Nicolas had it all mapped out. He had spreadsheets, charts, projections. He had hired consultants who assured him that with this level of investnt, he could cripple the Moretti empire within two years. Two years, and Leo would be begging for rcy. Two years, and Nicolas would be the most powerful man in the city.
He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city below. Sowhere out there, Leonardo Moretti was probably sitting in his office, thinking he was untouchable. Thinking he had won. Thinking that Nicolas was just a minor annoyance, a bug to be swatted away.
Nicolas’s smile widened.
Leonardo didn’t know what was coming. He didn’t know about the investor. He didn’t know about the deal. He didn’t know that in a few hours, Nicolas would have the resources to destroy everything he had built.
And once he had the money, once he had the power, he could finally get what he really wanted.
Hazel.
He wanted to marry her. And if he didn’t marry her... His eyes flashed with sothing dark. Guilt, maybe. Or obsession. Either way, once she married him, he would be guilt free.
He turned away from the window and glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen more minutes, and the investor would walk through that door. Fifteen more minutes, and everything would fall into place.
He walked to the door of his office and yanked it open. His employees were scurrying around, preparing the conference room, setting out refreshnts, checking the projector, the speakers, the microphones.
"Everything needs to be perfect," Nicolas barked, his voice echoing through the hallway. "I want the conference room immaculate. I want the presentation ready. I want the caterers to bring out the best champagne. Nothing less than perfect."
His assistant nodded frantically and ran off to double-check everything.
Nicolas smoothed his tie, adjusted his cuffs, and checked his reflection in the glass of a nearby painting. He looked good. Professional. The blue suit was expensive, tailored to fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His hair was styled perfectly, not a strand out of place.
He was ready.
He walked to the conference room and stood at the head of the table, looking out at the empty chairs where the investor and his team would soon be sitting. The table was polished to a high shine, the crystal glasses sparkling, the silverware gleaming. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat in the center, adding a touch of elegance.
Nicolas smiled.
He glanced at his watch again. Ten minutes.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. A ssage from his assistant confirming that the investor’s car had been spotted entering the city. He was close.
Nicolas took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders back, and lifted his chin.
This was it.
He was about to change everything. And Leonardo Moretti wouldn’t even see it coming.
---
However, after a long ti, no one ca.
The conference room was silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of traffic from the street below. Nicolas stood by the window, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. The polished table glead under the fluorescent lights. The champagne sat in its bucket, slowly warming. The flowers drooped slightly, their petals beginning to curl at the edges.
He checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes past the scheduled ti.
His heart had started to pound sowhere around the ten minute mark. At first, he told himself it was nothing. Traffic. A wrong turn. The inevitable delays that ca with navigating a foreign city. He called his assistant, who assured him that the investor’s car had been caught in congestion near the bridge. Nothing to worry about.
Nicolas sighed in relief, loosening his tie, telling himself to be patient. This deal was too important to ruin with impatience. He poured himself a glass of water, took a sip, and waited.
Twenty minutes passed.
Thirty minutes.
The ice in the champagne bucket had lted. The flowers looked sad. Nicolas’s face had gone from confident to confused to sothing darker.
He called his assistant again. "Where are they?"
"Still in traffic, sir. The bridge is backed up. They’re moving, but slowly."
Nicolas’s jaw tightened. "How long?"
"Maybe another twenty minutes."
He hung up without responding. Twenty more minutes. He could wait. He had waited months for this deal. What was twenty more minutes?
He paced the conference room. He checked his phone. He adjusted his tie. He looked at his reflection in the dark screen of the television mounted on the wall.
Forty minutes.
Fifty.
An hour.
Nicolas’s face had gone from dark to ugly. The veins in his neck stood out. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His employees, who had been hovering nervously in the hallway, had retreated to their desks, afraid to make eye contact.
He stord out of the conference room, his shoes clicking angrily against the polished floor.
"Where are they?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the office. "Soone tell where they are!"
His assistant, a young woman with wide eyes and trembling hands, held up her phone. "They said they’re almost here, sir. Just a few more minutes."
"A few more minutes? I’ve been hearing ’a few more minutes’ for an hour!"
He grabbed a vase from a nearby table. An expensive piece, crystal, a gift from a business associate. He hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces, shards of glass raining down on the carpet.
The office went silent. No one moved. No one breathed.
Nicolas stood in the middle of the chaos, chest heaving, face red, hands shaking.
His assistant’s phone buzzed. She looked down, her eyes widening.
"Sir," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "They’re here. The car just pulled into the garage."
Nicolas’s head snapped toward her. His eyes were wild, desperate, hopeful all at once. "They’re here?"
She nodded.
"Then clean this up!" he shouted, gesturing at the shattered vase. "Clean it up now! I need everything perfect! I need—"
An employee rushed forward with a broom, but in his hurry, he stepped on a shard of glass, slipped, and put his hand down to catch himself. His palm landed on a large piece, and blood imdiately began to pool between his fingers.
He cried out, stumbling backward, his face pale.
Nicolas stared at him, then at the blood on the carpet, then at the ss still scattered across the floor. His hands went to his hair, pulling at the strands.
"Fix it!" he scread. "Soone fix it!"
Employees scrambled, grabbing towels, first aid kits, more brooms. The injured man was led away, his hand wrapped in a makeshift bandage. The glass was swept up, though small shards still glittered in the carpet. The blood was dabbed at, though a faint stain remained.
Nicolas didn’t notice any of it. He was already rushing toward the elevator, straightening his tie, smoothing his hair, trying to compose himself.
The investor was here. The deal was about to happen.
Nothing else mattered.
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