Alia took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. She smoothed out the oversized shirt, which was now wrinkled and bore the marks of Victor's grip. With the back of her hand, she wiped the beads of sweat from her brow and neck, though the flushed glow on her cheeks and the lingering haze in her eyes were nearly impossible to hide. Victor stood to the side, wearing his signature crooked smirk. He adjusted himself with practiced ease, standing tall and broad-shouldered as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Alia ran her fingers through her messy hair one last time before reaching for the door handle.
Her pulse was still hammering, but she summoned her "Godmother" persona, masking her vulnerability with a cold, regal mask. She turned the lock and opened the door.
Isrovona was standing right there, his expression a mix of suspicion and annoyance. His eyes immediately darted between Alia's disheveled state, Victor's bare chest, and the bitter scent of the burnt coffee filling the air.
Isrovona: (Eyes narrowing) "Was there a war going on in here? The coffee is burnt to a crisp, and both of you look like you've just run a marathon. What exactly is happening?"
Alia paused for a heartbeat, then replied in a calm, steady voice that brooked no further questioning.
Alia: "Sometimes, Isrovona, a kitchen needs more than just fire to keep an empire running. So the coffee burnt—we can make more. But what happens between your father and me is something you aren't quite old enough to understand yet."
Victor stepped up behind her, placing a heavy, possessive hand on her shoulder. His touch radiated dominance.
Victor: (In a deep, stern tone) "Isrovona, spying on the private lives of the heads of this family is a dangerous habit. Go to the drawing room and tell Elina we are coming."
Realizing he had been shut out, Isrovona took one last look at Alia in Victor's big shirt, muttered something under his breath, and walked away. Alia pulled the door slightly shut and turned back to Victor.
Alia: "You see? Everyone knows exactly what's going on; they just don't have the courage to say it."
Victor: "And that, Alia, is exactly where our power lies." Alia walked into the dining room with a chilling confidence, still wearing Victor's oversized shirt. Her hair flowed wildly down her back as she took her seat. Victor sat right beside her, bare-chested and smug, his hand resting possessively on the back of her chair.
The tension at the table was thick. Elina couldn't stop staring at Alia's disheveled yet radiant appearance.
Alia: (Taking a sip of fresh coffee) "You look surprised, Elina. Is there something on your mind?"
Elina: "I... I just didn't expect you to come to breakfast dressed like that."
Alia: "It's Victor's shirt. And just as I rule this empire, I have total claim over everything that belongs to him. Don't ever forget that."
Victor smiled, leaning in to steal a piece of fruit from Alia's plate. They were making a statement—that their bond was untouchable, and their power was absolute.The breakfast table went silent as Alia dropped the bombshell. "My eldest daughter's marriage has been arranged," she stated calmly.
Victor looked up, his gaze intense. "That's big news, Alia. But what does the man do? Does he have what it takes to join this family?"
Alia leaned back, her eyes gleaming. "He is the biggest shipping tycoon in Europe and a titan in the arms trade. More importantly, he is someone I trust. He is ruthless, calculated, and knows the value of blood. He is coming this afternoon. I want him to see that in this house, we don't just rule—we dominate."The peaceful atmosphere of the dining table turned toxic in a heartbeat. A mysterious smile still played on Alia's lips, but every word she uttered pierced Victor's ears like molten lead.Alia calmly took a final sip of her coffee and said, "My eldest daughter's fiancé's name is—Anashia."
The moment the name was spoken, Victor's entire body went rigid. The steel spoon fell from his hand (The spoon fell from his hand), clattering onto the plate with a sharp ring that echoed through the room. Victor's jaw tightened, and his eyes began to burn like coals.
Alia knew exactly what that name meant. Anashia wasn't just a Don or a businessman; he was Alia's ex-boyfriend. He was a chapter from Alia's past that she had buried years ago—or so Victor thought.
Victor: (Gritting his teeth, his voice a low thunder) "Alia! Have you lost your mind? Do you even realize whose name you are mentioning? That man... the one you once..."
Victor couldn't even finish his sentence. He was absolutely furious (Victor got furious). The veins in his neck bulged with rage. Elina and Isrovona shrank back in their seats, terrified by the sheer violence radiating from him. Victor stood up, his massive frame looming over the table like a predator about to strike.
Alia: (Completely unphased) "Yes, Victor, I know exactly who he is. He was my past, but for our present and future, he is our greatest asset. I will not sacrifice my empire for the sake of personal emotions."
Victor: (Slamming his fist onto the table) "I don't want to make a scene in front of everyone, Alia! But if that man's shadow even touches this palace, I will forget whose son-in-law he is supposed to be!"
Victor was trying his best not to lose control in public, but the name "Anashia" was like a hot needle stabbing his ego. The woman he had claimed as his own just this morning in the kitchen was now bringing her former lover into their home as their daughter's husband—it was more agonizing than death for him.
Alia stood up, her 6'2" frame radiating a cold, calm power. She stepped close to Victor, showing no fear.
Alia: (Whispering) "He is coming, Victor. You cannot stop it. Because I closed this deal a long time ago."
Without a word, Victor stormed out of the dining room, fuming with rage. Everyone at the table remained frozen in silence. Victor stopped at the door, his voice cold as ice. "Fine, Alia... I agree. If this is your decision, let Anashia enter this palace as our son-in-law."
He turned around with a predatory glint in his eyes. "But remember—he may enter as a groom, but whether he leaves alive depends on how well he behaves. I want to see how 'durable' your choice really is."
Alia, standing tall in Victor's oversized white shirt, knew this was not a surrender, but a declaration of a new kind of war. Victor leaned in and whispered, "Let him come. I'll welcome him so well he'll forget if he's here for a wedding or his own funeral."