KURTIS

Power is everything. People say money can't buy happiness, yet they wake up at the crack of dawn and retire late at night just to chase it. To me, money is everything, and I hate any fool who thinks otherwise. Try messing with it, and you're out. I don’t care what others think. I have a goal, and I am determined to reach it. I must reach it.

Just the image of my so-called father, lounging in his executive chair at Bianco Jewelry Enterprises—one of the largest jewelry manufacturing industries across East Africa—makes my blood boil. Especially with that woman beside him. Sitting in the seat that once belonged to my mother.

Deep sigh.

I will destroy it all. Even if I have to defile logic itself.

There’s a deal. The Grand Gold Gala Awarding ceremony. Being his son gives me an advantage—a direct pass to acquire an even stronger ally and join the Cardinal Seven, the elite power circle he’s part of. They gave me two conditions. First, get married. Second, win the GGG. I have to produce the rarest jewelry ever created.

Currently, the Queen’s Maker holds the title. My late mother’s design. The masterpiece that set Bianco at the top of the food chain. Fortunately, I have secured a bride. Maybe not in the most conventional way, but all they need to see is a woman by my side. That’s it.

A sigh leaves my lips as I gaze down at the busy streets of Nairobi. The city is still alive, even past ten. Just then, the door creaks open, and Fedrick steps in, still carrying the tension from yesterday’s outburst. I might have gone overboard, but his incompetence earned it. A stupid bride who ran away at the last minute? Unacceptable.

“Sir, she arrived home safely,” he reports, his voice careful, calculated.

I say nothing, and he quickly hands me a brown envelope. “That’s all I could find about her.”

I tear it open and pull out her resume. Evelyn Ateya Wangari. Born September 14, 2000. So, she’s twenty-four. Dead mother. Father remarried. Currently employed at…

“So she truly works in Jade Enterprises?” I mutter.

“Yes. I also discovered she was involved in the Black Dessert design.”

I pause. “The one Antony was raving about?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought it was some guy… what was his name? Some biblical name.” I search my mind, then snap my fingers. “Daniel Githenji.”

“That’s him.”

“Huh. Parents still name their kids like that?”

Fedrick clears his throat. “Yeah, right, sir.”

“That was rhetorical.”

“Sorry, sir.”

I flip to the final pages, where sketches of her designs are neatly presented. My fingers drum against the desk. "Look into this Daniel guy. Something about this doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t want irrelevant insects crawling into the boardroom. The executives will be my greatest weapon against my father, and I intend to wield them wisely."

"Understood, sir. Right away." Frederick bows his head slightly before slipping out, closing the door softly behind him.

Evelyn Ateya Wangari. The name lingers in my mind. A unique name. An intriguing woman. My gaze falls to her photograph, studying the angles of her face.

For a marriage of convenience, she is almost too perfect. A delicate face, curves in all the right places, the kind of woman any man would be proud to have on his arm. Back in my college days, she would have been my type. But that was before. Before I learned that love is nothing but a game of betrayal, and the only real currency in life is power. Now, I stick to arrangements with no strings attached—mostly one-night stands. Marriage? A ridiculous notion. If not for this contract, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

Still, I can’t deny securing a woman of her caliber is a fortunate twist. First impressions are everything. And she will serve her purpose.

I lean back, pressing the intercom button. "Juliet."

The door opens moments later, and my secretary steps in hesitantly. "You called for me, sir?"

"How is the meeting arrangement coming along?" I ask, voice calm but laced with an unspoken warning.

She fidgets slightly before answering. "Um… Mr. Antony just went to check on it, sir."

I still. Then slowly, deliberately, raise my gaze to meet hers. "Is Antony my secretary now?"

Her eyes widen. "N-No, sir. I-I just meant—"

"Should I call him, then? See if he wants your job?"

Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. "I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll check on it immediately."

I exhale sharply, shaking my head. "Never mind. Let this be the last time. The next time I ask about my schedule and you mention Antony’s name instead of answering me directly, it will be your last day here."

She remains silent, hands clutching the fabric of her blouse. Good. She understands.

"You are my personal secretary, not Antony’s. Remember that. Or I might decide I don’t need you at all."

"I understand, sir. I sincerely apologize."

"Just don’t make the same mistake again. Know your place. Know your priorities."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"You may leave."

She doesn’t wait to be told twice, practically scurrying out of the room. I let out a breath, rubbing my temple.

Some people need constant reminders of where they stand. And I have neither the time nor patience for incompetence.

With a final glance at Evelyn’s file, I close the folder.

The game has just begun.

 And I am determined to win.

***

At the boardroom.

I was seated at the head of the table, the boss’s chair—a throne of black leather and steel, commanding the room effortlessly. Antony sat to my right, his P.A. poised beside him, while Juliet stood beside me, still trembling as she arranged the documents for the presentation. The air was thick with expectation.

Then, the doors swung open, and four figures strode in. She is first.

Evelyn Wangari led the way, her every step exuding control. She was dressed in the kind of attire only the rich and powerful could pull off—an elegant, cream-colored pantsuit that hugged her frame with meticulous precision. The tailored white blouse beneath it was crisp, its high collar adding to her aura of absolute refinement. The coat, matching her pants perfectly, fell just below her hips, its clean lines a testament to the precision of high-end Korean fashion. Her hair was styled into a sleek chignon, revealing pearl earrings that shimmered with the slightest movement. She was the epitome of poised sophistication.

Beside her, Daniel Gethinji walked with calculated ease, the weight of his reputation making him seem untouchable. The remaining two—Serena and Victor—followed closely, the tension between them unspoken but present. Jade Jewelry had always operated on internal rivalry, and this was no exception.

Evelyn stopped at the head of the table, her gaze level. “Hello. I’m Evelyn Wangari, and my partner is Daniel Gethinji, the co-producer of Black Dessert.” Her voice was precise, perfectly measured. Not too melodic, not too mechanical—just enough smoothness to make her words carry weight. The kind of voice that made you listen.

I leaned forward slightly as she placed the design in front of me. My fingers traced the edges of the necklace.

“The uniqueness of this necklace,” Evelyn continued, her tone unwavering, “is its color shift. Up close, it appears pitch black, absorbing light. But from a distance, it transforms—charcoal grey, then almost white, depending on the angle. It’s designed to mimic the nature of perception—nothing is truly one color, not under every light.”

Some of the executives nodded, murmuring their appreciation. One leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. “Impressive. What material allows the shift?”

Evelyn smiled, unshaken by the question. “It’s a fusion of hematite and onyx, layered using a specialized vapor deposition technique. The process creates a refractive illusion—what you see depends entirely on how you view it.”

A woman at the end of the table arched a brow. “So it’s all about perspective?”

Evelyn’s lips quirked slightly. “Isn’t everything?”

A few chuckles rippled through the boardroom, but I wasn’t amused. My fingers tightened around the necklace as I studied it again.

I noticed something I shouldn’t have.

Daniel’s hand—brushing against Serena’s under the table. Subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable. My jaw tightened, but I chose to ignore it for now.

“Any questions?” Evelyn asked, standing firm, her presence undiminished by the room’s scrutiny.

Another executive leaned forward. “What inspired this design?”

Evelyn tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile forming. “Ever seen someone go through a breakup?”

The room paused.

“You start with denial. Everything seems dark, impenetrable. But then distance gives clarity—you see things for what they truly are. Colors shift. Black isn’t black anymore; it’s grey, then white. It’s all about perspective.”

Laughter, scattered but genuine, filled the space.

I let them enjoy it for a moment before cutting through. “And you?” I turned to Daniel, my voice cold. “What was your role in all of this?”

Daniel blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I… I supervised and—”

I scoffed, cutting him off. “Supervised?” My tone was sharp, unwavering. “As the group leader, I need to know what you actually contributed. Because supervising isn’t something grand enough to justify your name on this project.”

He hesitated, grasping for an answer that wouldn’t come. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

I exhaled sharply and held up the necklace. Then I chuckled—a dark, humorless sound.

“So this… this is what Jade Jewelry calls a masterpiece?” I mused, my smirk cold. “It’s utter garbage.”

The room went deathly silent.

Evelyn’s jaw tightened, her eyes like molten steel, but she said nothing.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I continued, toying with the necklace in my palm. “I like the concept. That’s all.” I let my smirk drop, my tone turning venomous. “The weight is off. The texture? A complete joke. The pattern? Who the hell was this made for? Some washed-up model? Scratch that, even a washed-up celebrity would look ridiculous in this.”

I let the necklace slip through my fingers, the clatter against the table loud in the oppressive silence.

“I can’t believe you wasted my time with this.”

Evelyn’s knuckles were white against the stack of documents she held, but she remained composed. Barely.

I pushed back my chair and stood. 

“I didn’t buy this wasted-up enterprise so I could entertain such disgusting—” I stop, scoffing before shaking my head, my lips curling into something between amusement and rage. “No, wait. Calling it disgusting is an insult to disgusting. I don’t even have the right fucking word for this abomination you dare to call a design.” My fingers tighten. The silence in the room is suffocating. No one dares to move. No one dares to fucking breathe.

“If this,” I gesture to the so-called masterpiece, my voice cold, lethal, “is what you all consider a design, then quit. Walk the fuck out that door and never step foot in a design firm again. Because of this? This is an insult. To every designer out there, to every artist who’s ever bled for their craft.” My gaze slowly shifts, locking onto Evelyn. She doesn’t back down, her stare sharp, seething, but she doesn’t speak.

I take a step closer, looming over her, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “And more than that—” I pause, letting the weight of my words sink into her bones, “it’s an insult to me.”

The air turns razor-sharp. A single breath too loud could slit throats.

“Get me a perfect design,” my voice is steel, final, ruthless. “A perfect product.” My jaw clenches as I glare down at her. “Or you get the fuck out.”

The room is ice. Tension coils in the air like a storm ready to detonate. No one speaks. No one even fucking twitches.

“Kurtis, chill a bit,” Antony’s voice cuts through, but I barely turn my head.

“Chill?” I laugh, the sound empty, mocking. “You don’t fucking get it.” My eyes flicker across the room, my fury burning into each of them. “I saved all of you. This goddamn company was on the brink of destruction, circling the fucking drain. But my money saved you.” My voice is a growl, my patience obliterated. “You are all sitting here, in your goddamn expensive suits, still employed because of me. And you think I’ll stand here and entertain this?” My finger jabs toward the necklace, my disgust boiling over.

“This pathetic, jumbled, half-assed excuse of a design?” My voice turns razor-edged, each word slicing through the silence. “I’d rather go blind than put my name on something this fucking disgraceful.”

I turn on my heel, my steps measured, final. Then, just as I reach the door, I throw my last command over my shoulder.

“I want a new design in two weeks.” My voice is the sound of a gavel slamming down. “Or your resignation letters on my desk.”

And then, I walk out.