The black silk dress Alaric had left on her bed was a masterpiece of cold elegance. It fit Nyra like a second skin, clinging to every curve she usually hid under her husband's oversized sweaters.
As she walked into the formal dining room, the conversation died instantly.
Alaric sat at the head of the long mahogany table, flanked by three men in sharp grey suits—investors from the Singapore deal. His gaze snapped to her, his glass of red wine pausing halfway to his lips. For a heartbeat, his cold, professional mask faltered, replaced by a raw, predatory hunger he couldn't quite hide.
"Gentlemen," Alaric said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "This is Nyra Solange. My... consultant."
"The widow?" one of the men, a silver-haired shark named Mr. Cheng, sneered. "Alaric, we came here to discuss the Thorne-Vane merger, not to have dinner with a grieving socialite."
Nyra felt the familiar sting of humiliation, but she didn't lower her head. She pulled out a chair directly opposite Alaric. "Actually, Mr. Cheng, you came here to discuss why the Thorne-Vane logistics costs have risen by 12% in the last quarter despite the drop in fuel prices."
The table went silent. Alaric's eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening around his glass.
"What did you say?" Cheng barked.
"I spent the last two hours in Alaric's library," Nyra said, her voice steady and sharp as a scalpel. "Your firm has been 'ghosting' invoices. You're overcharging for shipping and kickbacking the difference into a private offshore account in the Caymans. I've already flagged the discrepancies. If Alaric signs that merger, he isn't buying a partner; he's buying a lawsuit."
Alaric leaned forward, his gaze never leaving Nyra's face. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with a sudden, lethal tension.
"Is this true, Cheng?" Alaric asked. His voice was quiet, but it held the promise of a storm.
"She's lying! She's just a girl playing with numbers!" Cheng stood up, his face turning a mottled red.
"I don't play with numbers, Mr. Cheng," Nyra countered, sliding a printed sheet across the table. "I balance them. And yours are bleeding."
Alaric didn't even look at the paper. He watched Nyra, a dark, twisted pride flickering in his Arctic-blue eyes. He stood up, the sheer power of his presence forcing Cheng to shrink back.
"Get out," Alaric commanded. "My lawyers will be in touch by morning."
As the investors scrambled to leave, the heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving Nyra alone with the beast.
"You went into my private files," Alaric said, walking slowly toward her. He didn't sound angry; he sounded... obsessed.
"You said I was here to work," Nyra replied, her heart hammering against her ribs as he stopped inches away. "I saved you thirty million tonight, Alaric. Consider that a down payment on my soul."
Alaric reached out, his thumb catching a stray tear she hadn't realized had escaped. He didn't wipe it away; he pressed his thumb against her skin, marking her.
"A down payment?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. "Don't be naive, Nyra. Thirty million only buys your father's freedom. Your price... is going to be much, much higher."