The Alpha’s Christmas claim

THE CLAUSE IN THE CONTRACT ~ELENA POV~ If love was a battlefield, I was the arms dealer selling weapons to both sides. I did not care who won the war, as long as the check went through and the deal was final. “My client demands the Hamptons estate, full custody of the standard poodle, and fifty percent of your future royalties,” I said, sliding a thick, cream-colored manila folder across the shiny table. The sound of paper on the wood was the only noise in the big conference room, a sound that usually meant the end of someone's old life. I didn’t blink. I didn’t smile. I simply waited, my hands folded perfectly atop my notebook. Across from me, Mr. Henderson, a tech mogul worth three billion dollars and currently wearing a hoodie that cost more than my first car, looked like he was about to cry. He was shaking with nervous energy that often comes before a breakdown. Next to him, his lawyer, a worried man named Peters who had been sweating in his suit for two hours, looked just as hopeless. “But… Elena, please,” Henderson stammered, his eyes darting between the contract and my face, looking for a shred of pity I didn’t possess.“It’s Christmas next week. Can’t we have a truce? Just for the holidays? My kids are coming down from boarding school.” I checked my watch. It was a platinum Rolex, a gift to myself after destroying a senator’s prenup last year. The date was shining on the screen, mocking me with its bright, digital look. ‘December 20th.’ I felt a slight pain starting behind the left side of my head. The season was officially here. “Mr. Henderson,” I said, my voice smooth and cold. I leaned forward just an inch, enough to make him flinch. “Christmas is a marketing trick invented to sell greeting cards and cause stress-related ulcers. In the world of family law, the holidays are not a time for peace. They are a trigger for bad decisions, eggnog-fueled affairs, and regrets that pay my retainer fee. Sign the papers, or we go to trial on the 26th.” I let the threat hang in the air, chilled by the office’s aggressive air conditioning. “And I assure you, the Honorable Judge Miller hates working the day after Christmas more than you hate losing your dog. If we drag him into court on Boxing Day, he will cut your assets for sport.” Henderson swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked at Peters. Peters looked at the floor. He signed. They always signed. Ten minutes later, I was walking out of the conference room, my black stilettos clicking a quick, hunting sound on the marble floor of the firm: ‘Vance, Sterling & Moore.’ I was, the Vance. At twenty-six, becoming a partner at such a big firm was very far-fetched, almost never happens, and was completely deserved. I had a superpower that the older partners lacked: I felt absolutely nothing when relationships died. While other lawyers got caught up in feelings, I saw marriage as a merger and divorce as breaking apart. It was clean. It was reasonable. It was safe. I stepped out into the main bullpen, and my mood instantly soured. The office, usually filled with boring gray colors and quiet work, was now covered in Christmas decorations. Tinsel was everywhere, even wrapping around the railings. A plastic tree choked the corner of the reception area. Even the interns were wearing red and green ties. It was disgusting. “Elena, Wait up.” I suppressed a groan, my grip tightening on my leather briefcase. I did not slow down, but the clicking of quick footsteps behind me grew louder. Sarah, my Paralegal, walked up next to me, out of breath and smiling. She was twenty-two, quick at her job, and very cheerful. Today, she wore a fuzzy sweater with a reindeer that had a battery-operated red nose that flashed. It blinked with her steps and was hard to look at. “What is it, Sarah?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the elevator banks at the end of the hall. “The office Secret Santa exchange is in twenty minutes, Everyone is gathering in the breakroom.” She pulled a clipboard to her chest. “You drew Kevin from accounting. Did you get him anything? I reminded you three times via email.” I stopped at the elevator, stabbing the down button with a manicured finger. "Kevin. The guy who makes a lot of noise chewing ice in the budget meetings? The guy who still doesn't know how to make a pivot table?" Sarah’s smile faltered slightly. “That’s the one.” “I got him the gift of not firing him for his incompetence with spreadsheets,” I said, deadpan. “Happy Holidays.” Sarah’s face fell, Her holiday cheer was clearly lowered by my coldness. But, being Sarah, she recovered with annoying speed. She fixed her glasses, and the red nose on her sweater looked at me in a funny way. “Right. Generous as always. Well… are you at least excited for the Mayor’s Gala on Christmas Eve? Greg has been calling the office all morning. He left four voicemails. He says it’s ‘crucial for the campaign’ and that the photographers need shots of you two looking happy” Greg. I pictured my boyfriend. Or rather, the man I was currently joining assets with in a social partnership. Greg was handsome in a focus-grouped sort of way…square jaw, perfect teeth, hair that never moved in the wind. He was a rising politician, and about as emotionally deep as a puddle on a sidewalk. He didn't love me, and I didn't love him. We were a power couple on paper. He needed a smart, shark-like woman to soften his image, and I needed a man who was too busy with his own ego to demand any vulnerability from me. It was the perfect arrangement. “I am thrilled,” I lied, my voice dull. “Nothing says romance like standing in four-inch heels for four hours while donors eat shrimp cocktails and ask me when I am planning to ruin my career by having children.” “You two look great together, though,” Sarah offered weakly. “We look marketable together, Sarah. There’s a difference.” Just then, the elevator dinged. The silver doors slid open, revealing an empty car. I stepped in, ready to escape the flashing reindeer nose and the smell of cinnamon pinecones floating from the breakroom. “See you tomorrow, Elena” Sarah chirped as the doors began to slide shut. I didn't wave. I just watched the slice of the festive office narrow until it disappeared, leaving me in the blessed silence of the elevator car. I leaned my head back against the mirrored wall and closed my eyes, breathing out a breath I felt like I had been holding since November. ‘Just get through the week,’ I told myself. ‘Deal with the Gala, survive the unavoidable Christmas dinner with Greg’s judgmental mother, and then it’s January. Safe, cold, sane January.’ Suddenly, the air in the elevator changed. The sound of the ventilation system turned into a low, vibrating noise that I could feel in my teeth. The hair on my arms raised, tingling against the smooth inside of my blazer. Zzzzt. The overhead LED lights blinked violently. My eyes snapped open. “Come on,” I muttered, hitting the ‘Lobby’ button again. “Don’t do this.” A blue spark fell from the ceiling and hit my grey jacket. I quickly brushed it off and noticed a clean, fresh smell in the air, similar to when lightning happens. Zap. The elevator suddenly dropped a bit and then stopped hard between the 34th and 33rd floors. The emergency alarm started screaming loudly, and it hurt my ears. The lights went out, so it was completely dark except for a red light showing which floor I was on. I slumped against the wall, sliding down until I was crouching on the floor in my expensive suit. I closed my eyes and sighed, the sound echoing in the small metal box. “Hello, December.” It was the Curse. It had to be. Every year, like clockwork, the universe tried to assassinate me during the holidays. It was a funny twist of fate, something that didn't make sense. Last year, I broke my ankle on a piece of rogue tinsel at a department store. The year before that, my apartment flooded with eggnog when the upstairs neighbor threw a rave. Three years ago? I got food poisoning from a gingerbread man. I didn't believe in magic. I didn't believe in fate. I believed in laws about wrongs, rules, and responsibility agreements. But even I could not deny that from December 20th to January 1st, the world turned against me. I pulled my phone out to call building maintenance, but the screen was black. Dead battery. Of course. I sat in a dark room with red lights, hearing the wind blowing outside. I didn't realize at the time that the flashing lights weren’t just a problem. The buzzing sound in the air wasn’t just due to broken wires. They were warning.