One hundred and forty billion reasons

A Wife’s Burden

Rohen found Lira in their small room that night, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. She stared at the floor, her shoulders hunched with the weight of impossible expectations.

“You should do it,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

She looked up, eyes wide. “What?”

“The Avalon contract. You should compete for it.”

Lira shook her head immediately. “Rohen, I can’t—”

“You can.” He sat beside her, taking her hand. “You’re an interior designer, Lira. A brilliant one. You have talent they don’t.”

“Talent doesn’t matter.” Her voice cracked. “Olivier has connections. Dante has money. I have nothing but a portfolio of projects no one’s ever seen.”

“The Avalon CEO doesn’t care about connections or money,” Rohen said, choosing his words carefully. “They care about vision. Innovation. Someone who can create something extraordinary.”

“How do you know that?”

Because I am the Avalon CEO, he thought. Because I would choose you over all of them without hesitation.

“I just know,” he said. “Trust me.”

Lira’s eyes filled with tears. “What if I fail? What if I humiliate myself in front of everyone?”

“Then you fail trying,” Rohen said. “But I don’t think you will.”

She leaned against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her tremble. “I’m scared.”

“I know. But you’re also stronger than they give you credit for.”

The announcement came the next morning at breakfast.

Lira stood at the foot of the table, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like to submit a proposal for the Avalon contract.”

The silence was deafening.

Then Olivier laughed—a sharp, cruel sound. “You?”

“Yes.” Lira’s hands shook, but she kept her chin up. “Me.”

Dante set down his coffee cup, his smile condescending. “Lira, darling, this is a fifty billion dollar deal. Not a home renovation project.”

“I’m an interior designer,” Lira said. “I understand luxury spaces. I can—”

“You understand decorating,” Olivier interrupted. “Picking out curtains and throw pillows. This requires business acumen, strategy, omething you’ve never demonstrated.”

A cousin snickered. “Does she even know what a joint venture is?”

“Quiet.” Isolde’s voice cut through the mockery. She studied Lira with cold calculation. “Why would you possibly think you’re qualified for this?”

Lira swallowed hard. “Because I have ideas. Real ideas. About sustainable luxury. About creating spaces that are beautiful and responsible. The kind of innovation that—”

“Innovation?” Olivier scoffed. “You think some eco-friendly nonsense will impress a CEO who runs a hundred-forty-billion-dollar empire?”

“It might,” Lira said, her voice gaining strength. “If he values the future over the past.”

Dante leaned back, arms crossed. “This is embarrassing. For all of us.”

“Let her try,” Rohen said from his corner seat.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

“What did you say?” Isolde’s eyes narrowed.

“Let her try,” Rohen repeated. “What’s the harm? If she fails, nothing changes. But if she succeeds—”

“She won’t,” Olivier said flatly.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Rohen met Isolde’s gaze. “Unless you’re afraid she might actually be better than the rest of you.”

The insult hung in the air.

Isolde’s expression hardened. “Fine. Lira may submit a proposal.” She turned to Lira, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “After all, we’ve sheltered you from poverty, haven’t we? Protected you from Rohen’s failures. Don’t you think it’s time you paid us back?”

The emotional manipulation was surgical. Lira flinched, guilt flashing across her face.

“I—yes,” she whispered. “I owe you everything.”

“Then prove your gratitude,” Isolde said. “Win us this contract.”

For the next three days, Lira barely slept.

Rohen watched her transform. She commandeered the estate’s library, spreading sketches and fabric samples across every surface. Mira—home from the hospital and growing stronger each day, joined her, adding creative flourishes to the designs.

“What about solar panels integrated into the roof design?” Mira suggested, pointing at a sketch. “Hidden, but functional.”

“Yes.” Lira’s eyes lit up. “And water reclamation systems disguised as decorative fountains.”

They worked like architects possessed, building something beautiful from nothing.

Rohen brought them coffee, food, encouragement. He never revealed his role, never hinted at his power. He just watched his wife bloom into the designer she’d always been too afraid to become.

But Isolde wasn’t finished with her cruelty.

On the second night, she summoned Rohen to her study.

“New rules,” she said without preamble. “You will sleep in the servants’ quarters until this competition ends. You will not enter Lira’s room. You will not distract her from her work.”

Rohen’s jaw tightened. “She’s my wife.”

“She’s a Veymar first,” Isolde snapped. “And I won’t have you distracting her or getting her pregnant before she’s useful to this family. Do I make myself clear?”

Every word was designed to humiliate him. To remind him of his place.

Rohen forced himself to nod. “Crystal clear.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

He left before his anger showed. Descended to the basement where the staff slept in cramped quarters with thin mattresses and flickering lights. His new bedroom was barely larger than a closet, smelling of mildew and old laundry.

He lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, fury simmering in his chest.

Soon, he told himself. Very soon.

That night, alone in the darkness, Rohen pulled out his encrypted phone, the one engraved with his name and title. He typed a message to Lucien:

Lira will arrive at Avalon headquarters in two days. I need her treated like VIP, given full access, private meeting with acquisitions team and no obstacles.