Chapter 34 –

A Few Minutes Later, the Door Knocked

Knock. Knock.

"Come in," Leonel said without turning around.

Jefran entered, still wearing his formal suit, his expression neutral. But Leonel could sense the tension hiding beneath his composed facade.

"What's going on, Brother?" Jefran asked.

Leonel slowly turned his chair, his eyes locking directly onto Jefran.

“Tell me—since when did you think you were important enough to make a decision that involves the lives of dozens of our men... without consulting me first?”

Jefran swallowed hard. “I… I received a proposal from the Balkan group two weeks ago. They promised cheaper supplies and faster shipments. Uncle Dmitri, who has close ties with them, said the partnership would benefit us. So I thought… it was a good move. After all, as your deputy and the acting CEO here, I have the right to make decisions.”

“The right?” Leonel’s tone sharpened. “Jefran, I’m the director here. Everything—no matter how small—should go through me. Why didn’t you bring this to me first?”

Jefran felt the pressure from Leonel’s gaze and voice—it was cold and unrelenting.

“This was my first major project, and I thought I’d found the right investors,” Jefran replied, still standing by his choice.

Leonel leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. His eyes were piercing, like a blade. His voice was calm, but the coldness in his tone made the air around them feel icy.

“Jefran,” he said quietly. “Do you think this is a game? This isn’t some campus startup you run with idealistic nonsense. This is Clovies. One wrong move here doesn’t just cost money—it costs lives.”

Jefran opened his mouth, but Leonel raised a hand to silence him.

“Uncle Dmitri?” Leonel repeated with a hint of scorn. “He might be our father’s brother, but he’s also the same man who once sold our internal data to the Valchev family—back when you were still messing around with fake stocks. And you trust him?”

“He said it was safe,” Jefran murmured, his voice shrinking.

Leonel stood up, slowly walking around the desk until he stood directly in front of his brother.

“Listen to me carefully,” he whispered. “If you ever make a major decision again without my approval, Jef... I don’t care that you’re my brother. I’ll treat you like any other threat—and I will deal with you like I would any traitor. Do you understand?”

Jefran lowered his head, lips pressed together. “Why can’t you ever be on my side? Uncle Dmitri regrets what he did, and he’s helping me land a project. That’s what Dad always expected of me. Do you think it’s easy being the one constantly compared to you? What’s wrong with me wanting to prove myself? I can be like you. I can run this company.”

Leonel froze.

For a moment, silence filled the room. Only the faint ticking of the wall clock could be heard, echoing through the growing tension.

Then Leonel let out a long, heavy sigh. His eyes stayed fixed on his brother—but now, there was something else behind that cold stare. Still sharp, still unyielding… but there was a glimmer of old wounds that had never fully healed.

“I don’t need you to be like me, Jefran,” he said softly, though the words struck like a sledgehammer. “And Dad… he never wanted you to become me. He just wanted you to be someone he could trust.”

Jefran frowned, the emotions still churning inside him. “Then why do you always control everything? Why do you take over every time I try to build something? You always treat it like a threat.”

Leonel stepped even closer, now just inches from Jefran. His face was stony.

“Because this isn’t about ego, Jefran. It’s about lives. And as long as you act recklessly, as long as you care more about proving yourself than protecting this family... you’re not a leader.”

His voice was flat, but it hit Jefran like a blow to the chest.

“If you want respect, stop begging for recognition. Do things right. Prove yourself—not with cheap projects and sweet words from traitors, but through solid decisions. What’s the point of having teammates if you don’t even discuss things before making a move?”

Jefran was speechless. His hands clenched into fists, his face flushed with a mix of anger, shame, and frustration.

Leonel looked away and said flatly, “You’ll remain CEO—but you’re on temporary leave. Until I believe you’re mature enough to carry the responsibility. Edric will take over for now.”

“What?” Jefran took a step forward, but Leonel raised a hand again.

“Final decision,” he said firmly. “And Jef... don’t ever use Dad’s name to justify stupidity. That’s the one thing he hated most.”

Jefran slumped into the chair across from Leonel’s desk, his anger gone, replaced with silent devastation. His eyes welled up, but he didn’t cry. He just sat there—silent, his pride in ruins, shattered by the one person whose approval he had always sought.

“You can go back to your office now, Jef. And go home,” Leonel said, triggering another wave of resentment.

Jefran stood abruptly and stormed out without another word.

Leonel turned to Edric, who reentered the room holding a report.

“Have our people reached Dmitri’s villa?”

“Yes, Sir. They’re awaiting orders.”

Leonel stared out the window.

“Tell them to send him a little gift. A crate. Fill it with the corpses of the two traitors we executed this morning. And add a note.”

“What should the note say, Sir?”

Leonel smiled coldly.

“Write: ‘Never poke a sleeping lion—unless you want more blood spilled.’”

A cruel grin crept across his face, laced with vengeance and emotion.

“Edric.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Send Jeslyn to my office. Now,” Leonel said, loosening his tie as if it were choking him.

Without a word, Edric nodded and exited, his steps quick and precise, like a machine trained for perfect obedience.

Leonel rubbed his face with both hands. The tension still clung to his body, even though he appeared calm. There was so much to manage. And today—his patience had been pushed to its limits. By his brother… and by the ghost of the past, named Dmitri.

A few minutes later, the door knocked twice.

Knock. Knock.

Leonel didn’t answer—just shot a sharp glance toward the door. Edric knew it was the sign: you may enter.

Jeslyn stepped in gracefully, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her eyes were sharp, focused.

“You called for me?” she asked directly.

Leonel rose from his seat, walked around the desk, and approached her.

Without a word, he seized her lips in a deep, slow kiss.

Jeslyn, caught off guard, nearly stumbled—if not for Leonel’s strong arm wrapping around her waist.

“Mm…” Jeslyn tried to push him back, her hands pressing against his chest. But the man wasn’t satisfied. He lifted her into his arms, causing her legs to wrap around his waist instinctively.

“Leonel, what are you doing?” she protested, once she broke the kiss.

“This is your office!” she snapped.

“I need this,” he said, his lips descending once more as he carried her to the couch.

He laid her down gently, their eyes locked. Jeslyn’s gaze was dazed, her lips slightly swollen from his aggression.

Leonel gently traced her lips with his thumb.

“You’re like morphine to me, Jessy,” he whispered. “Right now... I crave you more than anything.”

***