The mid-morning light poured through the tall windows, casting long slants across the boardroom’s polished surface. At the far end, the Salvatierra & Co. crest gleamed on the wall, sharp and golden, like a seal of dominion presiding over the proceedings.

The long table stretched before them—polished wood, dark and gleaming—less a place for conversation than a battlefield where two empires faced each other.

On one side sat Fidel, immovable, a figure of command. To his right, Victoria, her posture composed but her stillness too deliberate, a shield against the weight of the moment. His corporate lawyers occupied the seats beside her, silent and prepared. Sitting on Fidel’s left was his executive assistant, Emilio Vargas, already poised with notes and schedules, and next to him, the Document Controller Manager, Lianne Cortez, hands resting on a neat stack of folders—the arsenal of this war of paper.

Across the table sat Nathaniel, his presence sleek, calm, almost mocking in its ease. To his right was his executive assistant, Clara Mendoza, a woman with sharp eyes already flipping through her tablet, and to his left, his corporate lawyer, stone-faced and unreadable.

Fidel began without preamble.

“Let’s proceed with the signing.”

The lawyers slid the contracts forward, the whisper of paper against wood loud in the silence. Both men scanned the documents with the confidence of those who already knew what they contained.

“Any questions on the terms?” Fidel asked, his voice flat, transactional.

Nathaniel glanced up, lips curving faintly. “No. Everything is acceptable.”

The two men leaned forward and signed, their pens etching their power into permanence. The sound of the strokes echoed like gunfire in the still room.

Then Fidel turned his gaze. “Victoria. As the witness.”

A duplicate was slid toward her. She accepted it, the paper cool beneath her fingertips. Quickly, she skimmed the dense paragraphs, though the words blurred under the weight of the eyes on her—her dad’s expectant, Nathaniel’s calculating. A tightness built in her chest. She registered only two conditions, imprinting them in her mind even as the rest slipped past.

Her hand trembled once, almost imperceptibly, but she forced the motion into control. Seconds dragged, each one stretching, suffocating. At last, she signed.

The DC Manager Lianne gathered the signed originals and tucked them neatly into a folder. Emilio handed out duplicates for counter-signatures. The entire process moved like clockwork—efficient, mechanical, inevitable.

When it was done, Fidel and Nathaniel exchanged a brief, formal handshake. The alliance was sealed.

Victoria lowered her pen, her pulse still thrumming. Only then did it settle over her, heavy and unshakable—she had been nothing more than a bargaining chip in her father’s game, once again.

Once the signing was done, the air in the boardroom softened, masks shifting into the smiles that concluded all great deals. Hands were shaken, words exchanged with measured cordiality, and the entourage began to file out.

In the hallway, Fidel checked his watch, then turned to Victoria.

“Why don’t you and Nathaniel have lunch out?”

There was no room for refusal in his tone. Victoria’s lips curved into a polite smile, though inside, resignation pressed against her ribs.

“Yes, of course.”

Her father’s hand brushed her arm, a gesture almost tender—almost. Then, with his lawyers and Emilio shadowing him, he strode away toward his office, leaving her behind.

Nathaniel lingered a few paces back, speaking in low tones with his lawyer and Clara. Victoria stood by, posture poised, waiting—because that was what was expected of her. Hosting, accommodating—it was always her role. Guests were to be entertained. Clients, appeased. And today, Nathaniel was both.

His gaze flicked toward her, catching her standing there, patient and still. The corner of his mouth tilted. Is she waiting for me? The thought amused him more than he expected. Pausing his conversation, he stepped closer.

“Waiting for me?” His voice dropped, playful and low, meant only for her.

Victoria met his gaze, unflinching.

“It’s almost lunch,” she said, steady but formal. “I’d like to ask you to join me. There’s a fine dining restaurant I know.”

“I didn’t expect you to invite me to a lunch date.” His smirk deepened. “A daring move.”

Her brow lifted, elegant and sharp. “I’m simply being polite to our business partner.”

“Well then,” he drawled, leaning back slightly. “If my fiancée herself is asking me for a lunch date, why would I refuse? Lead the way.”

They entered the elevator together, flanked by Clara and Nathaniel’s lawyer. The mirrored walls reflected them from every angle—an elegant pair, bound by more than just circumstance.

From Nathaniel’s vantage, Victoria looked effortlessly composed. The black tailored blazer cinched neatly at her waist, pleated white cuffs peeking out in a quiet flourish. The pleats continued into a short skirt, precise, understated, balanced perfectly by black stilettos that elongated her frame. At her side, the quilted handbag rested like armor. Her hazelnut-brown hair, parted slightly off-center, cascaded in waves down to her waist.

He shifted subtly closer, the space shrinking between them until he could bend toward her ear. His breath brushed her skin, low enough to sound like an intimate secret.

“Cold as ever. Still tempting. I’m curious which you’ll serve first.”

Her brows lifted slightly; she could feel his words hum against her skin. Didn’t he realize his whispers still carried in the silence of the elevator?

“You’ll see when we get there. They serve the best food,” she replied, her tone clipped and cold.

Nathaniel’s smirk curved slowly, the kind that didn’t need words to disarm—it was all in the intent behind it.

“Oh, I can’t wait to taste what you consider the best.”

The words rolled off his tongue low and deliberate, carrying an undercurrent that felt far too intimate for the elevator’s polite quiet. It might sound like flirtation to others, but to him, it was a deliberate attempt to tease the icy wall she kept around herself.

Victoria caught the danger in his tone, the subtle pull meant to unsettle her. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction; she merely lifted her chin, keeping her eyes on the glowing elevator numbers as if his voice hadn’t just brushed against her skin.