In Love With My Bully-Chapter 112: Symphony of Confessions

What followed was a symphony of confessions, gasps, and curse words. The couch groaned beneath them. Her body arched, shivered, surrendered and then surged again. He fucked every inch of her, every corner of her.

Time didn’t matter.

When they finally collapsed, tangled in each other, hearts racing, Queen pressed her face into his chest and whispered, "So... still not moving in?"

Drake laughed. "Everything is a business transaction with you."

"Drake, come on! People are going to talk. The board will suspect something fishy," Queen said as she tugged the strap of her bra over her shoulder.

"I will compromise," he said finally. "I’ll find a better house. Something classy. I’ve got some money saved up. I’ll call Victor in the morning, tell him to find something befitting the Queen."

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her lips twisted into a pout. "But my condo..." she trailed off, half hoping he’d change his mind.

Drake, patient in the face of her sulking, said. "What happens when we ’divorce’? I move out again?" he asked. "I know you love your house. And yes, it’s beautiful and modern but you’re only leaving it for a few months."

Queen sighed. "Fine," she grumbled. Her lower lip jutted out in a pout as she adjusted the barely-there lingerie that had long given up on pretending to be functional. One tug here, a soft pull there, and she managed to reframe the illusion of modesty.

Drake quirked a brow, smirking slightly. "Are you leaving?" he asked, already knowing the answer but not wanting to hear it.

"Yes," Queen said, sitting up straighter. "I need to be at work as early as possible tomorrow. Chay’s position needs to be filled, and I want someone competent."

Drake nodded thoughtfully. "Did you speak with her?"

"Yes." Queen rolled her eyes a little. "She’s branching out on her own. Says she wants to start her own brand. Her own name."

Drake’s lips curved into a genuine smile. "Good for her," he said, clearly impressed.

Drake leaned in and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

"Stay," he murmured.

Queen turned her head to look at him. "Here?" she asked. She glanced around his tastefully minimalist apartment with designer touches and still managed to find fault.

"Come on," Drake said, a chuckle in his voice. "This place isn’t that bad. You’re just used to things with gold-plated everything."

"I’m a spoiled princess," Queen said with an unapologetic shrug. "I know that. But I won’t say sorry for wanting only the best."

"That’s not what I mean." Drake reached for the strap of her bra again and gently pulled it back down, fingers trailing a touch that lingered longer than necessary. "You want the best. But sometimes, what’s real is better than what’s perfect."

"I’ll call my assistant. Have her bring me some clothes."

Drake grinned as he leaned in and pulled her back into his arms. She was becoming his obsession.

*****

Guy drove Chay back home this time, a reversal from that morning where he let her have the control. It had been a fulfilling day. As he eased the car up to the curb in front of her building, Chay glanced at the time.

She turned to him with a casual smile.

"Would you like to come up for a cup of tea?" she asked.

"Sure. I need to go over some things with you anyway," he replied, businesslike.

She groaned dramatically. "Ugh... it’s 6pm. Think we can take a breather from work stuff?"

He opened his door and got out, not missing a beat. "The beginning is always the hardest," he said. "You sometimes have to work throughout the night to keep up."

They both exited the car, him in his usual brisk, mission-minded stride, and her with a mock sigh of someone surrendering to fate. "Fine," she muttered. "But if you make me start up the computer, I’m kicking you out."

Inside the apartment, impeccably furnished, symmetrical and aligned, Guy felt like if he moved something, anything, the entire room would fall apart. Chay gestured to the couch. "Tea?" she offered.

"Coffee?" he countered.

"Really?"

"I’m going to be working on your business plan tonight," he said, matter-of-fact.

"Okay. Coffee it is." She threw her hands up in mock defeat and disappeared into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returned. "Here," she said, placing it in front of him.

He took a sip and raised an eyebrow. "This is good," he said, surprised.

"I’m good at more than art," she quipped.

He gave a small smile.

"You know... I’d prefer a family friend to assist in finding a good location for an office," she said.

"Let me guess," he said, already half-smirking. "Verna Real Estate."

She laughed. "How do you know these things?"

"I know your uncle’s wife is a silent partner."

She huffed. "Well, gotta keep the money in the family," Chayara joked, though in truth, she kind of loved that he was good at staying abreast of business information.

He leaned back on the couch, coffee in hand, expression suddenly serious. "It’s your business," he said. "I’m just here to advise you in your startup journey. But I don’t know if you’ve thought about this. You’re starting Chayssories. If you’re as good as your father says you are, Numero Fashion will be your competitor.

"I know," Chay said quietly.

"You’re going against a business faction that has the backing of an empire," Guy continued, watching her with maddening calm. "Think about how you want to start this."

She bit her lip mostly to stop herself from snapping. The words were logical, even necessary, but they tasted like betrayal. "You’re saying I should treat the Numeros as competitors."

"I’m saying," Guy began, placing his coffee down, "that when you gather at family reunions, they’re family. But when you meet out there in the business world, they’re competitors."

"Mr. Richard is my uncle. Queen is my cousin. My best friend," she said.

Guy leaned forward. "I hope they remember that when you’re both chasing the same contract. But hey, I speak too soon. You’re right. You know your family." He leaned back again, taking a deep breath. "I guess I’ve just become... paranoid over the years."

His gaze dropped to the floor, as if ashamed of his cynicism.

Chay nodded slowly, but her mind was elsewhere. Queen had said something similar that morning, almost too casually. The warning had been veiled in laughter.

*****

Queen strode into the lobby of Numero HQ the next morning. She radiated post-romp confidence.

Cassie, her assistant fell into step with her the moment the elevator doors whispered open. Cassie could tell from the gleam in her eyes and the subtle red mark near her collarbone that Queen was enjoying married life. But work was work, and Queen, regardless of being freshly adored, was not about to let the morning go to waste.

"First order of the day," Queen began, not breaking stride, "I need you to look into Guy Pique. He’s some kind of business consultant. Get our investigators on it."

Cassie raised a brow, not at the request, but at the fact Queen had used his full name, a telltale sign of silent war. "Yes ma’am," she murmured, already typing into her tablet.

"Second," Queen said, "contact Verna Real Estate. Tell them we need a house."

Cassie blinked. "A house?"

Queen finally stopped walking and turned slightly, lips painted in precision red. "A house that suits my husband homely and warmly tastes and also fits my extravagant style. Schedule an appointment with Uncle Victor today."

"Noted," Cassie said, head down again, now typing.

"Find me replacements for Chayara," Queen said briskly, eyes locked on her phone as she swept past Cassie without slowing. "And I don’t mean influencers or fashion critiques with no substance. I want capable, claws-out, dangerous replacements."

Cassie followed close behind, scribbling into her tablet like her fingers were on fire. "Understood."

Queen didn’t stop. "Also, I went through the financial report for Numero Gas on my way here. It dropped by twenty percent last quarter. Twenty, Cassie."

Cassie blinked, hesitating a beat. "The new manager is still adjusting. He..."

"Adjusting?" Queen snapped, heels clicking like gunshots against the marble. "I’m adjusting to a marriage where my husband doesn’t want to live with me, but you don’t see me sinking the company. Send him a notice. Three months to turn things around. If he doesn’t...he retires. Simple."

Queen finally reached her office and threw her handbag onto the desk with a dramatic flourish. A fresh cup of coffee sat waiting.

A few hours later, Queen strolled into the Verna Real Estate office wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses. The receptionist tried to stand. Queen waved her down with a single, gracious flick of her manicured hand.

Victor, her father’s best friend and her mother’s business partner, stood up the moment she entered. "My dearest angel," he said, opening his arms wide.

"Uncle Victor." Queen smiled, stepping into his embrace.

"I see married life is treating you exceptionally well," Victor teased, his eyes twinkling as he pointed at the subtle hickey near her collarbone.

Queen smirked. "What can I say? Drake’s very ...committed." She adjusted her collar like she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.

Victor chuckled.

"And how’s Aunty Marina?"

"Off in Italy, drinking overpriced wine and pretending to be annoyed that she’s in a group chat with her daughters. Living the dream. ...Well, your assistant said you needed a house."

"Yes." Queen crossed her legs, lounging in the chair. "Something modest enough for Drake. Extravagant enough for me. I want to feel like I’m coming home to a palace but convince him he’s a humble provider."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "So you want the best of both worlds."

"Yes. I want to have a walk-in closet large enough for drama, but Drake needs to believe it was a bargain. That’s why I wanted to talk to you personally." She leaned in. "We have... a small hiccup. Drake’s a proud man. He won’t accept me footing the expense."

Victor nodded knowingly. "Ah. The masculine ego."

"Exactly. And I know his budget. It’s sweet. It’s thoughtful. It’s delusional. So when we do pick a house, can you... let’s say... knock it down into his bracket while I quietly pay the difference?"