The Billionaire’s Obsession

Chapter 10

MIRANDA'S POV

The hallway felt longer than it was, each step a reluctant commitment to the unknown. The chime had stopped, but I could almost feel Nicholas's patience wearing thin, a palpable pressure that urged me forward. The thought of Derrick, his name like ash in my mouth, flickered through my mind. He was the catalyst, the spark that had ignited this inferno, yet he felt strangely distant now, a ghost from a life that was rapidly receding. Derrick's betrayal had been simple, brutal. Nicholas's was far more complex, a carefully orchestrated dismantling.

I finally reached the end of the hall, where a wide archway opened into what appeared to be a formal dining area. The morning light streamed through enormous windows, illuminating a long, polished table set for two. The air hummed with a quiet intensity, a stark contrast to the elegant setting.

And then I saw him.

Nicholas was seated at the head of the table, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, a crisp white shirt, and a tie the color of charcoal. He wasn't looking at me, his gaze fixed on a tablet in his hand, a silent, imposing figure. He didn't need to look up to know I was there; I felt his awareness, a prickling sensation on my skin.

Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the table, my new leather flats making barely a sound on the marble floor. I chose the seat directly across from him, wanting to meet his gaze head-on, to show him I wouldn't cower. As I sat down, he finally looked up, his dark eyes sweeping over me, a slow, appraising gaze that made my skin prickle. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—satisfaction? Interest? I couldn't tell.

"Good morning, Miranda," he said, his voice smooth, devoid of any pleasantries. It was a statement, not a greeting.

A silver tray with a steaming carafe of coffee and an assortment of pastries sat between us. He reached for the coffee, pouring a cup for himself, then for me, without asking. The aroma was rich, invigorating.

"So," I began, my voice a little steadier than I expected, "this is the first 'lesson'?" I gestured vaguely at the table.

He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving mine. "Every interaction is a lesson, Miranda. You just haven't been paying attention." He set his cup down with a soft click. "Today, you'll observe. You'll listen. You'll learn that the world isn't governed by academic theories or polite society. It's governed by power. And information."

He picked up a perfectly toasted slice of artisan bread, buttering it with precise movements. "While you were chasing romantic delusions with... Derrick, was it?" He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if tasting the name. "I was building an empire. An empire that thrives on knowing exactly what people want, and what they fear."

My jaw tightened at the mention of Derrick, the casual dismissal of my past life like a gut punch. "And what do you want from me?" I asked, pushing aside a sudden surge of anger. I needed answers, not emotional reactions.

"For now," he said, leaning back in his chair, a faint, unsettling smile playing on his lips, "your presence. And your attention. We have a busy day ahead." He gestured towards a stack of documents beside his plate, thick folders emblazoned with a discreet, stylized 'S'. "Consider this your orientation."

The scent of coffee and the subtle perfume of his cologne filled the air, mingling with the unspoken threat of his words. This wasn't just breakfast; it was a strategic maneuver, an opening gambit in a game I was only just beginning to understand. The old Miranda would have argued, demanded, perhaps even run. But the new Miranda, forged in the fires of betrayal and fear, felt a strange, unsettling pull towards the very edge he was dragging her to.