Chapter 37 Chapter 37

Chapter 37 Chapter 37
Valentina

I don't know why Lucien was angry. He has no right to be.

It was already afternoon, sunlight spilling through the window of my hotel room as I stood in front of the mirror, fastening my earrings with slower movements. I'd been getting ready for nearly thirty minutes, yet my mind hadn't been here at all.

It was still in that conference room. Still with Lucien. The way he leaned in yesterday. The way his voice dropped. The way my heart nearly betrayed me when he got close enough for me to feel his breath.

And the way I turned my face. I paused, meeting my own eyes in the mirror.

Did I want him to kiss me? Yes. God, yes.

I wanted it. I wanted him. The intensity in his gaze. But wanting something and acting on it are two very different things.

We're not reckless. We were in a hotel his father owns. A conference floor prepared for executive meetings. Cameras could be anywhere. Staff loyal to Ambrose could review footage at any time.

One impulsive second and everything could collapse.

And then what? Ambrose seeing it. The humiliation.

I exhaled slowly and reached for my heels.

I am his father's wife. The title feels heavier here in Amsterdam. More suffocating.

Even if my marriage to Ambrose has always felt more contractual than romantic. Even if Lucien makes my pulse race in ways his father never has. Even if being near him feels dangerously natural.

Desire cannot be allowed to ruin me. Or him.

That's why I moved. Not because I didn't want him. Because I did.

I slipped on my heels and straightened. 

During breakfast too Lucien had ignored me when Ambrose excused himself to take a call. Leaving me and Lucien at the table.

I thought we would talk. Instead, he barely looked at me.

He stirred his coffee like it required his full concentration. Checked his phone. Answered my attempts at conversation with short, polite responses.

If he's angry because I stopped him, he needs to understand it wasn't rejection. It was restraint.

And now, I'm standing here preparing for a meeting Ambrose insists I attend... a meeting he still hasn't explained.

"You'll understand later," he told me.

Well, later is here. And I still have no idea why I'm involved. Why bring me to Amsterdam for this?

I grabbed my clutch from the dresser and took one last look at myself in the mirror.

Composed. Exactly how I needed to be.

I walked to the door, opened it and stepped into the hallway, pulling it shut behind me with a soft click and froze.

Lucien's door was just closing too. For a brief second, neither of us moved. He looked freshly put together dark suit, crisp shirt, expression carefully neutral.

But his eyes. His eyes weren't neutral. They locked onto mine and held. Something unreadable flickered there. Frustration. Conflict. Maybe even regret.

I didn't look away. Instead, I walked toward him.

"Were you planning on not speaking to me the whole day?" I asked once I stood in front of him.

His jaw shifted slightly. "I have nothing to say."

A short, controlled answer. I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Really? That's how we're doing this now?"

He slid his hands into his pockets, posture straightening. 

"I'm not doing anything," he said evenly.

"You ignored me at breakfast."

"I was busy."

"With what? Stirring your coffee?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You're overthinking it."

"Oh, I am?" I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Because it felt very deliberate."

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"You're the one who pulled away," he said quietly. "What exactly did you expect?"

There it was.

I inhaled sharply. "I expected you to understand why."

"I understand," he replied, but his tone suggested otherwise. "You made your choice."

"My choice?" I stared at him. "Lucien, we were in a conference room in your father's hotel. What did you want me to do?"

His voice dropped. "Don't act like you didn't want it."

"I never said I didn't."

For a split second, something in his expression shifted. Then hardened again.

"That doesn't change anything," 

"No," I replied, my voice tightening. "It doesn't. Because whether we want it or not, I am still married to your father."

He looked away first this time.

"And that's exactly the problem," he muttered.

Before I could respond, footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway.

One of the hotel staff turned the corner, clipboard in hand, walking toward the elevators.

Instinctively, Lucien's posture changed. So did mine.

I straightened, smoothing down my dress.mLucien had been the one angry yesterday. Now it was my turn.

If he wanted to act cold and wounded because I chose not to ruin both of us in a room full of cameras, fine.

I stepped back.

"You don't get to act this way just because I was being careful," I said quietly.

Then I walked past him. My heels echoed sharply against the floor as I headed toward the elevator, toward the conference room, toward whatever Ambrose had planned. And I didn't look back. Let him follow. Or don't.

I pushed open the door to the boardroom. The room was already half-occupied, the large table lined with men and two women, all dressed, exchanging quiet greetings. The atmosphere hummed with quiet authority, the sort of energy I'd always associated with Ambrose's gatherings controlled, precise, and quietly tense.

"Come, Valentina," Ambrose's voice called, smooth and commanding. I moved forward, feeling every eye in the room settle on me.

He gestured to the chair beside him. "This is my wife," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I gave a polite smile, careful not to seem uncomfortable. "I'll do my best," I said softly.

A man near the table inclined his head slightly. "We'll see how you handle this," he said, neutral but with an undertone that set my nerves on edge. The two women exchanged glances but said nothing, quietly folding their hands on the table.

I settled into my seat, hands in my lap, adjusting my posture. Ambrose seemed perfectly at ease, giving nothing away, as though this introduction was just part of the plan.

The door opened again. Lucien stepped in.

Our eyes met across the room. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I quickly looked down at the table. Ambrose cleared his throat, bringing the room to focus.

"Alright," he began, "As you all know, the Amsterdam branch has been handling European imports and logistics for the past six months. We've seen some inefficiencies, and we need to streamline operations."

A man with sharp features and a briefcase nodded. "Yes, Chairman. Specifically, we need to ensure the southern routes are utilized efficiently to minimize inspections and reduce delays at customs. It's a matter of timing shipments to avoid regulatory hold-ups."

Another added, "We also need to review the movement of our staff to ensure the teams are in place before arrivals. Certain shipments particularly high-value items require discretion."

I frowned slightly, trying to follow. Staff...? High-value items?

Ambrose continued, unbothered by my confusion. "We're here to make sure our European operations are seamless. I expect proposals for optimizing the import flow, reducing customs risk, and coordinating logistics with local partners."

The discussion moved quickly, names of ports, cargo codes, and shipping lanes flying over the table. I tried to focus, but half of it sounded like a foreign language. My eyes drifted toward Lucien, noting how naturally he followed, contributing points that no one else seemed to catch, corrections offered with the faintest edge of a warning.

"...and the girls will be transported via the southern warehouse, using the secondary exit to avoid routine inspections," 

Girls. Transported. Secondary exit.

My pulse spiked. "Excuse me. I... I don't understand. When you say '
girls, are you talking about... real people? Human beings?"

All eyes turned to me.

He remained calm, adjusting his cufflinks. "Valentina, please let them finish. This is part of the operation."

A man sitting across from me, clearly frustrated, shot Ambrose a pointed look. "You didn't explain this to her. You never told her how the European operations really work."

I felt Lucien's eyes on me again, sharp and alert. Protective. But I didn't dare meet him fully, afraid my fear and disbelief would betray me.

My mind raced. This... this sounds like trafficking. Human trafficking. I had been brought here without understanding why, forced into a meeting discussing moves that could ruin people's lives. And yet, Ambrose sat there, calm, authoritative, like it was all perfectly normal.

The man continued, oblivious to my panic. "...and with the girls' arrival synchronized with the shipment schedules, inspections can be minimized. Local authorities will be circumvented through existing permits and strategic personnel placement."

I swallowed, gripping the edge of the table, heat rushing to my face. This was worse than I'd imagined. I clenched my fists under the table, trying to steel myself. I needed to ask questions. I needed clarity. And I needed to survive this room without breaking.



I followed Ambrose down the corridor towards his room. Ambrose stepped inside and I followed suit, the door shutting behind us. He turned abruptly, and his eyes locked onto mine.

"Are you out of your mind?!" His voice cut through the room like a whip.

I froze, startled not by his anger, which I'd always known could intimidate but by the raw, almost feral intensity of it this time. He was shouting, his arms tense at his sides, his usual calm authority replaced with something... sharper, more dangerous.

"You embarrassed me! In front of my partners! My associates! Do you know what you made me look like? A fool!"

I swallowed. My pulse spiked. "Sir, I... I had to know. I couldn't just sit there. You're talking about... transporting girls. Innocent girls. How can this be... acceptable?"

He slammed a hand onto the table near the door, his other hand gripping the edge as if to steady himself. "That," he barked, "is business! That is how we operate! That is how deals are made!"

I shook my head, my stomach twisting. "That is not business. That is... wrong. You're using people—innocent girls! I can't—"

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he was so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. "You are married to me! Your father gave you to me! You will do as I say! This isn't a conversation!"

I stepped back, my chest tight, voice trembling. "I... I'm sorry, but I cannot go ahead with this. I cannot just watch it happen. If those women in the ballroom cannot speak, then I will. I will talk."

His nostrils flared. Then, for the first time, he stepped toward me and grabbed my hand hard, commanding. My body went rigid with fear. The look in his eyes... it was something I had never seen before.

"You will do as I say," he growled, his grip unyielding. "That is your role as my wife. Now. Get out!"

Fear gripped me like icy chains. My chest felt tight. My legs refused to move for a second, my mind whirling with everything I had just witnessed.

I finally mustered out and rushed out. Once inside my room, I let it close behind me with a quiet click that sounded far too loud.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, heels discarded, and gripped my hair with both hands. My head throbbed. Thoughts collided violently:

What exactly has my father put me into? What am I? Just a pawn in this world? How can Ambrose... how could he think this is acceptable?

I pressed my face into my palms, nails digging into my skin. The headache hit hard, a mix of stress, fear, and disbelief.

I could feel the weight of the hotel around me the luxury, the security, the quiet corridors and yet, for the first time since arriving, I felt trapped. Not by walls or doors, but by what I'd just discovered, and by the man who held such terrifying power over me.

I held my head tighter, willing the thoughts to stop, but they wouldn't. They kept spinning.

What am I supposed to do now? How do I survive this without losing myself... without losing everyone else?

The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in. And all I could do was grip my hair, close my eyes, and try to steady my shaking body.