Chapter 84: The Reluctant Strategist

The rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against the glass of the library windows. I was curled up in a large velvet armchair, trying to lose myself in a book about Renaissance art, but the silence of the house was heavy. It wasn't a peaceful silence; it was the kind that felt like a coiled spring.

Across the room, Ivan was buried under a mountain of digital tablets and paper folders. He hadn't looked up for two hours. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess where he had been running his fingers through it, and he looked genuinely frustrated.

I watched him from over the top of my book. It was rare to see Ivan look stumped. Usually, he moved through life like everything was a game he had already won.

"You're going to burn a hole through those papers if you keep staring at them like that," I said softly.

Ivan sighed, a long, weary sound. He dropped his pen and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "It’s the shipping routes for the Northern corridor. We have three different suppliers, two border checks, and a port authority that just went on strike. If we don’t move the cargo by Tuesday, we lose the contract. And if we lose the contract, Arthur will have my head on a platter."

"Can't you just reroute through the rail system?" I asked, setting my book down.

Ivan shook his head. "The rail is backed up because of the strike. Everyone is trying to use it. It’s a bottleneck. I’ve run the numbers a dozen times. There’s no gap."

I stood up, my curiosity getting the better of me. I walked over to the large table where he had spread out the maps and schedules. "Let me see."

"Leo, this is boring logistics," Ivan said, though he didn't pull the papers away. "It’s not art. It’s just numbers and maps."

"Numbers are just another kind of pattern, Ivan," I countered. I leaned over the table, my shoulder brushing against his. He smelled like expensive coffee and the cold rain from earlier.

I looked at the map. I saw the port, the red lines of the strike zone, and the blue lines of the shipping lanes. Then I looked at the supplier locations.

"Why are you trying to move it all at once?" I asked, pointing to a small town on the border.

"Because the warehouse is there," Ivan explained. "We ship from the central hub."

"But look at your secondary supplier here in the West," I said, tracing a line with my finger. "They aren't part of the strike zone. And they have a local transport license for the mountain pass, don't they?"

Ivan frowned, leaning in closer. "Yes, but their volume is too low. They can't handle the whole shipment."

"So don't give them the whole shipment," I said. I felt a spark of excitement, the kind I usually felt when solving a complex perspective drawing. "Split the cargo. Send the high-priority crates through the mountain pass using the Western supplier. It’s a longer drive, but there's no strike. Then, take the bulk—the stuff that isn't time-sensitive—and move it to the coastal holding docks. Wait out the strike for three days. You save the contract because the 'must-have' items arrive on time, and you save the shipping costs on the rest by not forcing it through a bottleneck."

Ivan was silent. He looked at the map, then at me, then back at the map. His brain was clearly working through the math.

"The mountain pass is narrow," Ivan muttered. "We’d need smaller trucks."

"Which the Western supplier already owns," I pointed out. "I saw their inventory list on the page you were grumbling about earlier."

Ivan let out a short, sharp laugh. He turned to look at me, his eyes bright with a mix of surprise and something that looked a lot like pride. "Leo... that’s actually brilliant. It’s messy, and it’s a headache to coordinate, but it works. It bypasses the entire political mess at the port."

"It's just common sense," I said, feeling a bit shy under his intense gaze.

"No, it's not," Ivan said. He stood up, stepping into my space. He reached out, his hand hovering near my face before he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "It’s a different way of seeing the world. You didn't look at the 'rules' of the shipping lane. You looked at the space around them."

"I just don't like seeing you stressed," I admitted, my voice dropping. "You've been acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders since the photo shoot."

Ivan’s expression softened. The cold, calculating businessman disappeared for a moment, replaced by the man who watched me while I slept. "I have to be perfect, Leo. For the firm. For Arthur. But especially for you. I want to build a world where you don't have to worry about these things."

"I can help, Ivan," I said firmly. "Don't treat me like I'm fragile. I might not want to be a 'Volkov' in the way Arthur wants, but I'm not stupid."

"I know you aren't," Ivan whispered. He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "You're the smartest person in this house. That's what makes you so dangerous to us."

"Dangerous?" I asked with a small smile.

"You make us want things that have nothing to do with power," he said.

He picked up his phone and started barking orders to his assistant, but he didn't let go of my hand. As he paced the room, reorganizing the entire operation based on my suggestion, I realized something terrifying. I wasn't just a guest anymore. I was becoming part of the machine, and for the first time, I didn't hate the feeling of being useful.

I sat back down with my book, but I didn't read. I watched Ivan work, feeling the strange, heavy warmth of his hand still tingling on mine. I had solved his problem, but I had also proven I belonged here. And that was the

most complicated trap of all.