His Reluctant Obsession

Surprises and Silk Ribbons

"Good morning, Nikolai.” Giancarlo De Luca greeted as Nikolai stepped out of the elevator into the sleek, dimly lit hallway of the Moretti headquarters. A faint hum of activity stirred around him, but his icy blue eyes missed nothing.

“Morning, Giancarlo,” Nikolai replied, hands in his pants’ pocket as he approached.

Giancarlo De Luca stood a few steps ahead, hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gaze fixed on Nikolai as if measuring the weight of the day.

Before Nikolai could take another step, Liam appeared at his side, brisk and focused.

“Don, the shipment from Marseille arrived early with no signs of interference,” Liam reported as they began walking.

Nikolai nodded, eyes forward.

“The Eastside crew requested reinforcements. Looks like they’re gearing up for something,” Liam continued.

Giancarlo exchanged a brief look with Nikolai but stayed silent.

“And the accountant flagged some unusual transfers—possible leak,” Liam added quietly.

Nikolai’s jaw tightened. “Handle it. No loose ends.”

They reached the boardroom doors. Giancarlo opened them, stepping aside.

“The board awaits, Nikolai,” he said.

Nikolai stepped in, calm but ready.

Nikolai stepped into the boardroom, eyes cold and steady as they scanned the room. The murmurs died instantly.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Let’s not waste time.”

“The shipment from Marseille arrived intact. No surprises but don’t be too relaxed.”

“Now I'd like to hear reports from all of you.”

“Don Moretti, the teenagers from the orphanage have begun their training. The females were sent abroad yesterday to St. Aurelius Academy while the males have been sent to Scuola dell’Ombra to begin their training.” A woman in her late fifties began to give her own report

“Well done Ms. Bianchelli. Make sure Matteo is briefed on the male recruits and their training.”

Another board member chimed in.

“From the media front, speculations about your potential marriage have stirred interest. Public sentiment is cautious... but curious.”

A chuckle echoed in the back, quickly silenced by Nikolai's glare.

“Don Moretty, Our newest front in Geneva is exceeding projections. Very good news.”

Before anyone else could speak, the boardroom doors burst open.

A junior member rushed in, breathless. “Don Moretti! Urgent news! A rival crew just hit one of our warehouses. Heavy losses reported.”

A tense silence fell over the room. Nikolai’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped into a dangerous calm.

“Prepare retaliation. We respond not just with force, but with precision. Let them know Moretti is not a name to be toyed with.”

The board members exchanged uneasy glances, understanding the storm was just beginning.

⸻ Storm and Rage. ⸻

“Today is your wife's birthday, Don Moretti,” Liam walked into Nikolai's office, tablet in hand.

“Okay. What else?” Nikolai lightly rubbed the tip of the ballpen on his lips without looking up from the documents before him.

“She has also made a significant breakthrough with her brand. It's all over the entertainment news.” Liam continued, unsure if Nikolai would even care. After all it was an arranged marriage and Nikolai wasn't one to be emotional.

“She’s trending globally.. top three. Her new skincare line sold out in under five minutes,” Liam added, watching his boss’s expression carefully.

You're absolutely right—having one hand on the hip and the other on the thigh could give the impression of a bent or less graceful posture, especially for a billboard shot meant to project elegance and power.

Nikolai finally looked up, his cold gray eyes narrowing just slightly. “Did she now?”

“Yes, sir. This is one of the magazine in which she was featured.”

Liam handed over the fashion magazine and on the front cover was a picture of his wife.

The photograph was nothing short of captivating—Elena stood tall against a velvety charcoal backdrop, exuding quiet power. She wore an emerald green satin gown that hugged her silhouette perfectly, featuring a daring thigh-high slit and an off-shoulder neckline that framed her collarbones and graceful shoulders.

Her chestnut-brown hair was styled in soft, cascading waves that fell over one shoulder, perfectly complementing her sharp cheekbones and flawless skin. A pair of delicate diamond drop earrings sparkled subtly, while her makeup was striking: bold brows, smoky eyes, and lips painted a commanding shade of crimson.

She stood with one hand confidently poised at her waist and the other hanging elegantly by her side, fingers relaxed but intentional. Her shoulders were squared, spine straight, chin slightly raised—radiating confidence without arrogance. Her gaze was direct, enigmatic, the kind that left a lasting impression.

The caption read: “Elena Sinclair: Fashion’s Silent Storm.”

“And there’s a scheduled press conference at the Mandarin Oriental in New York this evening. She’s expected to speak.”

Nikolai leaned back in his leather chair, his fingers now twirling the pen instead of biting it. “Cancel my 6 PM meeting. Prepare the car. I’ll be attending.”

Liam blinked in surprise. “Shall I inform Mrs. Moretti?”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of Nikolai’s lips. “No. Let’s make it a surprise.”

⸻♠Silk Ribbons♠⸻

“Good evening, Elena.” Clara knocked gently at the door. “Nikolai asked me to bring you this.”

Elena opened her door, her eyes drifting to the large gift bag, which contained an elegantly wrapped box in Clara’s hands. The dark blue ribbon glinted under the light. She was just about to take a shower.

“The stylists are downstairs.”

“What for?” She asked as she accepted the bag, wondering why and how her “husband” was so suddenly generous.

“He didn't say..”

Elena arched a brow but nodded. “Alright. Call them up, please.”

“Right away.” Clara turned and descended the stairs, her flat shoes tapping lightly against the marble.

Elena closed the door and gently took out the box from the bag, wondering what it contained as she untied the ribbon. She took the note and read it with a chuckle.

Happy Birthday and Congratulations on your brand's success. Wear the dress for tonight's event.

Nikolai.

“Well at least he's thoughtful,” she mumbled with a cheeky grin as she went to take a shower.

An hour later, she was all glamed up and ready for the event. She couldn't help but take another look at her reflection in the mirror.

Nikolai's driver came around and drove her to the venue. As she stepped out of the Limousine, all eyes fell on her like she was a magnet.

The media chased after her like crazy as she walked into the Mandarin Oriental's Grand Ballroom, but were blocked off by her bodyguards who came out from the second car behind hers – a testament to Nikolai’s ever-watchful presence, even in his silence.

He wasn’t seen, but his power moved like shadows—always there, always ahead.

“Elena! Over here! Just one question—how does it feel to trend globally?”

“Elena, is it true your husband is backing your brand now?”

“Miss Elena, are the marriage rumors true?!”

“Omg I love you Elena!”

She didn’t flinch. In her midnight blue velvet gown that hugged her curves with elegant subtlety and flowed like liquid confidence, Elena walked with the poise of royalty. Her lips carried a calm, practiced smile. The flash of cameras reflected off her diamond-studded clutch as she gave a nod to the media—not too cold, not too warm. Just enough to keep them hungry.

Inside, the ballroom had already begun to buzz. Influencers, business moguls, and elite socialites sipped champagne beneath crystal chandeliers. Her face was everywhere—on the banners, the display screens, the gift boxes. Elena Moretti. The name was no longer just his.

She was ushered toward the stage where the host, a tall and dapper man in a velvet tuxedo, took the mic.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we honor not just a brand, but a vision. Please welcome the woman behind it all—Ms. Elena Sinclair!”

Thunderous applause echoed through the room as Elena stepped onto the stage.

She took the mic, briefly scanning the crowd. Her heart pounded, but her voice was steady. “A few years ago, I was known only as the daughter of a powerful man. But today… I stand before you as the founder of something greater—myself.”

Back at the entrance, a black Bentley pulled up silently. The driver stepped out and opened the door.

Nikolai emerged.

He adjusted his cufflinks, ignoring the murmurs and stunned glances.

He wasn’t here for the cameras.

He was here for her.

The applause faded into a respectful hush as Elena continued, her voice like velvet wrapped in steel.

“This brand isn’t just about beauty products and trendy outfits. It’s about reclaiming identity. About showing every woman that she doesn’t need permission to become beautiful.. or elegant.”

The crowd erupted again, standing on their feet, giving her a roaring ovation.

But as the claps thundered in her ears, her eyes froze—fixed on a silhouette at the back of the ballroom.

Nikolai.

Standing tall in a black suit that fit him like a tailored threat, his presence alone shifted the atmosphere. Heads began to turn. Whispers spread like wildfire.

“Is that Nikolai Moretti?”

“He actually came…”

“They said he wouldn’t show. That the rumours were untrue.”

Elena’s fingers gripped the mic a little tighter.

She didn't know that he was going to come. From her observation of him, he never did things like this. Not publicly. Not for anyone.

Their eyes locked across the room. For a moment, the crowd disappeared. No one else existed.

And then, with a slow, deliberate smile that was half challenge and half promise, Nikolai gave her a single nod.

The kind of nod that said: I see you.

Elena took a breath and returned the smile—cool, graceful, unreadable.

“Tonight,” she said, breaking eye contact and turning back to the crowd, “we celebrate freedom, passion, and power as well as the elegance of an independent woman. Thank you for believing in me. This is only the beginning.”

Thunderous applause. Flashbulbs. Cheers.

But all she could feel was his gaze, burning into her like an unspoken vow.