Chapter 47 - Echoes of the Past
Sunday morning brought a gentle rain that tapped a soothing, rhythmic cadence against the glass dome of the penthouse greenhouse. I sat in a deep velvet armchair with a cashmere throw over my knees, flipping through the unread pages of a rare first-edition volume on maritime law—purely for pleasure, not strategy.
Victor entered the room carrying two steaming porcelain cups of coffee, setting one on the side table before settling into the matching chair opposite me.
"Penny for your thoughts," he said quietly, watching the raindrops streak down the windowpane.
"I was thinking about the girl in the kitchen three years ago," I said, my voice barely audible over the hum of the indoor fountain. "The one who thought cleaning silver and dodging debt collectors was the hardest thing the world could throw at her."
Victor’s expression softened, the hard lines of the ruthless strategist melting into something intensely tender. "She didn't know then that she was forging the blade that would eventually carve out an empire."
"She was terrified," I admitted, looking down at my hands—the skin smooth now, the scars of the old days long since faded, though the memory of the pain remained etched in my mind like stone. "Every morning was a calculation of how to survive until nightfall."
"And now?" Victor asked, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
May you like
"Now," I smiled, looking up to meet his gaze with absolute serenity, "she doesn't have to calculate anything at all. The world belongs to us, and I have the only man in it who was ever strong enough to stand beside me at the summit."
Victor stood up, walked over to my chair, and extended a hand. "Come with me."
