“Sir, the deal is done.”
Victor sat in his car, listening to Mike’s report.
“Good work.” His voice was unmistakably pleased.
The call ended. Victor looked out the window at the estate in front of him—the place Mida called “home.”
The butler spotted the car and hurried out to meet him as Victor pushed the door open and stepped out.
“Master Victor. Madam and the old gentleman are waiting—and… Master Pierce as well.”
The butler faltered on the last name, eyes carefully fixed on Victor’s face, and only relaxed when he was sure the man wasn’t angry.
He turned and inclined himself in a gesture of welcome. At the name “Pierce,” the corner of Victor’s mouth slowly curved into something sardonic.
Across the lawn, up the steps of the main villa—and the moment he stepped inside, three pairs of eyes on the sofa swung to him.
“You’re late, big brother.”
The first to speak was Pierce, sprawled lazily on one end of the sofa, his tone dripping.
Victor ignored him, walked straight to his grandfather Gunter, and sat. “Grandfather. If you want to have dinner with me, you can call me directly. Come to my place.”
The meaning was unmistakable, and all three understood it instantly—yet he spared not a single glance for Mida or Pierce.
Mida folded her arms and glared at him, voice sharp with anger. “Victor. What is that supposed to mean?”
“I ask you home for dinner, and I’m in the wrong now?”
Two demands, and still not a look. He wasn’t even facing her.
Then Pierce laughed low, rose unhurriedly from the sofa, cracked his neck, and started for the dining room, tossing a line over his shoulder:
“I’m hungry. If the rest of you won’t eat, I’ll taste-test for you.”
Mida shot his retreating back a look of pure exasperation, then glared at Victor once more, stood, and marched off to the dining room.
On the sofa, Gunter patted Victor’s shoulder, entirely unbothered by the atmosphere, and laughed heartily:
“Next time I’ll call you directly. I promise.”
At the table the silence was strange; only Gunter exchanged a few words with Victor now and then.
After the meal, Pierce was waiting on the lawn outside and stopped Victor just as he was getting into his car.
“Victor. Qiaoling’s board meets next week to appoint a new CEO. Which of us do you think… Mother will give the seat to?”
His voice deliberately lowered, a provocation underneath it.
Victor’s hand fell from the door. He turned, brow furrowed, and answered flatly, “If you want to know, go ask her.”
Pierce, hands in his pockets, sauntered up until they stood face to face.
“Heard your ex-wife—the one Mother drove out—is back? Working at Qiaoling, no less?”
His brows arched, the words dressed up as curiosity—but Victor heard the threat inside them plain as day.
Victor’s eyes narrowed to a blade. “Pierce. If you so much as touch what’s mine, I will collect it from you with interest.”
Pierce held his gaze a moment, mouth twitching, and stepped back—eyes darting away.
A few seconds later he laughed again, something sickly in it, arms spread wide as he backed away, head tilted at Victor. “I’m Mother’s son too. A young master of the Qiaoling family. What exactly can you do to me?”
Victor stared at that punchable face, fist slowly tightening—then loosening, as he said, in a voice gone cold:
“I can make you vanish from this world without a sound.”
The words weren’t loud. But paired with the aura coming off him, not a soul present would have bet against him making good.
Pierce’s smile froze for half a second. He shrugged, tilted his head, and forced out: “Suit yourself.”
Victor didn’t spare him another glance. He got in the car and pulled away—and only after it disappeared down the drive did Pierce’s fury finally break loose.
He kicked the watering can sitting on the pebble path and spat a curse under his breath:
“Son of a—!”
——
Past eight in the morning, sunlight squeezed through the gap in the curtains and spilled across the floor until it stung Luna awake.
The last day of her days off. Tomorrow the seven-day rotation started all over again.
Charlotte was still asleep beside her. Luna got up, washed, and went to the kitchen off the living room for a glass of water. Mid-sip, her ears pricked—some kind of noise out by the front door.
Glass in hand, she crossed the living room and pulled the door open—and froze where she stood.
Victor and the man from yesterday stood at the door directly across from hers, one cradling a potted plant, one carrying bags—while down by the elevator, Trimble was directing workers hauling a sofa out.
“You… what is all this?”
Luna’s voice snagged; her brain couldn’t catch up. Never in her life had she expected to see this scene outside her door at eight in the morning.
Victor spotted her, hurried over with the pot in his arms, and steered her into the entryway, shutting the door behind them.
Luna leaned against the entry cabinet, staring at him, dumbfounded. Victor set the potted plant aside on the cabinet, the corner of his mouth tilting up.
“Hello there, my new neighbor?”
He spoke first, one hand braced on the cabinet, caging her in, head lowered to watch every shift in her expression.
Luna recovered, set the glass down, and pushed him off, straightening up. “Neighbor?” she echoed.
She stared at him, then glanced anxiously toward the living room—terrified of waking Charlotte.
Luna pressed her lips together, grabbed his wrist without a word, and pulled him toward the balcony. Victor let himself be led—and thoughtfully slid the balcony door shut behind them.
A long silence. Then Luna folded her arms and asked, quietly, “Victor. What exactly are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Moving in.” Not a flicker of hesitation.
“You have a house. Why move here?” Her brow creased, baffled.
Victor’s gaze dropped; he turned to look at the building across the way—and caught a scene one floor below…
A couple in loungewear leaning against their balcony, heads together, his arm around his wife’s shoulders, a swing chair beside them with a little boy curled up on it, watching his mom and dad. Warm. Almost unbearably so.
When he looked back, his eyes found Luna’s. He leaned in, close to her ear, and said quietly: “Because home is here.”
Luna’s breath caught. Victor chuckled low, his voice dropping softer still:
“Home is wherever you are.”
Her lashes trembled; her own heartbeat grew loud in her ears. The next second he stepped back, tilting his head to watch her reaction, one brow lifted in satisfaction.
Flustered, Luna’s eyes skittered to the traffic below. She drew a deep breath and looked at him.
“Mr. Victor, you—”
“Mommy, why are you standing over there?” Charlotte’s voice cut her off.
Luna spun around—the little one was still rubbing her eyes—and yanked Victor behind her, out of sight behind the floor-length curtains, where the living room couldn’t see.
“Don’t make a sound. Stay here. I’ll come get you in a minute,” she breathed, slid the door open and shut fast, and walked to where Charlotte stood rooted in the living room.
“Mommy, I think— I think I just saw that uncle standing next to you!”
Charlotte dropped her hands from her eyes and peered toward the balcony, mumbling.
Luna crouched, scooped her up, and bustled toward the bedroom, answering breezily:
“Sweetheart, you saw wrong. That was a very, very big eagle. It flew away.”
Not a beat of hesitation—dead serious nonsense. From behind the curtain, Victor heard it and his mouth twitched with exasperation as he muttered to himself:
“An eagle? This woman is far too good at fooling children.”