Wait.”

He didn’t really want to respond, but to avoid causing more trouble, Yuri suppressed his reluctance and stopped. Cheriot, arms crossed, watched him for a moment, then turned and picked up the suitcase Yuri had left by the table with a casual flick. It had seemed quite heavy, but he handled it as if it were a paper bag.

“I forgot to settle the expenses.”

Following that, a heavy thud echoed through the room. While Heather shifted restlessly, watching him, Cheriot unzipped the suitcase and pulled out his wallet. Opening the clearly expensive leather wallet, he took out a stack of bills.

“Here. Take it. For the hotel.”

So that’s what he meant by expenses—the hotel costs Yuri had covered. Yuri slowly stared at the stack of money Cheriot held out. The brown, transparent hundred-dollar bills were clearly more than twenty in number. It far exceeded the amount Yuri had paid for the room.