The silence in the room didn't disappear.
It changed.
From chaos—to something heavier. More dangerous.
I sat there, my pulse thrumming in my temples, watching the oxygen leave the room. No one spoke. Everyone was processing the weight of what lay on the table. The contract. The shares. The jagged, ugly plan hidden behind the legal jargon. My eyes drifted from one face to another, finally settling on her.
Anamarija leaned back slightly. Her fingers still loosely held the unopened bottle of water, but I saw her knuckles turning a faint, porcelain white. She dropped her gaze to the table, then slowly—almost too slowly for my frayed nerves—she looked up.
Straight at Chak.
"So basically," she said quietly, her voice as sharp as a razor, "I'm just… a tool. A way to get control over you."
The air vanished. I waited for Chak to deny it. To wrap the truth in some diplomatic lie.
Chak's jaw tightened.
"Yes," he said finally. Honest. Cold.
The word landed heavier than anything else that had been said. I watched Anamarija; I expected her to break, but she just pressed her lips together. Vikran shifted in his seat, his expression darkening by the second.
"I'm going to break his face next time," he muttered under his breath. I knew that tone. Vikran didn't just make threats; he made promises.
"Focus," Chak said sharply, not even looking at him. His gaze was still pinned on
Anamarija, as if measuring the depth of the damage he'd just inflicted.
Kit leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the table. "We need a solution. Fast."
Taeng crossed his arms, his eyes darting around the room before settling. "What if we use the clause?"
All eyes turned to him. Kit frowned. "You mean—"
"Marriage out of love," Taeng finished.
A beat. One. Two. Three.
Anamarija let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. "You're all serious about that?" She looked between us. One by one. I sat motionless, my growth—my height and presence—usually an advantage, but right now it felt like a liability; any flinch would betray me.
No one laughed.
Her smile faded. "…you are."
Silence.
Vikran leaned back, watching her. Carefully. Like he was assessing a piece of priceless porcelain that might shatter at any moment. Chak's gaze, however, didn't leave her face for a second. In that look, I saw something that worried me—a chess move that involved far too many real emotions.
"It's the cleanest way," Kit said quietly. "No legal fight. No delay."
"And no control from them," Taeng added.
Another pause. Anamarija exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. "This is insane…" she murmured. Then she looked up again. This time, at Vikran.
For a second, neither of them spoke, but something passed between them. Unspoken. Clear. I saw Vikran's shoulder relax by a fraction of a millimeter. Then her gaze shifted. To Chak.
And that—that was different. Heavier. More complicated. Because this wasn't just about strategy anymore. This was fire.
"Let's say I do this," she said slowly. Her voice was controlled again. "Let's say I marry someone. But Who?"
The question didn't just hang in the air. It cut through it.
"I will."
Vikran didn't hesitate. He didn't look unsure. He was already looking at her, his gaze steady as a rock. "I'll marry you. I mean it. I don't want anything from you. We can even get divorced five minutes after the wedding if that's what you want."
No pressure. No demand. Just an offer.
I watched Anamarija search his face for a lie. She didn't find one. Then I looked at Chak. He had gone completely still. His expression remained stone, but something in his eyes was darkening. Something harder to hide. Jealousy? Perhaps. Or perhaps just the fear of losing control over his most important piece.
He looked toward me. For a second, our eyes met in a silent understanding. I knew what he was thinking. Is this really the only way? I gave a small nod. There was no other choice.
Chak held my gaze for a moment longer, then turned back to her. "This is your decision," he said quietly. No force. Just trust.
"Alright," Anamarija said finally. "Let's do it."
From that moment, everything moved fast. Chak barked orders to Pim, and the atmosphere suddenly snapped. It was as if the storm had finally broken, leaving behind a strange, electric clarity.
Anamarija turned toward Vikran with a faint smirk. "I'd rather marry you," she said quietly, "than that idiot."
Vikran huffed a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."
When Pim returned to say they had a slot in one hour, Chak nodded once. "Good. Now," he said calmly, "we can start the meeting."
Everyone began to settle. Chairs scraped, papers rustled. Non stood up to go get the samples. And me? I made a mistake.
I exhaled and tried to push myself up from the chair. Bad idea. The moment I stood fully, that familiar ache in my side hit me like a lightning bolt. I clenched my jaw, white-hot pain flared. Dammit, it still hurts.
Slowly, carefully, I made my way toward my desk. Every step was a calculation. Normal. Totally normal—at least on the outside. I grabbed a folder, some blank papers, and my laptop. When I returned and sat down, I noticed Chak watching me.
There was that faint smirk on his lips. My eyes narrowed immediately. Don't you dare, I shot him a look.
His smirk only deepened. And just like that—even in the middle of chaos, contracts, and an impending wedding—he still found a way to tease me.
Then, the real work began. Non brought the plates, and Taeng started opening the containers.
Chak glanced at Anamarija. "Have you ever done product tasting before?"
Her confident smile told me everything. "Many times."
I watched her pick up the spoon. Her movements were precise, professional. In that moment, everything else faded. No marriage, no danger. Just the table, the samples… and her, completely commanding the room. And me? I just prayed my pain would stay quiet until the end of the hour.
The door hissed open, and a junior executive from the finance department, Rangi, hurried in with a stack of projected revenue charts. He looked nervous, his eyes darting toward the samples on the table and then back to Chak, who was sitting like a king carved out of ice.
"Sir," Rangi began, his voice slightly thin. "Based on the raw material costs and the current market positioning for the premium line... we've finalized the MSRP. We're looking at a launch price of 1000 baht per unit."
He flipped a page on the monitor, showing a graph that climbed steeply.
"At this price point, we maintain a 70% margin. It aligns with your father's legacy pricing, ensuring we don't 'cheapen' the brand image while we fight for the shares—"
"Stop."
The word wasn't loud, but it cut through Rangi's sentence like a guillotine.
Chak didn't move. He didn't even look at the chart. He just stared at the back of Rangi's head until the man slowly turned around.
"Is there... a problem with the margin, sir?" Rangi stammered.
Chak slowly stood up. The air in the room didn't just get heavier; it felt like it was being sucked out of the vents. I felt that familiar ache in my side flare up again, but I forced myself to stay still. I knew that look in Chak's eyes.
"Thousand baht?" Chak repeated. His voice began to climb, a low growl turning into a roar. "You want to sell a product meant to liberate this company.
He slammed his hand down on the table, making the glass sample jars rattle.
"THE PRICE IS TOO HIGH!" he thundered, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "We are not selling 'status,' Rangi! We are selling a revolution. If a single mother or a college student can't afford to choose us over your overpriced product , then this entire plan is a failure!"
Rangi turned pale, actually taking a step back.
Chak leaned over the table, his shadow stretching across the charts. "Go back. Cut the marketing fluff. Slash the executive bonuses. I want that price under a four hundred baht . If I see a number starting with a five on that screen again, you can take your resume to mee, because you'll be finished here."
Silence followed. Absolute, terrifying silence.
I looked at Anamarija. She wasn't flinching. If anything, she was watching Chak with a strange, dark intensity—as if she finally saw the man behind the strategist.
Chak exhaled, the heat of his anger still radiating off him. He turned his head slightly toward me, his eyes still burning.
"Niran," he snapped. "Tell him the real cost of 'luxury'."
I cleared my throat, leaning forward despite the pain. "The cost of luxury," I said quietly, looking at Rangi, "is usually the soul of the company. We're keeping ours."
Chak sat back down, the smirk returning to his lips, though his eyes remained cold.
"Get out, Rangi" Chak muttered. "And bring me a number that doesn't insult my intelligence."
As the door slammed shut behind the trembling employee, Chak glanced at the clock.
"Forty minutes until the wedding," he said, his voice suddenly calm again. "Taeng, next sample. Let's not waste time."