Chapter 58
Emily Windsor's POV
I laid out the project's feasibility, projected profit margins, and market outlook point by point.
Every statistic was backed by solid data. Every argument, airtight.
"Most importantly," I emphasized, my gaze sweeping across every face in the room, "this path ensures that every single dollar we earn will be clean, legitimate, and something we can proudly report in our financials. It will bring Victor Group long-term, stable, and respectable growth."
When I finished, the conference room remained silent. But this time, the atmosphere had completely shifted.
I caught several younger executives' eyes lighting up. They exchanged glances, barely containing their excitement and solidarity.
They'd been sick of those shady operations for years—they just hadn't seen a way out.
And I'd just handed them one.
"This is absurd!" Hank finally found his voice. He slammed his hand on the table. "Do you people remember what built the Victor empire? And now we're supposed to go play nursemaid to a bunch of trust-fund brats? We'd be the laughingstock of New York!"
"Laughingstock?" Luke, who'd been silent until now, let out a low, dark chuckle. He rose slowly, walked over to stand beside me, and rested his hand casually on the back of my chair—a protective, possessive gesture.
"Mr. Harris," he said quietly, his voice carrying an undeniable authority, "times have changed. Making clean money? That's what earns respect now."
His eyes traveled across the board members' faces before he delivered his verdict. "Miss Windsor's proposal will move forward immediately. She will have full authority over implementation. Every relevant department will provide unconditional support. Anyone who disagrees—you're welcome to stand with Mr. Harris right now."
No one moved.
Hank stood alone, looking like a relic of a bygone era. His face turned ashen. His credibility, shattered.
I glanced at the man beside me. He wasn't looking at me—his gaze was coolly surveying his business empire.
But the hand resting on my chair? His thumb brushed lightly against my shoulder.
A silent gesture of approval. One only the two of us could understand.
Seeing no one join Hank's protest, Luke gave a curt nod. "This meeting is adjourned."
People began filing out one by one.
We were the last to leave. In the brightly lit hallway, Luke didn't release my hand. Instead, he threaded his fingers through mine one by one, locking them tightly together.
"My weapon," he murmured, looking down at me with eyes that blazed with barely restrained admiration and raw possessiveness—like he was examining his most prized creation. "Even sharper than I imagined."
His unguarded praise felt like a flame brushing against my heart.
"You gave me the opportunity," I said softly.
"No." He shook his head, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of my hand, sending tingles up my arm. "You seized it yourself. Then you turned it into a battlefield. Emily, you were born to stand in rooms like that—commanding attention, respect, and absolute loyalty."
My heart skipped a beat at his words.
He led me straight to the private elevator.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To celebrate." Luke pressed the button for the top floor. The doors slid shut, and in the confined space, his crisp cedarwood scent wrapped around me completely. "For you. And for us."
---
Dinner was at a private restaurant tucked away in a Manhattan penthouse. Tonight, the entire establishment was reserved for just the two of us.
Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed New York's glittering skyline—a river of lights stretching endlessly below, like we were standing above the world itself.
"The owner owes me a favor," Luke said, pulling out my chair with the grace of a medieval aristocrat. "So tonight, we won't be disturbed."
Everything about this was clearly planned. The romantic candlelight. The soft violin music. And those eyes of his, locked on me, never wavering for a second.
I shifted uncomfortably, looking away. It was all too perfect.
Perfect like a carefully choreographed performance—and I was the leading lady he'd placed on a pedestal.
"Still thinking about the meeting?" He seemed to read my mind as he poured wine into my glass.
"I'm thinking Hank won't let this go."
"He wouldn't dare." Luke cut me off, his tone dismissive and certain. "A broken man only licks his wounds in private. He's no longer a threat."
He handed me the glass, his fingertips deliberately grazing my hand. "I'd rather hear about how you came up with that proposal."
I pushed aside the lingering unease and walked him through my thought process.
From analyzing financial statements to assessing legal risks to building an entirely new business model. I spoke with clinical precision. He listened with total focus.
And he didn't just follow—he caught every key point in my proposal and extrapolated even deeper optimizations.
In that pure exchange of strategy and intellect, I almost forgot Professor Douglas's warnings. Almost forgot the terrified German girl.
All I knew was that the man in front of me fit with me.
We were like two puzzle pieces, perfectly aligned. Meant to lock together.
"Emily," he said suddenly, setting down his wine glass. Across the table, he reached for my hand. "You make me feel like I wasted the first thirty years of my life."
His palm was burning hot. In those unfathomable eyes, I saw something I'd never seen before—something almost reverent.
"I've tasted power. I've grown accustomed to solitude," he said slowly, deliberately. "But I never knew what it felt like to fight beside someone. Watching you stand there today, using language even my enemies understood, crushing them without mercy—in that moment, I was jealous. Insanely jealous."
I froze. "Jealous?"
"Jealous of everyone who got to witness your brilliance," he said, his thumb pressing firmly into my palm. His voice turned rough. "And furious with myself for not finding you sooner."
My heart clenched painfully, aching with an almost unbearable sweetness.
The rest of the meal, we didn't talk about work.
He told me stories from his teenage years interning on Wall Street. How he'd overthrown an uncle who tried to use him as a puppet at his very first board meeting.
Those ruthless, cutthroat memories sounded almost casual when he told them—tinged with wry amusement.
I listened quietly, watching candlelight dance across his devastatingly handsome face, watching the way his eyes lit up only for me.
I was completely, hopelessly lost.
By the time we returned to the penthouse, I was pleasantly buzzed—and emotions were running dangerously high.
The moment the door clicked shut, Luke pinned me against it. His scorching kiss came down hard and hungry.
Like he needed to pour out every emotion he'd kept bottled up these past few days.
His tongue swept past my lips, coaxing mine into a slow, consuming dance.