Chapter 9

• The golden sun barely peeked through the horizon when Moiraine stepped out of her room, dressed in a sharp black pencil skirt, a silk wine-red blouse, and her signature glasses. Her white hair was tied in a low bun today, neat and formal. David and Julia were already downstairs; David had the car ready, while Julia handed Moiraine her morning drink—freshly brewed jasmine tea with a drop of lemon, just how she liked it.
• “Julia, you’re getting better at this,” Moiraine said, sipping with a smirk.
• “Only the best for my boss,” she replied with a teasing bow.
• They headed to the Luave Group tower. From the moment Moiraine walked into the building, the air shifted. The staff stole glances—curious, cautious. She walked with the kind of grace that made even the elevator wait for her.
• By 7:56 AM, she was at her desk on the top floor, long before Dylan arrived.
• Her fingers flew across the keyboard, organizing files, sorting through emails, setting up meetings. If anyone thought she’d be a pampered brat, she was proving them all wrong.
• At 8:17 AM sharp, Dylan walked in, pausing briefly at the sight of her already at work.
• “Morning,” she said with a polite smile, not looking up from the screen.
• “Mm,” he grunted, entering his office.
• It hadn’t escaped his notice—she was competent. Too competent.
• Moments later, John walked in and dropped a file on Moiraine’s desk. “He’s been unusually quiet since yesterday,” he whispered.
• “He’ll be fine,” Moiraine replied, tapping the side of her coffee cup. “Some men need time to digest pride.”
• John almost laughed but held it in.
• Back in his office, Dylan stared out the window. There was something unsettling about Moiraine. She wasn’t doing anything wrong—but that was the problem. Everything was too perfect.
• And he hated not knowing someone’s angle. He was thinking about everything when he heard the elevators to his office opened. Only few people came up here as he hated crowds and so secured this floor for himself only.
• The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a man dressed in an immaculately tailored gray suit, a silver wolf-head cane in hand. The older gentleman stepped out with a regal air that drew immediate attention. The air shifted.
• Moiraine, reviewing a file at her desk, looked up—and paused.
• Her sharp gaze softened slightly. She stood and offered a slight bow.
• “Good morning, Mr. Luave,” she said with a warm, respectful smile.
• Ivan Luave’s stern face cracked into something rare: a smile.
• “Moiraine Sokolov. Even more radiant up close. I can see your mother’s elegance in you—and your grandfather’s stubbornness too.” His eyes gleamed.
• Moiraine chuckled lightly, her tone calm. “I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”
• He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “I expect great things from you, young lady. Don't disappoint me... or yourself.” With a wink that made even the guards relax, he turned toward Dylan’s office. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—I need to remind that grandson of mine that brains don’t grow from brooding.”
• She smiled, watching the door close behind him.
• …
• Inside Dylan’s Office – Minutes Later
• Dylan rose from his seat with a stiff spine the moment Ivan walked in.
• “Grandfather? I wasn’t informed—”
• “I don’t require an invitation to my own legacy,” Ivan interrupted, brushing past him and taking a slow seat without waiting to be offered one.
• He glanced briefly at the steaming cup of coffee on Dylan’s desk. “Is that Moiraine’s doing?”
• “…Yes.”
• Ivan gave a thoughtful nod. “Sharp girl. So why are you treating her like just another secretary instead of what she could be?”
• Dylan’s expression hardened. “If you’re here to suggest matchmaking again—”
• “I’m here,” Ivan said firmly, “to talk sense into a grandson chasing a ghost.”
• “I’m not chasing—”
• “You are,” Ivan cut in, eyes fierce. “The girl from years ago. You say she saved your life when you were a child. You’ve spent years trying to track her down with nothing but a name. ‘Lov.’ That’s all. For all we know, it could have been a pet name.”
• “I know what I saw. I know how I felt,” Dylan replied coldly. “She’s real.”
• Ivan let out a long breath, folding his hands on the cane between his knees. “And while you’re looking for your fairytale, a real woman stands outside that door. Smart, trained, and already loyal in her own way.”
• Dylan said nothing, jaw clenched.
• “Fine,” Ivan stood. “Keep chasing your shadows. But don’t come crying when the real thing walks away.”
• At the door, Ivan paused and added with a faint smirk,
• “And tell Moiraine to make you a cup of tea, you need it maybe it could help your brain function properly and realize what's going on. And save one for me. Jasmine, with a touch of honey. Reminds me of your grandmother.”
• The hum of the office floor dulled as the sound of grandfather Ivan’s laughter echoed softly down the corridor outside Dylan’s door.
• Moiraine had walked him out, exchanging warm pleasantries with the old man, her voice light and respectful, a soft, genuine smile on her lips.
• The hum of the office floor dulled as the sound of grandfather Ivan’s laughter echoed softly down the corridor outside Dylan’s door.
• “…Don’t forget to eat, child. I know the Luave boys tend to forget meals when work gets heated,” Ivan chuckled.
• Dylan hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—he was just walking past the crack in his door when he heard Ivan’s words.
• “You’ve grown into a remarkable woman, Moiraine. If only Dylan knew how lucky he is... my goddaughter or not, you’d make a fine match for him. You already act more like family than some of our own.”
• Dylan froze.
• Goddaughter?