Chapter 7
“Why do you have the picture of my mom with you?”
“Your mom?” He feigned innocence. “That's just a random photo. When we add anyone in our payroll, it is the rule of the company to get all the details of the employee.”
"But I didn't give you any of her pictures. You collect facts, not pictures of the relatives who work for you.” Safia dismissed Sion’s explanation.
“Look,” he raised a finger at her. “I don't have to give you an explanation of everything that goes on as a practice in my company. There is nobody forcing you to work here.”
“You can leave right at this moment if you want.” Safia completed Sion’s statement. “Is there anything else you have to say other than blackmailing me? If not for my father, I hate to even see your face. So save yourself from repeating the same story every day.”
It was a huge blow to his ego. Sion couldn't stand the raging reply of Safia. He pushed the cup away that she had earlier brought.
“But today, I wish to have a latte."
Sion leaned back in his super-soft leather chair, a lazy, insolent smile on his face as he stared at her. It was a dare, and they both knew it. The rich, earthy scent of his Alpha command filled the air, a silent challenge that made her bristle.
Safia scowled at him with tight lips, her voice tense.
"Look, I'm here to learn about work. I don't have time to be your personal barista."
Sion’s smile widened. He raised a single brow.
"My office, my rules. If you don't want to do it, you can—"
"Stop." Safia cut him off, knowing exactly what he was about to say. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of dismissing her.
"I'll get your latte."
She turned and marched out, thankful the elevator was working today. Yesterday, it had refused to acknowledge her existence, forcing her to take the stairs—just another one of his little tortures. The devil was enjoying every minute of her suffering, the scent of his cruel satisfaction like a sickening perfume.
Safia returned with the latte in under five minutes.
Sion took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Hmm, it's good. So, what's my schedule today?"
"Schedule? I thought Layla made your schedule."
He set the mug down, his expression turning to bored indifference.
"I don't have a money-printing machine to feed two assistants. Since you're here, Layla has been moved to another department. I need my schedule for today in ten minutes. If you're a minute late, you'll find the door locked. You can go home then."
"Such an asshole," she muttered under her breath, turning on her heel.
She practically ran back to her desk and began working at a frantic pace. Though she had been here only a day, she pulled up files, made quick calls to other departments, and pieced together a schedule.
With only a minute to spare, she burst back into his office.
Sion had a hard time suppressing his smirk. Her frantic state, the features of fear and desperation, was exactly what he was going for.
Safia took a deep breath and began to read from the paper in her hand.
"At 10:30, you meet the Russian delegates at Park Avenue Square, and at 12:00, you're back at the office for the shareholders' meeting."
He held up a hand to silence her.
"Stop right there. Park Avenue Square to my office at peak traffic? That's at least an hour's travel time. Where, precisely, is my time to prepare for a major shareholders' meeting? You can't even make a simple schedule for me, and you think you can save your pack without my help?"
He let his gaze drift slowly over her from head to toe, a look of pure ridicule on his face.
"It's obvious now how you managed to keep your company afloat all these years."
Safia's eyes stung, threatening to swell with tears. She understood what he was implying—that she’d used her body to gain an advantage—and the humiliation burned hotter than any anger. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
"Please, sir, just two more minutes. I'll fix it." Her voice trembled despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
A flicker of something—sadness, perhaps—crossed Sion’s face, a scent of old pain briefly mixing with his anger, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold resolve.
He had suffered for over a decade because of her. It had been less than ten days since she joined his company. He would make her suffer until her forefathers came out of their graves to plead for her.
A Week Later, Sunday Afternoon
"So what's your analysis for the third-quarter numbers?" Karen asked, lining up a shot on the billiards table.
"They've been improving, Dad, since we took over the Sangria Pack. Soon we'll be the richest and most powerful winemakers in the country..."
"Not so fast, son." Karen interrupted, her eyes never leaving the red ball as it disappeared into the pocket.
"Los Santos is the one vineyard that slipped through our fingers, but now it's on the market. Fifty acres tied up in probate, and the executor is required to sell by December 24th. The first showing is tomorrow at 3 p.m., but this won't be a simple transaction. We'll need to go undercover. If anyone catches wind that the Silver Pack is interested, we'll find ourselves in a bidding war that we can't afford to lose."
Sion took his turn, lining up his shot.
"Okay, Dad. I'll have Layla book our private jet for tomorrow morning."
Karen smiled, reaching out to high-five his son.
"Good job. Take Layla with you. She's experienced and will be a great help at Los Santos. The mission name is the HoneyBee Vineyard."
Later, as they stood by a large window, Karen poured two glasses of wine.
"It's a Shiraz blend from the Yarra Valley. The oldest wine in our winery. How does it taste?"
Sion held the glass at arm's length, admiring its color before taking a sip. He took a moment, letting the flavors unfold on his palate, the delicate notes a welcome contrast to the bitter taste of his revenge.
"Blueberry, black pepper, and earthy. I like it."
"Your palate is incredible, son. I wish I could relax now and have you take over the entire company."
"Don't say that, Dad. You have a long way to go." Sion hugged his father.
Karen held his son's shoulders and looked him in the eye.
“I am proud of you, son. I don't have to worry about anything because I know you will manage everything well.”
"I'd like to add something to our conversation," Sion said, his voice hesitant. "Instead of Layla, Safia will be coming with me."
Karen dropped his hands and stared at his son in stunned disbelief. His scent turned to one of worry and parental fear.
"You were a destructive kid. I bore it, but I can't be silent anymore. The game you are playing is dangerous. Some wolves take years to sketch out their plan against an enemy, but you brought her to live under your own roof. You had a registered marriage with her, and no one knows about it. What are you going to tell the media? I heard you've already promised a press conference."
Karen held his son's arms again, this time in a tight, desperate grip.
"Your mother and I have already suffered for years, losing your sister. We can't afford to lose you, too."
Sion took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze distant.
The scent of revenge was a powerful motivator, a primal drive.
"Dad," he said with finality, his voice low and unwavering, "there is no fun in a game with no challenge. I have suffered enough because of her. This time, the victory will be mine."
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