Chapter 53 — Childish Tricks
At the same time, William had just returned home after dinner with Katya.
The phone rang abruptly.
He loosened the top button of his shirt as he crossed the living room and picked up the receiver.
"Hello. Who's this?"
"William. It's me."
Nicole's voice came through the faint crackle of the line—slightly husky, unmistakably magnetic.
"Nicole?"
He raised an eyebrow. A late-night call from her usually meant variables were shifting.
He glanced at the clock. "Calling this late—something wrong?"
"Are you free?"
She paused, tone steady yet edged with quiet insistence.
"Come over."
William's brow tightened slightly.
He had already sent Galina off for the night. Still, Nicole's neighborhood was among the safest in the city. No real security concerns.
"Now?" he asked.
"Yes. Now. Can you?"
For once, beneath her cool composure, there was the faintest trace of urgency.
William nodded to the empty room.
"Give me twenty minutes."
He hung up, grabbed the suit jacket he hadn't yet put away, and slipped it back on.
"You've barely been home five minutes. Leaving already?"
Light footsteps sounded behind him.
Katya emerged from the bedroom.
She had changed out of her sharp business attire and into a soft lavender silk robe. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, softening the edges of her usual icy presence.
"Nicole Kidman. Says it's urgent," William replied casually, adjusting his cuff. "I'll go take a look."
At the mention of that name, Katya's expression sharpened.
"Her again?" She arched a brow, lips curling into a thin, mocking smile. "What now—another creative way to climb into your bed?"
There was unmistakable acidity in her voice.
William shrugged.
"Who knows."
He picked up his car keys. Before Katya could say more, the door clicked shut behind him.
She stared at it for several seconds.
Then muttered under her breath:
"Unbelievable."
She dropped onto the silk sofa with exaggerated force, hugging a cushion, irritation simmering visibly.
---
William, unaware of Katya's mood, drove straight down Sunset Boulevard, the dark sedan slicing through the night.
Twenty minutes later, he stood outside Nicole Kidman's apartment and rang the bell.
The chime echoed softly down the hallway.
Moments later, the heavy wooden door opened inward.
Nicole had clearly prepared.
She wore a pale lavender silk nightgown, the delicate fabric catching the light in a way that suggested more than it concealed. It traced her figure with calculated subtlety—elegant, not vulgar.
"Come in."
She stepped aside, lips curved into a faint smile.
William entered, removing his jacket and hanging it neatly on a brass coat stand.
Inside, Nicole stood by the kitchen island.
Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders as she lifted a crystal decanter, pouring deep red wine into two tulip-shaped glasses with slow, deliberate precision.
The room was dimly lit, warm, intimate.
Whatever this was about, it wasn't accidental.
William stepped closer, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of her hand as he took the swaying glass of red wine.
"A late-night summons like this," he said after a measured sip, his gaze drifting briefly to the lace trim at her neckline, "usually comes with a reason."
Nicole rolled her eyes with theatrical elegance and leaned forward against the island.
"What? Is Mr. William too important now to come over unless it's official business?"
He chuckled softly, tasting the dry tannins lingering on his tongue.
"Not at all. It's just that your… hospitality seems more elaborate than usual."
"Glad you noticed."
Her smile faded slightly as she slid a thick manila envelope out from the shadows of the marble countertop, pressing a manicured finger against its flap.
"I did, however, want to share something with you."
William set his glass down and pulled out the photographs.
High-resolution prints.
They captured him and Galina at the charity gala—arms linked, posture intimate enough to invite speculation.
He studied them for two seconds before the corner of his mouth curved upward.
"Who sent these?" he asked, lifting his eyes to meet Nicole's.
Though in his mind, one particular face had already surfaced.
Tom Cruise.
After all, William had intercepted what was once meant to be Cruise's destined fiancée. If the Hollywood golden boy didn't attempt some petty maneuver, that would've been more surprising.
"I don't know."
Nicole lifted her hands lightly, chin tilting back, appearing both innocent and captivating.
"They were outside my door when I got home. No note. No signature. I have no idea. Do you?"
William didn't answer immediately.
His eyes remained fixed on her face, searching for micro-expressions—any flicker of calculation. With an actress of her caliber, sincerity and performance were separated by the thinnest line.
"I do have a suspect," he said finally, fingers holding the corner of one photo.
Nicole leaned forward, the fragrance of her perfume deepening in the air.
"Who?"
"Tom Cruise."
"Tom?" She blinked, instinctively reacting. "Why would he—"
The sentence died mid-breath.
Memory flooded back: the set of Top Gun. The intensity in Tom's gaze. The near-possessive ambition masked behind charm.
With William's subtle push, the pattern snapped into place.
This wasn't exposure.
It was jealousy.
A man denied, attempting to muddy the waters.
Nicole clicked her tongue lightly, then laughed under her breath.
"Looks like my charm is more troublesome than I realized."
There was unmistakable satisfaction in her eyes—an ego quietly stroked.
She rested her chin on her hands, elbows braced against the marble island, leaning forward just enough for the silk fabric to trace her silhouette more closely.
Tilting her head, she studied William with an almost clinical curiosity.
"What if," she lowered her voice slightly, a teasing edge woven through it, "I hadn't chosen you back then… and had instead fallen into Tom Cruise's arms?"
Her eyes held his steadily.
"Would you have lost your head the way he did? Would you have resorted to something this childish out of jealousy?"