Now it is personal.
I picture Anja’s face, shaken but resilient. The fury that has been simmering since the café incident has crystallized into something colder and far more dangerous.
Fadir wants to play dirty?
He has no idea how thoroughly I will destroy him for it.
***
Fadir’s empire is failing publicly, and the fall is beautiful in its inevitability.
Stock in his legitimate fronts has dropped sharply over the past ten days. Key allies are defecting after we exposed their own dirty deals through carefully placed leaks. His once-feared network now looks increasingly desperate as suppliers demand cash upfront, former associates distance themselves in public statements, and whispers spread through the underworld that Fadir Klem is no longer a man to bet on.
The slow, surgical erosion I have planned for months is finally bearing fruit. No dramatic explosions. No bodies in the street. Just steady, relentless pressure that makes him look weak, unreliable, and finished.
I watch it all from my office at the family compound, the satisfaction tempered by something sharper and more personal than simple victory.
Tonight, we will deliver another public blow.
The high-profile charity event is being held at the Grand Ballroom of the city’s most exclusive hotel. I have chosen the venue deliberately. It’s neutral ground, heavy with press and influential guests, the perfect stage for the next act.
Anja stands beside me in the private preparation room, adjusting the drape of her gown in the full-length mirror.
The dress has been carefully chosen. It's a deep midnight blue, flowing silk that skims her body without clinging. Her pregnancy is now subtly visible with a gentle curve beneath the fabric that only those looking closely will notice. Her long black hair with its auburn highlights is swept up elegantly, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
She looks radiant. Strong.Mine.
“You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.” I step behind her, my hands settling lightly at her waist.
She meets my eyes in the mirror, her gaze steady despite the nerves I can see beneath the surface. “I want to. He needs to see it. I need to see it.”
I nod once and press a kiss to her bare shoulder. My hand slides around to rest briefly over the subtle swell of her stomach, being protective, possessive, and reverent. Then I offer my arm.
We enter the ballroom together.
Heads turn. Cameras flash. The murmur of conversation dips noticeably as we move through the crowd. Anja plays the role with quiet grace, her posture elegant, her smile soft but genuine when she speaks to the right people. I keep every touch calculated yet protective. My hand resting at the small of her back when the photographers close in, guiding her through the room without ever making her feel like a trophy. She leans into the contact just enough to sell the illusion, but I feel the real trust beneath it.
Across the room, from a poorly lit corner, near one of the side exits, Fadir watches.
He stands half-hidden behind a cluster of his remaining associates, but I spot him immediately. His face is twisted with powerless rage as he stares at us. The color has drained from his skin when his gaze drops to the subtle curve of Anja’s belly beneath the silk.
The message is unmistakable: everything he thought he owned has been taken—slowly, painfully, and very publicly. The woman he tried to trap now stands beside his enemy, carrying his child, while his world burns around him.
I meet his eyes across the distance. Hold them. Let him see the calm certainty in mine.
He knows.
My instincts tell me he is planning something desperate, and that it will involve Anja directly. That realization infuriates me more than any business loss ever could. Fadir has already tried to use her past against her. He has sent men to the café where she is having brunch with Arina and Katya. Now he is spreading lies that the child is his. Each new violation stokes the fire that has been building since the moment I pulled her out of that warehouse.
The pregnancy has sharpened my focus to a razor’s edge.
My usual patience now carries a deeply personal fire. Every late-night strategy session with Anja feels heavier. Her sharp insights are still invaluable, and she has an eye for patterns in Fadir’s desperate communications that even Andrei sometimes misses. But her growing vulnerability as the mother of my child makes me want to shield her from the entire world.
I stay one step ahead of Fadir’s moves, tightening the noose with surgical precision: freezing the last of his liquid assets, turning two more key allies with evidence of hisbetrayals, leaking just enough to make his remaining network fracture from within.
But for the first time, the revenge feels secondary.
What matters most is the fierce need to keep Anja and our unborn child safe.
