Victoria Diva learned that ruin didn't always arrive with noise.
Sometimes, it came quietly—wrapped in polite smiles, stamped documents, and the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
She sat across from the bank manager, her fingers clenched so tightly in her lap that her nails bit into her skin. The office smelled faintly of lemon polish and stale coffee. Outside the glass walls, people moved with purpose—important, confident, untouched by fear.
The man across from her cleared his throat.
"I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do, Miss Diva."
Victoria lifted her eyes slowly. "You said that last week."
He offered a sympathetic smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The situation has… progressed."
That single word made her stomach drop.
Progressed.
As if her life were a disease.
"You froze our accounts," she said, her voice calm only because she'd already cried herself empty. "You seized our assets. My father's company is gone. What exactly has progressed?"
The man adjusted his tie. "Your outstanding debt has been transferred."
"To who?" she asked.
He hesitated.
That hesitation shattered what little hope she had left.
"To Blackwell Holdings."
The name hit her like a slap.
Victoria felt it echo through her chest, sharp and immediate. Blackwell Holdings wasn't just a company—it was a shadow. A name whispered in boardrooms and courtrooms, attached to hostile takeovers, sudden bankruptcies, and disappearances disguised as resignations.
She swallowed. "That's impossible."
"I'm afraid not." He slid a folder toward her. "As of this morning, your family owes Blackwell Holdings more than they ever owed us."
Her hands trembled as she opened the folder.
Numbers stared back at her.
Cruel. Final.
"This isn't legal," she whispered.
He gave a helpless shrug. "It is when the right people sign."
Victoria laughed then—soft, broken. "So that's it? You ruin us and just… pass us on?"
"I suggest you contact them directly," he said gently. "They're not known for patience."
She stood on unsteady legs, the room spinning slightly. "You'll regret this."
The man looked at her with something close to pity. "I doubt that."
By the time Victoria stepped outside, night had fallen.
Rain slicked the pavement, reflecting city lights in distorted fragments—much like her thoughts. Her phone buzzed in her hand.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
Daniel.
Her brother.
She answered immediately. "Danny?"
"They're here," he said, his voice shaking. "The men you warned me about. They're asking questions. They said… they said if you don't respond, they'll take me."
Fear exploded in her chest.
"Listen to me," she said urgently. "Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone."
"They know my name, Vicky."
Her knees buckled. She grabbed the nearest wall to steady herself. "I'm coming. I'll fix this. I promise."
The call ended.
Victoria stood there in the rain, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Fix this.
How?
She had no money. No power. No allies.
Only one name left.
Blackwell.
The Blackwell Holdings building rose like a monument to dominance—steel and glass cutting into the sky. Security was tight, but when Victoria gave her name, the receptionist didn't hesitate.
"Mr. Tom is expecting you."
Her heart skipped.
Expecting her?
She was escorted to the top floor in silence. The elevator doors opened into a space so immaculate it felt unreal—dark wood, muted lighting, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city like a kingdom.
A man stood by the window.
Tall. Still. Untouchable.
He turned slowly as she entered.
Victoria's breath caught.
Nyangtsi Andesunn Tom looked exactly like his reputation—cold precision wrapped in tailored elegance. His suit fit him perfectly, dark eyes sharp and unreadable. He didn't smile.
He studied her the way one might study a chessboard—already knowing the outcome.
"You're late," he said calmly.
"I didn't know you wanted to see me," she shot back, anger flaring to cover her fear.
One corner of his mouth lifted—not a smile. Something darker.
"I always want to see you, Victoria Diva."
Her blood ran cold.
"You know my name," she said.
"I know everything about you."
He walked toward her, unhurried. Each step felt deliberate, controlled.
"You came to beg," Nyangtsi said softly. "But you don't even know the price yet."
"What do you want?" she demanded.
He stopped inches away from her.
"A signature," he replied.
"And your life—just for one year."
He placed a folder on the desk between them.
On the cover, in bold black letters, were the words:
MARRIAGE CONTRACT
Victoria stared at it, her hands shaking.
"This is insane."
"Desperation often looks that way," Nyangtsi said calmly. "Sign, and your brother walks free. Your debt disappears. Your name is protected."
"And if I refuse?"
His eyes hardened.
"Then you lose everything you have left."
Silence stretched between them.
Victoria's heart pounded as she reached for the pen.
And somewhere deep inside her, a terrible truth whispered:
This man hadn't found her by chance.
He had chosen her.
Victoria's fingers hovered over the pen.
The silence in the office thickened, pressing against her chest until breathing felt like a conscious effort. The city lights beyond the glass walls flickered like distant stars—beautiful, unreachable, uncaring.
Chosen.
The word lodged itself deep inside her.
"You planned this," she said slowly, lifting her eyes to his. "Didn't you?"
Nyangtsi didn't deny it.
"That depends," he replied evenly, "on how you define planning."
Her grip tightened around the pen. "You waited until I had nothing."
"I waited until you had no distractions."
The cruelty of it stole her breath.
"You destroyed my family," Victoria whispered. "And now you want to marry me?"
His gaze sharpened, something dangerous flickering beneath the calm surface. "I didn't destroy your family," he corrected. "I dismantled a weak structure. The world did the rest."
She surged to her feet, anger slicing through her fear. "You don't get to decide who deserves to survive."
Nyangtsi stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne—dark, restrained, expensive. It wrapped around her senses, grounding and unsettling all at once.
"I decide every day," he said quietly. "That's why I'm still standing."
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension stretched, taut as a wire pulled too tight. Victoria was acutely aware of the space between them—or rather, the lack of it. He didn't touch her, yet she felt claimed in a way she couldn't explain.
"You're afraid," he observed.
She laughed bitterly. "You think?"
"No," he said. "You're angry. Fear would make this easier."
Her jaw clenched. "What happens after one year?"
His eyes searched her face, lingering just a second too long on her lips before lifting back to her eyes. "That depends on you."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only honest one."
She looked down at the contract again. The words swam, but the meaning was painfully clear. Shared residence. Public appearances. Loyalty clauses disguised as respect. Silence clauses disguised as privacy.
"You own me," she said flatly.
"I protect what I own," Nyangtsi replied. "And I never break what belongs to me."
Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine—equal parts fear and something dangerously close to curiosity.
Her brother's voice echoed in her head.
They know my name, Vicky.
She signed.
The sound of pen against paper was deafening.
Nyangtsi watched every stroke of her signature as if committing it to memory. When she finished, he reached forward, his fingers brushing hers as he took the contract.
The contact was brief.
It still burned.
"Effective immediately," he said, closing the folder. "You are Victoria Diva Tom."
The name felt foreign. Heavy.
She dropped the pen as though it had bitten her. "I won't love you."
He regarded her with something that might have been amusement. "Love was never part of the agreement."
The car ride was silent.
The city blurred past the tinted windows as Nyangtsi's driver navigated traffic with smooth precision. Victoria sat stiffly beside him, hands folded tightly in her lap, staring straight ahead.
"You can speak," Nyangtsi said eventually.
"I don't have anything to say."
"That's rarely true."
She turned to him then. "What do you expect from me?"
He considered the question. "Compliance in public. Honesty in private. And discretion always."
"And my brother?"
"He's safe," Nyangtsi said without hesitation. "Already relocated. Protected."
Her chest loosened just a fraction.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked.
"Home."
The word sent an unexpected jolt through her.
The car slowed, then stopped. The building before them rose into the night sky—sleek, modern, intimidating. Security moved with quiet efficiency as they entered, nodding respectfully to Nyangtsi.
The elevator ride was swift and silent.
When the doors opened, Victoria stepped into a space that didn't feel real. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city below like a private empire. Everything was muted, controlled, immaculate.
"This is temporary," she said, more to herself than him.
"Everything is," Nyangtsi replied. "Some things just last longer."
A woman approached—elegant, composed. "Mr. Tom."
"Lira," he acknowledged. "Prepare a room for Mrs. Tom."
Victoria flinched at the title.
Lira's eyes flicked toward her with polite curiosity before she nodded. "Of course."
"I want to speak to her alone," Nyangtsi added.
The woman withdrew without question.
Victoria folded her arms. "So what now?"
He removed his jacket slowly, draping it over a chair. The simple act felt intimate, deliberate.
"Now," he said, "you understand your position."
"And that is?"
He stepped closer again, invading her space with calm confidence. "You are not powerless. You are protected. And you are watched."
Her breath hitched. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"
"No," he said softly. "It's supposed to keep you alive."
She searched his face for cruelty, for mockery—but found none. Only certainty.
"You enjoy this," she accused.
"Enjoyment implies chaos," Nyangtsi replied. "I prefer control."
Their eyes locked.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them—her pulse, his steady presence, the dangerous awareness humming between them.
"This doesn't make you a hero," she said quietly.
"I don't need to be," he replied. "Heroes lose everything."
A pause.
Then, almost gently, he added, "Get some rest. Tomorrow, the world meets my wife."
Her stomach twisted.
As he turned away, Victoria realized something that chilled her more than fear ever could.
This wasn't a rescue.
It was the beginning of a war she'd already lost.
And somehow—terrifyingly—she wasn't sure she wanted to win.
Victoria didn't sleep.
She lay on the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling where soft recessed lights glowed like distant moons. The sheets were cool, impossibly smooth beneath her fingers, the kind of luxury she'd only ever touched in magazines. It should have comforted her.
Instead, it felt like a reminder.
This wasn't her world.
And Nyangtsi Andesunn Tom owned every inch of it.
Her mind replayed the day in brutal fragments—the bank manager's careful pity, Daniel's terrified voice, the way Nyangtsi had looked at her as if she were a conclusion he'd reached long before she entered the room.
I always want to see you, Victoria Diva.
She turned onto her side, clutching the pillow to her chest. Anger burned hot and restless beneath her skin, but it tangled with something else she didn't want to name. Curiosity. Confusion. A dangerous awareness of the man who now controlled her fate.
The door clicked softly.
Victoria sat up instantly. "I didn't call for anyone."
Nyangtsi stepped inside, unhurried, the city lights framing him in sharp silver lines. He'd removed his tie, the top button of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms. The sight of him like this—less formal, more real—sent an unwelcome flutter through her chest.
"I know," he said calmly. "I didn't come because you asked."
Her spine stiffened. "Then leave."
He closed the door behind him.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
"You won't sleep tonight," Nyangtsi said, as if stating a fact. "If I leave you alone with your thoughts, tomorrow will be messy."
"I don't need you managing my emotions."
"No," he agreed. "You need clarity."
She scoffed. "From the man who ruined my life?"
He didn't react to the accusation. Instead, he moved closer, stopping several feet away—far enough to be proper, close enough to be felt.
"You believe I'm your enemy," he said. "That belief will make you reckless."
"You are my enemy."
"Enemies want you destroyed," Nyangtsi replied. "I want you standing."
Her nails dug into the fabric of the sheets. "Why?"
For the first time, he hesitated.
It was subtle—so subtle she almost missed it—but the pause sent a sharp thrill through her. Nyangtsi Andesunn Tom didn't hesitate.
"Because," he said finally, "you remind me of a mistake I couldn't erase."
Her breath caught. "I don't even know you."
"You knew of me," he corrected. "That was enough."
He reached into his pocket and placed her phone on the bedside table.
"Your brother called," he added. "He's safe. Asleep. Surrounded by guards who would die before letting harm reach him."
Tears burned behind her eyes, sudden and humiliating. She looked away quickly.
"You didn't have to do that," she said.
"Yes," Nyangtsi replied softly. "I did."
Silence settled between them again, but this time it was different—heavy, intimate, charged with unspoken things.
"You're angry," he said again. "But you're not stupid. You understand the world we live in."
She laughed quietly. "The world where men like you decide who survives?"
"The world where weakness is expensive," he countered. "And strength is lonely."
Her gaze snapped back to him.
Lonely.
The word felt out of place coming from someone like him.
"You think you're alone?" she asked.
"I know I am," he said. "That's why I don't pretend otherwise."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"Rest," he said. "Tomorrow, every camera will be on you. Every woman will envy you. Every man will wonder how you ended up in my bed."
Heat rushed to her face. "That won't happen."
A corner of his mouth curved—not quite a smile.
"Not yet," he said.
The door closed behind him.
Victoria exhaled shakily.
Not yet.
The words followed her into the dark, curling around her thoughts like a promise and a threat all at once.
Morning came too soon.
Lira arrived with a team—stylists, designers, professionals who treated Victoria like an object being prepared for display. No one asked her opinion. No one explained.
A cream-colored dress was chosen. Elegant. Modest. Dangerous in its simplicity.
"He wants you calm," Lira said quietly as they worked. "Untouchable. But unforgettable."
"He?" Victoria echoed.
Lira met her eyes in the mirror. "Mr. Tom."
Victoria swallowed.
When she finally stepped into the living room, Nyangtsi was already there, dressed in a charcoal suit that made him look carved from shadow and steel.
His gaze swept over her slowly.
Not hungrily.
Assessing.
Approval flickered briefly in his eyes.
"Good," he said. "You look exactly how you should."
"And how is that?" she asked.
"Like someone no one dares to underestimate," he replied.
He offered his arm.
After a second's hesitation, she took it.
The moment her fingers wrapped around his sleeve, a strange awareness sparked between them—electric, unsettling.
As they walked toward the waiting doors, Victoria understood something with terrifying clarity.
This marriage wasn't built on love.
It was built on power.
And she was standing at the center of a game where desire, control, and revenge would blur until she could no longer tell them apart.