Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine
ELEVEN MONTHS AGO

The holiday season had always been beautiful in Zürich, but this year it felt like a soft exhale. The office had slowed to a luxurious pace. I had taken over the handling of the Christmas gifts for our highest profile clients, a tradition that carried more weight than most would imagine. Each gift was curated with precision, from limited edition watches to handcrafted wines flown in from Tuscany, because for people like ours, thoughtfulness still mattered, even when it was wrapped in luxury.

Our building twinkled with the subtle glow of white and gold lights. The scent of pine lingered faintly in the hallways, blending with the warm undertone of roasted coffee and leather. My heels clicked softly against the marble as I walked past Marianne's desk, humming to myself.

Life with Niklath was calm. It was steady. It was great. Sometimes I caught myself waiting for the storm Angelica promised. The so called trap she had smugly spoken about. But nothing ever came. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and I tucked the recordings of her and Polenya away in a private folder on a flash drive that lived in the bottom drawer of my desk but I also had the original recordings on my iPhone. Niklath wanted to deal with them long ago, to expose everything. I had asked him to wait. When the time is right, I had said. And he had listened. For me.

"Remind me again why we are personally signing over five hundred holiday cards?" Niklath asked one evening as he poured us both a drink in the lounge beside my office. His tie was already loosened, and he had that look in his eyes, the one he reserved for when he had finally relaxed.

"Because handwritten notes matter," I said, smirking as I accepted my glass. "Even billionaires like to feel special."

He gave me a look that could melt ice. "I think you enjoy tormenting me."

I laughed and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "That's entirely possible."

December passed without incident, but four months ago, the storm came. It was not the trap Angelica had bragged about. It was her own doing. One of our biggest shipping clients, a French-Algerian magnate named Monsieur Rachid Ben Karim, known for his shipping empire and his glamorous younger wife, found himself splashed across tabloids after being caught leaving a hotel in Milan with none other than Angelica.

The story broke on a Tuesday morning. Marianne came in with her usual stack of briefings and a newspaper folded oddly. "You might want to see this," she said, laying it flat on my desk. I looked down. There was Angelica, wearing what appeared to be one of Polenya’s vintage coats, trying to shield her face from the camera.
The headline read: "Heiress or Homewrecker? Zürich's New Scandal."

I did not even react. I simply turned the page and reached for my espresso.

Niklath, on the other hand, was livid when I finally informed two days later. 

"This is the kind of attention we have spent years avoiding. We have always kept our family name free from bad press," he snapped later that morning as he paced my office. "One more tabloid headline and our brand will be synonymous with trashy scandals instead of international logistics excellence."

"She is not even supposed to be in Milan," I said calmly. "Let alone tangled up with a married client of ours, meaning she started this affair when she was working here."

"She needs to go," he muttered. "Far and fast."

"Already handled," I replied with a small smile. "My father had her sent to France the moment just yesterday. Told her to lay low until the press forgets."

Niklath stopped pacing. "You knew?"

"I may have nudged Alèyne to show him the articles. And she may have left them by his breakfast tray."

He stared at me. I shrugged innocently. There was silence for a beat, and then we both laughed.

"I have never adored you more," he said.

My heart palpitated real fast. I leaned across the table and whispered, "Careful, you have never said that before."

He narrowed his eyes but his mouth twitched.

"What was the official excuse?" he asked.

"Spa retreat. Nervous exhaustion. You know, the usual 'my crystal healer told me to disconnect from my aura' sort of excuse."

Niklath chuckled. "You really are evil sometimes."

"Only to those who deserve it," I replied, sipping my espresso.

It felt good. I would not lie. After all the insults Polenya had thrown my way. After Angelica's threats, her taunts, her obsession with taking Niklath from me. Watching her slither away to France in shame while we sent out champagne gift baskets was nothing short of satisfying.

"What do you think Polenya is telling her now?" I asked, stretching my legs out on the chaise in his office.

He leaned against the desk, arms folded. "Probably blaming you, calling you a witch, and reminding Angelica that men are weak but reputations are forever."

I rolled my eyes. "I hope she has to drink lukewarm chamomile tea in that French château for the next six months while staring at pictures of us in the society pages."

Niklath raised his glass. "To lukewarm tea."

We clinked.

The rest of the office was quiet that afternoon. The scandal would eventually fade from the headlines in a few weeks, but the dent it left in Angelica's image was irreversible. Her reputation among our clients from when she worked in the company was already fragile and had taken a hit. Internally, people were whispering. And Niklath made sure the board was well aware that she would not be returning in any official capacity. So this new scandal was definitely the final straw for her ever trying to have anything to do with Moreaux-Varyn Maritime.

"She wants to be the queen," I said one evening as I curled up beside him. "But she is still learning how to play the game."

He looked at me and kissed the top of my head. "And you? You do not need a crown. You already rule the board."

That night, wrapped in his arms, my body still trembling from the intensity of our lovemaking, I stared at the ceiling in breathless silence. His breathing had slowed, his hand resting possessively against my hip, his warmth anchoring me to the present. But something strange stirred in me...a thought, a realisation I could not quite grasp. It came softly at first, then all at once, my eyes flew wide open.