Love at First Night: The Billionaire's First Love-Chapter 24: My wife is waiting

>THIRD PERSON POV

The building was as quiet as always.

Venzrich’s office lay in near-darkness, the only light a thin sliver of bluish dawn forcing its way through the dark blinds, cutting across the room in a pale diagonal blade. It caught the surface of a single object—a wedding ring—glistening faintly where it rested on the sculpted hand draped over his eyes.

Venzrich lounged on the leather sofa, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His waistcoat clung to him with elegant precision, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his strong wrists. One leg was crossed loosely over the other at the ankle. A coat hung on the rack nearby, still holding its crisp lines, untouched, as if it feared disappointing him. It had been like that for the past two weeks.

He looked asleep, but he wasn’t.

A knock tapped against the heavy door.

Venzrich’s fingers twitched almost imperceptibly. His breathing shifted, a subtle tightening beneath the waistcoat. But he didn’t move the hand covering his eyes. His voice, deep and slightly hoarse, rang out.

"Come in."

The door cracked open, letting in the timid spill of hallway lights. Noel stepped inside.

Noel, the secretary who had served him the longest, shut the door with a soft thud. His eyes landed on the man on the sofa.

"Young Master," Noel said softly, though his voice quivered with something that wasn’t fear but anticipation. "We finally caught the man."

Venzrich moved.

He rose in one fluid, unhurried motion. Peeling himself from the couch, he sat up, his other hand fixing his watch before smoothly brushing his hair back.

"Where?"

"We brought him into the lobby," Noel replied. "He tried to put up a fight."

Venzrich’s brow lifted a fraction in annoyance. Whether the man would make it through the day was impossible to tell. His mood had been sour since his wedding, and Noel had been walking on a much more fragile eggshell beside him.

He walked to the rack and reached for his coat. "Any news from my wife?" he asked over his shoulder as he slid into it with practiced grace.

"She hasn’t tried to reach out yet. I also told Ms. Bryce to contact her as little as possible," he responded.

Venzrich’s eyes glimmered with something dark.

Then, without saying anything, he walked toward the private elevator, Noel falling into step behind him. He always made sure to stay two paces back.

Inside the elevator, Venzrich pressed the button without looking. The doors slid shut, sealing the two men inside a mirrored chamber in suffocating silence.

Noel swallowed. "Should I prepare—"

"No," Venzrich cut him off. "I will decide."

The elevator hummed downward, descending toward the lobby with a quiet mechanical exhale. It felt too small for the man standing perfectly still at its center.

The lobby lights blazed bright when the doors parted, their footsteps echoing across the space. One of Venzrich’s men held a bloodied, trembling man upright by the collar, forcing him to kneel. The injured man’s mouth was smeared crimson, his breathing ragged, but his eyes still sparked with defiance.

As soon as he saw Venzrich, all the heat drained from that defiance.

Venzrich approached with the slow calm of someone who never needed to raise his voice to end lives. His footsteps echoed heavily. The world seemed to shrink around him.

"Is it him?" Venzrich asked without breaking stride.

"Yes, sir," one of the men replied, tightening his grip on the prisoner.

Noel raised a tablet. "We confirmed his identity. He was trying to board one of the... trade vessels."

"Mm." Venzrich’s gaze skimmed over the prisoner, cold and precise, as if dissecting him without interest. "Call her."

Noel nodded and stepped aside, already dialing.

Venzrich’s gaze wandered across the lobby, his jaw tightening.

"Secure the area. No one gets in or out. Turn off all surveillance."

The guards moved instantly. Lights dimmed. Screens flickered into black. The cameras’ red dots faded out like dying eyes.

Venzrich nodded in a satisfied grin before he reached for his ring.

He slid it off and handed it to Noel without looking away from the prisoner.

"Keep it. I don’t want it dirtied by his blood."

Noel accepted it like it were a crown.

Venzrich then flexed his hand, slipping on something metallic. The air thickened like smoke.

Brass knuckles, well-worn. He didn’t like using weapons, but he appreciated efficiency.

When Venzrich spoke again, the temperature dropped.

"You thought you could run your mouth to the media just because I was at my wedding," he said, voice quiet but shaking the bones of everyone in the room. "I stopped myself from doing this stuff because those annoying media people kept getting on my ass."

Then he leaned in. "Who helped you?"

The prisoner spat blood onto the marble floor. "You pretend you’re perfect, that you’re better than us," he hissed, breath wheezing. "It’s fucking disgusting seeing you act all clean—" His voice cracked, shaking. "You’re just like us. You’re rotten to the bone."

Venzrich tilted his head slightly, like he was studying an animal that dared to show teeth.

"I never pretended to be perfect," he replied. "I am perfect."

Then he moved.

One punch.

The sound rippled through the entire lobby—a muffled, brutal thud. The prisoner staggered, choking on his breath. But Venzrich’s expression didn’t change. Not once.

Another blow. And again. And again.

"Running to escape like a rat," Venzrich murmured between strikes. "Acting like it was my fault when you’re just disgusted by your own incompetence." He grabbed the man’s jaw, forcing him to meet his icy stare. "You tried to expose my identity after I allowed you to exist."

The prisoner trembled. "You—you fuckin—"

"What?" Venzrich whispered. "A monster?"

His lips curved. Not into a smile. Into something far colder.

"When did I act like I’m not?"

A new sound sliced through the tension—heels echoing across the concrete floor. Mara, her tie loose while her coat hung loosely over her shoulder, approached. Her brow arched at the scene she witnessed.

"Seriously? You couldn’t wait thirty minutes?" she drawled, eyeing the scene like she’d walked into a classroom of misbehaving students. "I’ve been targeting him, for fuck’s sake."

Venzrich released his grip on the man. The prisoner’s face turned ghostly pale at the sight of her.

"No," he choked. "No—anyone but her—please—please, just kill me—"

He struggled against the guard, desperate to escape, legs scrambling uselessly. Fear tore through him like a fever. The man wasn’t afraid of Venzrich’s fists or death.

He was afraid of Mara, the woman he once served.

She crossed her arms. "Wow. I haven’t even said hi yet."

"You should’ve taken better control of your dog."

"My bad." She raised her arms in surrender.

In a flash of panic, the prisoner lunged, grabbing the guard’s gun. He didn’t make it even an inch more.

Mara snatched the weapon, flipped it in her hand, and slammed him across the temple with the holster in one swift, brutal arc.

He collapsed.

The guard caught him before he hit the floor.

Mara dusted her hands. "Such a drama queen."

Venzrich wiped the last trace of red from his knuckles with a handkerchief that Noel offered him. The brass knuckles came off. Then he reached for his ring from Noel’s palm, slipping it back onto his finger.

Mara, who was crouching beside the unconscious man, turned toward him. "Where are you going now? Wanna grab a drink after this? Kaizer’s been missing."

Venzrich shrugged off his blood-touched coat, folding it neatly before handing it to Noel. His shirt beneath was pristine, untouched, as though violence feared staining him.

"I had to go."

He turned, his expression unchanging.

"My wife is waiting."