C9 The game begins

Antonio

The door opened with a soft click, and for a split second, I didn’t look up. My attention was buried in a report I’d already read twice — not because it required focus, but because I needed something to control.

Then I heard the smallest catch of breath.

Soft. Familiar.

And my entire world tilted.

The porcelain tray trembled in her hands. I saw it before I saw her face — the way her fingers gripped too tightly around the coffee cup, the tremor that gave her away before her eyes even found mine.

Three years, and I’d prepared for this moment a thousand times.

Three years, and still, the sight of her made my pulse feel like thunder under my skin.

She froze in the doorway, caught in the space between professionalism and panic. Her hair was shorter now — darker at the roots, softer at the ends. The sunlight spilling from the window framed her like a memory I’d tried too hard to erase.

“Sir,” she managed, her voice trembling in that way I’d once loved — the same voice that used to whisper my name when the world outside our apartment didn’t exist.

Sir.

I almost laughed. The word sliced through me, sharp and mocking.

I leaned back in my chair, every muscle rehearsed for calm. My company — my empire — was full of eyes, and I wouldn’t give them a single crack in my armor.

“Put it on the desk,” I said. My voice came out smooth, too smooth. It wasn’t real; it was the tone I used before a business deal turned bloody.

She stepped forward. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, steady despite the tremor I could see in her throat. She set the tray down carefully, like a peace offering neither of us believed in. The scent of coffee rose between us, bitter and burning.

For a moment, I let silence sit. I wanted her to feel it — the weight of my gaze, the control she’d ripped away and I’d spent years rebuilding.

When she finally straightened, our eyes met.

And there it was — the guilt. The pain. The question she didn’t dare to ask.

“Daphne.”

Her name came out before I could stop it, quiet but too intimate for the space we were in.

She blinked. Her lips parted, just slightly, like the sound of her name had reached straight into some hidden place she’d locked up long ago.

I forced my expression blank. “You work here now.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Of all the answers in the world, she had to choose the one that made her sound so small.

I nodded once, slowly. “Interesting.”

I wanted to say more.

To ask if she’d been happy.

To ask if Patrick ever made her smile the way I once did.

To ask if she’d cried after I watched her throw our engagement ring into the street.

Instead, I said nothing.

Because that wasn’t the man I could be anymore.

Behind me, the city sprawled in cold steel and glass — the skyline of a life I’d built without her. They all thought Nikolaou Holdings was just another corporate giant. They didn’t know that half of it ran on shadows. That every deal, every contract, every expansion had blood somewhere beneath the ink.

And all of it — every single piece — had been forged after she left.

Because of her.

She looked like she wanted to say something. Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk. “I didn’t know you were—”

“The owner?” I finished, watching her carefully. “No one ever does.”

Her throat tightened. She nodded, stepping back as if she could distance herself from the truth.

I didn’t let her. “How long have you worked here?”

“Almost a year,” she said, eyes fixed on the floor.

A year.

A year she’d been right under my nose — walking my halls, breathing my air — while I’d been too busy with syndicate meetings, expansion plans, and international fronts to notice.

Or maybe I had noticed. Maybe a part of me had always known she’d find her way back, like some cruel twist of gravity pulling us into orbit again.

“Do you like it here?” I asked.

She hesitated. “It’s… work.”

Work. Another neutral word. Another shield.

I leaned forward slightly. “Then you’ll keep working.”

Her eyes flicked up, confusion flashing there. “Excuse me?”

I smiled — a thin, cold thing that didn’t reach my eyes. “Don’t look so nervous. I believe in giving my employees opportunities. You’ll have plenty.”

I could almost feel the shiver run through her.

For a second, I almost broke. The mask cracked in the corner of my mind — a version of me that still remembered her laugh, her warmth, the way she’d looked at me when she thought the world was kind.

But then I remembered the scene I’d walked in on three years ago. The sound of my own voice breaking as I asked her why. The ring hitting the pavement.

No.

The past was gone.

This was the present. My territory. My game.

I stood slowly, buttoning my suit jacket. “You can go, Miss Galanis.”

Her breath hitched at the name. I knew it would.

She nodded, silent, and turned toward the door.

Just before she reached it, I said, “Next time, don’t spill the coffee.”

The words were meaningless. Petty. But they made her pause — her shoulders stiff, her fingers trembling on the handle.

Then she left.

The door closed behind her, and the room fell into silence.

Only then did I let my hand clench into a fist.

For a long moment, I stared at the empty doorway, feeling the old ache start to pulse beneath my ribs.

I’d told myself I didn’t care. That she’d chosen to humiliate me. That I’d buried the man she once loved long ago.

But seeing her again had undone something I didn’t even realize was still holding together.

My phone buzzed. A message from Luca — my second in command. Shipment cleared. No loose ends.

Good.

The world hadn’t changed just because she was back.

But I had.

And now that she was here — in my company, under my control — I knew exactly what I was going to do.

A slow, deliberate smile found its way to my lips.

Let the game begin.

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