My sister's husband

Elara's POV,

The lobby is massive.

Glass walls stretch endlessly upward, marble floors polished, chandeliers hanging and blinding every eye. Everything about the building screams excess.

Noemi gasps beside me.

“Oh my God,” she says, spinning in a slow circle. “Elara, this place is insane. INSANE. This is the kind of company people sell their souls to work in.”

I glance around once, unimpressed.

“Really?” I murmur. “How nice.”

She doesn’t hear the sarcasm. Noemi rarely does.

I know exactly why this place exists. This building wasn’t constructed for business. It was built for ego.

Anya’s ego.

My sister always loved excess. Loved being seen and loved proving she belonged in rooms she had no business standing in. Of course the Kòrvacs would build something like this for her. A monument to power and possession.

But I applied anyway because it was perfect.

Before I left that life, and disappeared into another country, I knew one thing: the Kòrvacs wanted a marriage contract with the Virellis. And Anya — sweet, cruel Anya — had married the Don himself.

Lucien Kòrvac.

While Noemi gushes about floor-to-ceiling windows and executive elevators, I smile to myself.

“Indeed,” I say. “It's perfect.”

------------

The interview room is even colder than the lobby.

Four people sit across from me. Two women and two men.

One of them doesn’t need an introduction.

Lucien Kòrvac.

Worldwide CEO. Billionaire. Visionary. Public icon. Privately, Don of a Mafia dynasty.

I recognize him instantly. I mean, he has the kind of presence that doesn’t need to announce itself to dominate a room. And fucking hell, he is handsome.

He doesn’t look at me, not really. His gaze skims me for barely three seconds before shifting away, as though I’m as interesting as a sock.

That infuriates me more than it should.

I straighten my spine.

I’m here for the Sales Manager position, and my résumé is flawless. The years of experience, metrics that speak louder than charm and results that can’t be argued with.

All they needed now was my oral professionalism.

The questions come quickly.

Market expansion strategies. Client retention. Risk mitigation. Leadership philosophy.

I answer calmly, precisely and wisely. I watch the panel exchange glances and know they are impressed. Engaged, even.

Lucien just remains silent, detached and uninterested. Until the last question.

“All right,” one of the women says, smiling politely. “One final question.”

“Our European expansion is underperforming. Revenue is stable, but client retention dropped 17% in six months. Marketing says pricing and finance says logistics. But I don’t care who’s right. If I gave you ninety days, what would you fix first?”

All of them look at me, expectant. I know they're testing my strategic thinking and forcing me to pick a side. I calmly inhale and answer,

“None of those.”

Lucien looks up, they exchange looks. So I explain.

“You don’t have a pricing problem. You have a trust gap. Your sales cycle is too short for your product value, and your representatives are closing deals before relationships form. Clients don’t leave because it’s expensive, they leave because they feel sold to, not partnered with.”

A pause.

“I’d slow the process down.”

They start murmuring. That's an insane answer but I and they knew it works.

“Slower means less revenue.” I look Lucien who replied. His voice.

“Only short-term. In six months, your referrals double and your churn halves.

Right now, you’re winning contracts but you’re losing loyalty.”

“If you're wrong, it's on you, Solis.” Lucien leans forward, his eyes cold and indifferent.

I answer, “I wouldn't have answered if I wasn't so sure”

“Where did you learn that?” he asks and I roll my eyes inwardly.

“I study a lot,” I say smoothly. “And I’m good at what I do. Not to brag.”

“And yet,” he replies flatly, “here you are, doing just that.”

I bite my tongue, hard. How childish.

Instead of snapping, I laugh lightly, like he’s made the funniest joke in the room. He narrows his eyes, studying me. Finally he says, dismissively.

“You’ll do.”

You'll do?!

Like I’m a chair or…or something he picked off a shelf to fill space in his palace.

Anya truly was his perfect match.

--------------

I resume work the following week.

And immediately, I begin.

I move through the company like a quiet storm. Redirecting resources, reassigning budgets, and dissolving contracts under the guise of restructuring.

Their money disappears and information leaks. Partnerships crumble and no one suspects a thing.

Because I’m excellent at my job.

I lead flawlessly. My team respects me. And I deliver results just enough to keep the company standing while bleeding it.

I don’t waste words and don’t soften reprimands. I don’t pretend to care because I didn't.

I was aware people called me stoic, controlled and upright. But I was efficient.

I let the company rot while ensuring it never fully collapses.

During one meeting, I pass by a group of coworkers whispering near the glass corridor.

“They say the CEO’s furious,” one of them murmurs.

“Someone’s been leaking information,” another adds. “Stealing. Big amounts.”

I smile inwardly, but then stop and turn to them.

“How about instead of worrying about useless gossip, you work hard enough that the money being stolen is nothing but a speck of dust.”

They scurry away without a word and I scoff.

If the CEO's running mad, he'd soon hold an investigation.

Except they can never catch me. I'm good at what I do, after all.

-----------------

Rain crashes against the glass and I frown. My car chose today of all days to betray me, sputtering once before dying completely in the parking lot. Camilla is out of town, unreachable, and so I stand by the window, phone pressed to my ear, watching the city blur under sheets of rain.

“Please,” I tell Noemi, keeping my voice even. “Just pick Asher up from school. I’ll owe you.”

There’s a dramatic sigh on the other end. “Elara, you'll owe me big time. BIG. It’s raining like the heavens are angry.”

“I’ll buy you dinner for a month.”

She replies almost immediately. “Say less. I’m on my way.”

I end the call, exhaling softly.

The office is almost empty now so I'm surprised when I hear a voice too close.

“You don’t look like someone who’s married.”

I turn slowly, forcing my expression into something neutral and polite. Lucien Kòrvac stands beside me, hands in his pockets and suit immaculate.

“You don’t even act like a mother,” he adds coolly.

I force a smile so tight it almost hurts.

“Season’s greetings, boss.”

He arches a brow. “It’s the middle of May.”

I lift two fingers in a lazy salute. “I am joyous and filled with festivities all year round.”

For a second, I think I see something flicker across his face—amusement, maybe irritation. But then it’s gone.

“I didn’t see ‘married’ in your status,” he says, eyes dropping briefly to my hand to see it bare. “Or ‘widowed.’”

I follow his gaze before looking back up.

“My husband’s dead,” I lie easily. “Been dead for five years.”

I don’t know what to expect. Sympathy, discomfort, even an awkward apology.

But Lucien gives me none of that. He just grunts, unimpressed, and turns to leave.

Something in me snaps.

“How’s your wife?” I ask instinctively.

He pauses and slowly turns back.

“What do you mean?”

I shrug, light and careless. “As handsome as you are, boss, you don’t expect me to believe you aren’t married.”

I grin so wide and outrageous. He visibly recoils, making me want to laugh at the ridiculousness.

“I’m not,” he says flatly. “Solis.”

Then he walks away.

I stare after him, my jaw tightening. Liar.

That night, his words won’t leave me alone.

I tuck Asher into bed, kiss his forehead, wait until his breathing evens out and open my laptop.

Lucien Kòrvac might've lied. Hell, everyone lies.

But the computer never lies.

And when the truth finally loads onto my screen, my breath catches.

“What the actual fuck…?”