8

“Mommy, who is he?”

Everyone looked up.

Standing at the edge of the glass doors was a middle aged man in a sharp, dark gray suit. He gripped a heavy leather briefcase, his face a tight mix of anxiety and sudden, deep relief.

“Oh,” Sera murmured, recognizing him instantly.

The tension that had spiked in Chloe and Angeline’s shoulders dissolved. Sera didn't look panicked at all. The man was Abram, the head rep for Aura Luxury... one of the biggest luxury distributors in Oceania. For the past two years, he had been the main pipeline for Sera’s exclusive collections.

“Seland, I’m so sorry to drop in like this. I couldn't get through to you the last few days,” Abram said, his voice thick with genuine apology. He gave a small, respectful nod, realizing he had just crashed a private family moment.

In Wanaka, everyone Sera did business with knew her only as Seland. Every piece she created bore the initials SA, the signature mark of her new identity.

Sera offered him a smooth, professional smile. “It’s fine, Mr. Abram. I turned off my work phone yesterday afternoon. I wanted to focus on my kids.” She glanced back at Chloe and Angeline, who were still on the couch with the triplets. “Ange, Chloe, I’m sorry. I need to step into the office with Mr. Abram for a minute. Can you watch the kids?”

“Go. Handle your business,” Chloe said with a quick wink. Angeline was already pulling Aurelia and Alessia into her lap, flashing a bright new toy to break the distraction. Maxliam just watched his mother walk away, his big, quiet eyes tracking them until the office door closed.

Sera led Abram into her office. The room was warm, smelling faintly of pinewood. She motioned for him to take the leather chair across from her desk and poured him a glass of water.

“So, what brought you all the way from Queenstown without an appointment, Mr. Abram?” Sera asked, cutting straight to the chase as she sat down.

Abram let out a long breath, setting his briefcase on the desk. He snapped it open and pulled out a jet black leather folder with an elegant gold logo stamped on the corner.

“It’s about our partnership, Seland. To be honest, this is the biggest deal our firm has seen in a decade,” Abram said, a hard gleam of ambition in his eyes. “Headquarters sent this draft over after looking at the insane numbers from The Ethereal Dew collection and your last few collaborations. Demand hasn't just spiked locally... it’s exploding across Europe and Asia.”

Sera took the folder and flipped it open. Her eyes ran down the legal clauses and numbers with practiced ease. As a former couture designer who used to run in Manhattan’s highest circles, she could read a high-stakes contract in her sleep. But when her eyes hit the base value of the contract, her fingers locked.

The number was staggering. Especially for an independent designer living in a quiet New Zealand town.

“It’s a three year exclusivity contract,” Abram explained quickly, leaning forward when he saw her reaction. “Management wants your full commitment for the next three years, Seland. You’ll design jewelry solely for us.”

Abram tapped the paper. “In exchange, we’re offering a massive signing bonus, plus a fifteen percent royalty on every single piece sold worldwide.” He paused, checking her face before driving the point home. “We handle everything. Gemstone sourcing, rare diamonds, international production. You don’t touch capital, and you don’t worry about the manufacturing. You just pour your brilliance into the sketches.”

Sera leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. Her old corporate instincts instantly woke up, weighing the massive payday against the heavy restrictions.

“Three years of exclusivity is a long time, Mr. Abram. It means I have to turn away some of my oldest, most loyal private clients.”

“We know it’s a big ask. But the value on that page completely dwarfs what ten of your private clients could bring you in a year,” Abram cut in, his voice urgent, desperate to close. He pointed at the contract again. “Our company is going through a massive global restructure. We need a new icon. A new soul for our luxury division to dominate the international market.”

Abram looked at her, dead serious. “And headquarters believes your signature is the only one with the power to pull it off.”

Sera didn't answer right away. She looked back down at the contract, staring at the row of zeroes. In a flash, her thoughts drifted to the next room. Maxliam, Aurelia, Alessia. They’d be starting school soon. Their education, their security, the quiet life they loved here... it all required a massive safety net.

To Sera, this contract wasn't a career milestone or a nod to her talent. It was an ironclad guarantee that her babies would never want for anything. Even if the remaining Anderson family assets eventually ran dry.

The financial upside was perfect. Unarguable.

Sera exhaled slowly and snapped the black folder shut. The room fell into a quiet, heavy silence before she spoke.

“It’s a highly professional contract, and your firm is being incredibly generous, Mr. Abram,” Sera said, her tone cool, steady, and unshakeable. “But I’m going to need two or three days to review the fine print with my legal advisor before I sign anything. I won’t accept any clause that restricts my freedom too tightly, especially when it comes to the time I spend with my children.”

Abram’s smile broke wide. He knew he had her; she hadn't said no. “Of course, Seland. Completely understandable. We deeply respect your privacy and your role as a mother. If there are clauses you want adjusted, just say the word. Headquarters is more than willing to rewrite them for your comfort.”

The middle-aged man stood up, offering his hand for a firm shake. “I’ll be looking forward to good news in three days, then.”

*

*

The double doors to the executive boardroom on the top floor of the Ashford skyscraper burst open.

The air in the room instantly dropped to freezing. Strangling. Arthur Ashford strode in, surrounded by a lethal aura. His expensive suit was slightly wrinkled, his jaw locked hard. His piercing, hawk like eyes swept across the row of directors. Together, they lowered their heads, none of them daring to breathe.

Bang!

Arthur hurled a thick stack of documents onto the center of the glass table. The deafening crash made half the room flinch.

“Explain to me how the forensic audit from our European branch shows a discrepancy of tens of millions of dollars.” Arthur’s voice was low, but the fury vibrating beneath it was terrifying. “You are all paid handsomely to protect this company's assets. Not to stand by and watch while our house is robbed from the inside!”

One of the finance directors forced himself to straighten his back, his voice trembling. “Mr. Ashford, the data breach carried out by the late Mrs. Veronica's team went far deeper than we estimated. They’ve been covering up fictitious transactions ever since...”

“I don’t want excuses!” Arthur roared, slamming his fist onto the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

The thirty eight year old billionaire’s breathing was ragged. The rage burning in his chest wasn't just about the lost millions. It was the toxic frustration that had been building for four solid years. Arthur felt like a fool. Every ounce of power, every empire he had built with blood and sweat, now felt fragile. Because he was surrounded by traitors.

“For years, I’ve been surrounded by rats in suits,” Arthur hissed, his eyes narrowing with pure hatred as he looked at each of his subordinates. “First Veronica. Then the executives I trusted with everything. And now all of you? Is there not a single honest person left in this world who can do their job without trying to cheat me?”

The room fell into another suffocating silence. No one dared to blink.

Ever since his public divorce and the collapse of several divisions due to internal scandals, Arthur had become a monster. He had zero tolerance for mistakes. He was paranoid, cynical, and had completely lost his faith in humanity.

Arthur rubbed his throbbing temples. Beneath the anger lay a crushing, heavy exhaustion. The victory over the Anderson family that had once filled him with pride now tasted like ash. His revenge was done. His enemies were gone. Yet his own life had become a cold, lonely hell.

“Leave,” Arthur said suddenly, his voice flat. Dead.

The directors exchanged confused, terrified glances.

“Are you deaf? I SAID GET OUT. NOW!” Arthur bellowed, losing his last shred of patience.

Without waiting to be told twice, a dozen executives scrambled to gather their laptops and papers. They practically ran out of the boardroom, fleeing like prey from a savage beast.

In less than a minute, the massive room was dead silent again. Arthur leaned back in his leather chair, roughly tearing at his tie. He stared blankly through the floor to ceiling windows overlooking New York City. The city he had conquered. The city that had never given him peace.

A soft knock sounded at the door. David, Arthur's most loyal assistant... and the only human being he still trusted... stepped inside, holding a digital tablet.

“Mr. Ashford,” David said calmly, his tone a stark contrast to the storm that had just wrecked the room. “There’s one last report from the Global Restructuring Division you haven’t reviewed.”

“If it’s another loss report, leave it for tomorrow. My head is about to split open,” Arthur snapped, not bothering to look around.

“No, sir. This one is from Aura Luxury, the jewelry firm we recently acquired in Oceania,” David explained, stepping forward to place the tablet in front of Arthur. “While our branches across Europe and America are bleeding out, the New Zealand branch just reported a three hundred percent spike in net profit over the last two quarters.”

The word profit caught Arthur's attention. He picked up the tablet, his eyes scanning the sharply rising growth charts.

“How?” Arthur muttered, his brows knitting together. “The Oceania market is usually dead.”

“It’s all thanks to an exclusive jewelry collection designed by an independent designer under contract with them, sir. Her name is Seland,” David replied. “The designs have become a massive trend among the global elite. Our regional director there, Abram, just submitted a draft for a long-term exclusive contract to make sure a competitor doesn't steal her.”

Arthur’s finger froze on the screen. His eyes locked onto the name displayed in the report.

“David,” Arthur called, his voice suddenly sharp. Focused. “Prep the jet for New Zealand tonight. I’ll personally oversee the restructuring there and make sure this contract is signed.”

David looked surprised but nodded instantly. “Yes, Mr. Ashford. I’ll make the arrangements.”

After David left, Arthur looked back at the screen, studying the photograph of one of Seland’s jewelry sets. The design was elegant, modern, and carried a raw undercurrent of emotion. For some reason, it felt achingly, strangely familiar.

David poked his head back in. “Sir, how long do you plan to stay there? I’ll arrange your schedule.”

Arthur let out a rough, heavy breath, staring at the screen. “Until further notice. I’m sick of this country.”

***