Page 64 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

An Award Winning Wife.

The meeting wrapped up, and murmurs filled the room as designers gathered their notes. Makros remained seated, silent, as everyone slowly filed out. Just as Kim reached the door, he called out to her.

"Kim, make sure the revisions are sent to production immediately," he said in an even voice "And cancel my next meeting. I'll be occupied."

Kim hesitated for half a second, gazing between him and Leila, then nodded. "Understood Signor."

The instant the door shut behind her, the room was filled with a suffocating silence.

Leila remained glued to her seat, feeling the weight of Makros' glare pressing down upon her. Her heart was racing. She waited for him to say something at all whether to praise her, or to scold her, he just needed to say something but all he did was glare.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair, fingers locked together under his stomach. His face remained stoic. "That was brave of you."

She almost scoffed at the predictability knowing that he wouldn't just let her off the hook without addressing what she'd done at the meeting.

She swallowed. "You told me to give my opinion."

"I merely passed you the papers to look at them," he corrected, voice smooth but edged with something hard. "I never asked you to replace my choice with yours."

Leila wiped her suddenly sweaty palm against her skirt. "I saw that one and just thought it was the best design."

Makros laughed in a low and threatening manner. "Was it?"

She pursued her lips and blinked innocently. "Everyone agreed."

Makros tilted his head, studying her intently. "Do you have any idea what those designs were for, Leila?"

Her heart jumped. This was becoming more serious than she had imagined it to be.

"No,"she whispered.

He stood up, walking round the table slowly.

"They were for a competition." His hand skated along the polished wood as he approached, coming to halt behind her chair.

"One that is of great importance to my company and one that has been competed against by my company for years, and won by a record of three consecutive times. "

The understanding hit her like a punch in the gut. She faced him. "And the one I selected—"

His eyes darkened. "Has now been selected to be submitted for the competition."

She breathed out, thinking about the implications. "But what if it doesn't—”

Makros leaned forward, one hand on the back of her chair, the other around the table by her hand. "You took something that wasn't yours to take." His voice was husky, close, and deadly. "Tell me, did it excite you? Thinking you could replace me?"

Something coiled in her belly resembling fear but it was not. She couldn't make out the feeling.

"I was just—"

He pressed her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. "You were just what?"

Her breath hitched. "Trying to speak my mind. I thought it was just a regular meeting."

And then, to her astonishment, he smiled. "You're lucky I like what you said."

Relief flooded her, but it didn't last long.

"But don't make the mistake of thinking I'm granting you permission," he whispered, his grip increasing by a little. "Next time, if you want to challenge me, you do it in private."

Her stomach twisted at the thinly disguised threat, at the power in his voice.

Nevertheless, she looked him in the eye. "I understand."

Makros looked at her for a long time before releasing her chin. "Good." Then, as if the moment had never existed, he rose to his full height. "Come with me."

Leila swallowed, preparing herself before getting up to follow behind.

She trailed him as they proceeded into the building, past offices enclosed in glass and quiet corridors, until the air changed.

It smelled differently, rich with leather, glue, and polish.

The hum of machines was softer, overlaid with the murmur of voices.

And then they were on the production floor.

Leila slowed, taking it all in. Rows of workers sat at long tables, hands flying rapidly, skillfully. Some cut cloth, some sewed on small details to shoes, some carefully shaped heels. There wasn't a single waste of motion. Every motion was precise, like a dance that had been choreographed.

She had never seen anything quite like this before.

Makros walked ahead, and the moment the workers noticed him, their postures straightened. Some paused, mid-task, before resuming their work with even more focus.

Leila glanced at him. "Do they always get this tense when you're around?"

His mouth curved slightly. "They respect me."

She wasn't sure if respect was the term. Fear? Maybe. But as she watched, she noticed there was something beyond that. They weren't afraid of doing things wrong; there was pride in what they did.

Makros stopped beside a shelf filled with shoes. Unlike the groomed displays on the higher level, these were raw, unfinished pieces, left to be completed. He touched one, running his fingers across the leather.

This," he said, "is the only clean thing I own."

Leila's eyebrow went up. "What do you mean?"

His eyes stayed on the shoe, his voice gentler than usual. "All the other things, all the businesses I have, have blood on them. But this? It's legitimate. No fronts, no money laundering, no dirty work. Just shoes."

Leila gazed at him. He wasn't saying it to impress her. He meant it.

"I'm proud of you," she said softly.

Makros looked at her then, something enigmatic on his face. As if he did not know what to do with that declaration.

But he did not dismiss it.

He set the shoe down and went back in the direction of the factory floor. "Come," he told her. "You should see how a real shoe is made."

And for once, it was not an order. It was a request.

The next morning, Makros was invited to a ceremony where he would be given an award for late entry and best shoe design. The win had been unexpected, considering the company had just re- entered the competition, but Makros reacted with a confident attitude.

Leila watched as he prepared, his confidence unshaken, as if he had known this win was his all along.

Dressed in a suit that was tailored perfectly to his muscular frame, Makros looked like the successful businessman he presented himself to be. Makros caught Leila's hand before they stepped out of the foyer, finger interlacing with hers. "I didn't think what you picked would've won."

Leila smiled. "Why?"

"Because you're not a shoe connoisseur," he said brusquely. "But my company is winning today thanks to your musings."

She laughed, but something in what he said gave her an odd sensation of warmth.

The celebration was extravagant, held in one of Greece's finest hotels.

The moment they entered, cameras crammed their faces, and whispers followed.

Makros was known to many circles, and so was this party.

When his name was called, he made his way to the podium with calculated decorum, taking the award from the host in a nod of gratitude.

"This award means a lot to me," Makros announced into the microphone. "But I'd be negligent if I didn't acknowledge the one person who actually perfected this design. My wife, Leila." His eyes met hers in the crowd. "She is my muse. This award goes to her as much as it goes to my company."

Leila remained still, every eye drifted in her direction. She couldn't decide whether to be upset or pleased at his compliment, but she played along, giving the faintest of smiles as the applause echoed around them.

After the ceremony, Makros took her aside. "I have a surprise for you," he said to her, and he led her out of the event hall. There was a black sedan out there, tied with a red ribbon around it.

Leila raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"Yours," he said, completely serious. "To drive wherever you please when you feel like it."

She folded her arms. "You bought me a car? Makros, you know you're making it easier for me to escape."

Makros chuckled. "Leila, you were never a prisoner to begin with."

His words unsettled her more than they should have. She glanced at the car, unsure whether to take this as just another one of his games of dominance or something else.

A man walked up to them and Makros' face split into recognition. "Dolcezza, I'll be right back."

For a moment Leila remained standing by herself admiring her new car under the gentle light of the streetlights before Nicolai approached her to stand alongside. "You and Makros seem to be getting along. "

Leila's eyes flicked around to meet him, her expression inscrutable. "Are you jealous?"

He laughed humorlessly. "I think you're getting too attached to him."

"Am I?" she said, moving closer to him. "Or am I just playing smarter than all of us?"

"You'd do well not to forget your true mission," Nicolai warned with a tiny smile.

"I know what I'm doing," Leila whispered.

Nicolai's jaw hardened. She was hopeless. But he was not about to give up on her yet. Not until he had used her for what he needed.