The Billionaire's Mistake (Anya and Daniel)

Chapter 89: She Is Married?

Martin’s office breathed old money and calculated prestige, a carefully curated shrine to power and influence. Sunlight filtered through heavy drapes, casting long shadows across the mahogany furniture that had witnessed decades of deals and betrayals. He sat behind his expansive desk, surrounded by sepia–toned photographs of stern–faced ancestors whose eyes seemed to judge his every move. The antique phone before him gleamed with purpose, its brass fittings catching the afternoon light.

The Persian rug beneath his feet had worn thin in places, marking the paths of countless negotiations. Martin traced its intricate patterns with his eyes, gathering courage for the call he needed to make. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away precious seconds, its steady rhythm a countdown to what he feared would be disaster.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the rotary dial. Each click echoed in the quiet room as he dialed Hugo’s number, the sound seeming to bounce off the wood–paneled walls. The weight of what he had to say pressed down on him like a physical thing.

“Hugo, my old friend.” Martin tried to keep his voice steady, though his free hand clenched into a fist on his desk.

“Martin!” Hugo’s voice crackled through the receiver, warm and jovial. “What a pleasant surprise. How are you, old boy? It’s been too long since our last golf game.”

“We need to discuss the deal between our families.” Martin cut through the pleasantries, his throat dry.

“Oh?” The warmth in Hugo’s voice dimmed slightly. “What about it? Has something changed?

Martin’s free hand gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles went white. “There’s been a complication. Anya… she’s already married.”

The silence that followed felt endless. Martin could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, counting the seconds until Hugo’s response.

“Married?” Hugo’s voice had lost all trace of warmth. “To whom? When did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” Martin admitted, wiping sweat from his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “She did it without my knowledge or consent. Some unknown person-

“Unknown?” Hugo cut him off, his voice sharp as a blade. “Martin, do you take me for a fool? The deal was crystal clear. Anya was to marry Timothy. That was the cornerstone of our arrangement. And even if your niece is married, don’t you have daughters?”

“I understand, but perhaps we can-”

“Perhaps what?” Hugo’s laugh was harsh and brittle.

“Hugo, please,” Martin leaned forward in his chair, desperation creeping into his voice. “I can offer other properties, valuable ones. Prime locations, development potential. We can restructure the deal-”

“Properties?” Hugo’s voice with disdain. “Do you think I lack properties, Martin? Don’t insult my intelligence. You know exactly why we struck this deal. I want that bidding spot, but I can’t take it myself. I need someone tied to me by blood, by family. If your daughter isn’t a hostage in my family, why would I trust you with it?”

Martin glanced at a family photo on his desk, its silver frame tarnished at the edges. “I have my late sister’s properties,” he said desperately. They can serve as collateral. Substantial

assets-”

“The same properties that could be contested?” Hugo’s laugh was cruel. “Please, Martin. The whole city knows about that mess. Every person in our circle is talking about it. Did you think I wouldn’t hear about the legal challenges coming your way?”

Chapte de Sheri Mamed?

“There must be something.”

“There isn’t.” Hugo’s voice was final. “No, Anya, no deal. It’s that simple. Goodbye, Martin.”

The dial tone hummed in Martin’s ear like a funeral song. He slammed the receiver down, his hand shaking with rage. The sound echoed through the room, disturbing the dust motes dancing in the filtered sunlight. Without pause, he snatched up the phone again and dialed Anya’s number, each turn of the rotary dial more aggressive than the last.

“Uncle, what do you want?” Anya’s voice was cold enough to freeze hell itself.

“What have you done?” Martin growled, his composure cracking. “Do you have any idea what you’ve ruined? The deals that were in place?”

“Our? Who is this ‘our‘?” Anya’s laugh was bitter as wormwood. “I don’t remember being family with you. When did we become family again?”

“You dare !” Martin’s voice rose to a shout.

“Oh, please,” Anya cut him off, her tone dripping with contempt. “Lower your voice; the city is sleeping. What does your family’s deal have to do with me? Don’t sit around calling random people family when it suits your needs.”

Martin’s knuckles went white around the receiver. “So you’re cutting ties with me? Just like that?”

“You’re only finding out now?” The mockery in her voice was unmistakable. “You stopped being my father the moment you said Emma was missing but hid her from my mother and me; you became less than a stranger.” Her voice hardened to steel. “Now you’re an enemy that must be destroyed for selling my sister in a business deal!”

“An enemy? You found Emma?” Martin’s voice cracked with disbelief. He could not believe it. How?

“Still confused?” Anya’s voice held a smile that promised retribution. “Don’t worry. When I’ve completely destroyed you, when you have nothing left, when you’re begging on the streets you once threw us onto, you’ll finally understand what being an enemy means.”

“So that’s why you married so quickly?” Martin’s voice shook with barely contained rage. “To leave me with no way out? To destroy my plans deliberately?”

“Oh, Uncle,” Anya’s laugh was pure venom. “I did what I wanted. I have been married for a long time. I married for love–though I doubt you understand the concept. Love isn’t something you can trade or bargain with.”

“Love?” Martin spat the word like a curse. “You’ve destroyed everything I’ve worked for! Do you even know who you’ve married? Have you even thought about the consequences?”

“Why should I care? Don’t you have daughters? Sell them. As for the money you got from selling my sister, I am going to make you vomit every cent.”

“This isn’t about just you!” Martin slammed his fist on the desk, making the crystal. paperweight jump. “This is about our family’s future, about deals that could-”

“Future?” Anya’s voice cut through his like a blade. “Is that what you call selling your nieces? I hope your precious deals crumble, Uncle. If you don’t know how to do business without selling young girls, pack up and stop embarrassing yourself.” She paused, then twisted the knife deeper. “Even if you had sold me, your daughters would have been all you have left to sell when you fail again. You might as well sell Courtney now.”

The line went dead before Martin could respond. He sat in his dimly lit office, surrounded by the trappings of wealth and power that suddenly felt meaningless.

The photographs of his ancestors seemed to stare down at him with disappointment, their Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

stern faces a reminder of everything he’d failed to preserve.

She really ended the call? Martin felt cold. She wanted him to vomit all the money he got from Emma’s marriage. He sneered.

Maybe he had left her alone for too long; she had become brave. He needed to talk to his mother to make plans. He was not so worried. If it failed, they would go back to their original plan and send Courtney for marriage.

But Courtney had all but disappeared, and Kelsey was not picking up her calls. It was Anya or no one else. As for being married? Martin did not believe Anya was really married. Hugo had probably been tricked by her.