Nina paused, a playful glint in her eyes as she glanced around the office. "Well, it's not like anyone's here to see," she teased, gesturing to the empty room.
Mr. Northman chuckled, his demeanor softening as he shook his head. "You're incorrigible, you know that?" he said affectionately, his gaze lingering on his wife.
Nina grinned mischievously, her earlier frustrations momentarily forgotten as she focused on her husband. "Come on, Luke, let's make the most of this empty office," she whispered, leaning in closer.
But before their playful banter could escalate any further, the sound of footsteps interrupted them. Both Nina and Mr. Northman turned to see Felicia standing in the doorway, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
Nina's smile faltered, replaced by a look of annoyance as she hastily buttoned up her blouse. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, her tone sharp.
Felicia's smile widened as she sauntered into the room, her confidence palpable. "Forgot my pen," she replied casually, though there was a glint of mischief in her eyes.
Mr. Northman cleared his throat, a hint of discomfort creeping into his expression. "Is there something you need, Felicia?" he asked, his voice tinged with a note of caution.
Felicia shrugged nonchalantly, her gaze flickering between Nina and Mr. Northman. "Just said I forgot my pen, came back to pick it up" she said with a smirk, her eyes lingering on Nina for a moment longer than necessary.
Nina bristled at Felicia's insinuation, her frustration bubbling to the surface once more. "Well, we're busy, so if you don't mind..." she trailed off, gesturing pointedly towards the door.
Felicia's smirk widened, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Of course," she said smoothly, walks in, she picks her pen lying on the table, turns her heel to leave. But before she exited, she glanced back at Mr. Northman, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary, "please don't forget my request".
Once Felicia was gone, Nina let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I hate her so much" she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration.
Mr. Northman reached out to grasp Nina's hand, his expression reassuring. "I understand, but we shouldn't let hate fill our hearts," he said gently, squeezing her hand comfortingly.
Nina nodded, though her doubts lingered. She knew that Felicia's presence would continue to complicate their lives, and she couldn't shake the feeling that trouble was brewing on the horizon. "I know, I wanted to do quickie with you",
"No baby, when we get home, I'll show you any style you want," Luke murmured, his voice laced with desire as he leaned in to kiss Nina deeply. Their lips met in a passionate embrace, igniting a fiery longing between them. As their kiss deepened, Luke's hands roamed over Nina's body, his touch sending shivers down her spine.
With a soft moan, Nina melted into his embrace, her senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of his lips against hers. She felt his hand slip beneath her blouse, caressing her bare skin with a tenderness that made her heart race.
But just as things were heating up, Luke suddenly pulled away, his expression filled with urgency. "The door is open, let me lock it," he said quickly, his voice strained with desire. He hurried to the door, bolting it shut before returning to Nina's waiting embrace.
As he turned back to her, he was met with the sight of his wife standing before him, her blouse open and her breasts exposed. The sight of her beauty took his breath away, and he felt a surge of desire coursing through him.
With a hungry look in his eyes, Luke closed the distance between them, his hands reaching out to cup her breasts as he pulled her close. Their bodies pressed together, igniting a fierce passion between them as they surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure of their love.
Nina had accomplished her mission at her husband's office, feeling a sense of satisfaction as she kissed him goodbye and prepared to depart.
"See you at home, honey. Come home early today," she reminded him softly, her voice filled with warmth and affection.
"I will," Mr. Northman replied, his attention returning to the document he had been reviewing before Felicia's unexpected visit.
As Nina stepped out of the office, she carried with her the faint scent of Mr. Northman's favorite Swiss perfume, a subtle reminder of their intimate connection.
Alone in the office, Mr. Northman sighed heavily as he pondered the encounter. He couldn't deny Felicia's appeal but he also knew the importance of prioritizing his marriage and maintaining professional boundaries.
Meanwhile, Nina reached for her phone and dialed a number, her mind already racing with plans for Felicia ahead. "Hello, Spider",
"Yes, ma," the voice on the other end responded promptly, awaiting further instructions.
"Get me any information you can on someone. I need to know everything about her, including her fashion house. I'll send her details to you," Nina instructed before ending the call, swiftly forwarding Felicia's details to her contact.
Next, Nina dialed Charity's number, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty as she prepared to make the call. It would be their first conversation since the exhibition, and Nina hoped to discuss both business and personal matters with her friend.
As the phone rang, Nina slid open the door to her car and settled into the driver's seat, glancing at the time display—it was nearly 5 PM. Placing her bag on the passenger's seat, a habit she always maintained, she waited for Charity to pick up.
"Babe," Nina greeted warmly as soon as Charity answered the call, eager to briefly catch up with her friend. "Hello, Nina, how have you been?" Charity's voice greeted warmly through the phone.
"I've been fine, dear. Did you receive my appreciation gift?" Nina inquired, her tone filled with genuine concern.
"Yes, I did. I was supposed to call you, but I totally forgot. Thank you, Nina," Charity responded gratefully.
"It's okay, I understand how busy you are," Nina reassured her friend, her eyes focused on the road ahead as she drove. With a swift motion, she transferred the call to her car's Bluetooth system, ensuring a safe and hands-free conversation. "There will be news in two days' time. Could you support the family through your foundation? I'll send donations."
"What news?" Charity asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
"You'll find out about the news in two days' time. Don't worry; it's completely harmless. In fact, it will boost the image of the association," Nina explained, her words carefully chosen to assuage any concerns.
"Okay, Nina, if you say so," Charity replied, though a hint of uncertainty lingered in her tone.
"Thank you. I'll be going off now," Nina said, preparing to end the call and focus on the road ahead.
Spider always looks forward to Nina's calls; she's his top-paying customer and has remained loyal to him for over a decade. He first met Nina through her father, with whom he also works. Despite his innocent appearance, Spider is a slim man in his forties, possessing a deceptive charm that belies his true nature. While his face may seem harmless, those who know him understand that he is one of the most cunning and dangerous individuals around. Remarkably, Spider has no tattoos adorning his body, a deliberate choice to maintain his low profile. Running a restaurant as a decoy, Spider's intelligence and strategic thinking earned him the trust of Nina's father, solidifying his place in their circle. Nina's father first encountered Spider through his late closest ally, and he was deeply impressed by the last job Spider completed for his late friend. Despite the passing of his friend, the truth behind the act remains a mystery to this day. Even the police, with all their resources, have been unable to unravel the identity of the perpetrator. While the incident made headlines at the time, it remains one of the town's coldest cases, shrouded in secrecy and intrigue. Despite his involvement in such a high-profile case, Spider maintains a kind demeanor towards others and professes a love for animals. However, those who know him understand that this facade serves as yet another layer of deception. After concluding his call with Nina, Spider sensed that something was up, but he understood the importance of maintaining a low profile until he received further instructions from her. As he made his way back into his restaurant, his phone chimed with a new message. Without hesitation, he glanced at the screen to read the contents: "Felicia Switze, residing at No: 254 Newsok Street, contact number: +7125491615.
"She's launching her fashion house. Locate the venue quickly. I need the details as soon as possible," he instructed urgently.
Hurrying inside his restaurant, Spider made a beeline for his private inner chamber, concealed behind a false wall accessible only by a small remote he kept exclusively for himself. Upon entering, a staircase descended underground, flanked by walls adorned with religious artifacts, giving the impression of a personal prayer sanctuary rather than a clandestine hideaway.
The inner chamber was a stark contrast to the black-painted entrance wall, with its pristine white walls creating an atmosphere of starkness and clarity. Positioned to the left, a cabinet housed an array of facial masks, each meticulously crafted to match his complexion and hairstyle, rendering him virtually unrecognizable when worn. To the right, an assortment of disguise equipment and materials filled the space, including priestly robes, medical attire complete with stethoscopes, an array of suits, plumbing uniforms bearing fictitious names, as well as an arsenal of tools ranging from ropes to guns and knives, catering to any scenario imaginable. Directly opposite the staircase stood a grand dressing mirror, flanked by a solitary chair, inviting contemplation and transformation alike.
Atop the dressing mirror lay an assortment of forged certifications, each bearing fictitious names tailored to his various operations. Adjacent to these documents, a desktop computer stood ready for his research and hacking endeavors. Seating himself before the mirror, he powered up the desktop, preparing to delve into the depths of Felicia Switze's background. As he entered her name into the search bar, her face greeted him on the screen, triggering a flicker of recognition. Recalling a past assignment for Nina involving Felicia, he realized the gravity of the situation at hand. Aware of her father's corporate connections, he resolved to start his investigation there. Rising from his seat, he retrieved a mask from the cabinet, mindful of the need for a fresh disguise. Contemplating his next move, he pondered, "What guise shall I assume for this encounter?" He pondered his options for a moment, pausing to consider the best approach. Suddenly, a realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, prompting an immediate response. "I'll pose as a fashion designer from the US," he declared with a self-assured grin, reassured by the presence of a business card to corroborate his story. Donning his mask and selecting one of his most elegant suits, he adorned himself with a prestigious wristwatch before making his way through the concealed exit to avoid detection by his curious staff. Navigating the corridors with practiced stealth, he emerged into the building's car park, reserved for his exclusive use. He had acquired the building precisely for its privacy, a necessity given the clandestine nature of his work. His car park boasted an impressive array of exotic vehicles, alongside two inconspicuous farming trucks that served as effective camouflage for his operations. Selecting one of the most luxurious cars from his collection, he embarked on his journey to Mr. Switze's company headquarters. Within the confines of his vehicle, he ensured he had all the necessary tools of deception: his designer business card, a fashion brochure embellished with fictitious projects purportedly executed in the United States. With unwavering resolve, Spider approached Switze's imposing office building, fully prepared for the impending confrontation. Parking his vehicle directly in front of the entrance, he strode purposefully into the lobby. There, he was greeted by the receptionist—a striking woman of considerable stature, her glasses perched delicately on the bridge of her nose.
"Hello, sir. Welcome to Switze Media. How may we assist you today?"
"Oh," he adjusted his tie with practiced ease. "I have an appointment with the Chairman's secretary."
"Alright, please hold on, sir," she responded promptly, reaching for the phone. "Hello, sir. Someone here claims to have an appointment with you."
"And what's his name?" came the inquiry from the other end of the line.
Glancing up at Spider, the receptionist inquired, "And your name, sir?"
"Mr. Nukeson, the fashion designer," he replied smoothly.
Returning to her call, the receptionist relayed the information. "Mr. Nukeson, the fashion designer."
"Well, I'm not expecting anybody, but if it's important, you can let him up," the voice from the phone relayed the message.
"Okay, sir," the receptionist responded, ending the call. She then turned her attention back to Spider. "Please, register your details here, sir."
Handing him a register, she watched as he quickly jotted down his name and a fake phone number and house number. With a smile, he returned the register. "Done," he confirmed.
"First floor and the first door to your right," she instructed, passing him a visitor's tag. As he took it, he flashed her a charming smile. "Thank you, pretty."
Returning his smile, the receptionist watched as he made his way upstairs to the secretary's office.
Mr. Oman sat at his desk, surrounded by piles of papers strewn across every corner. He couldn't shake off his curiosity about this unexpected visitor, Mr. Nukeson. Why did he want to see him? He hadn't scheduled any appointments with someone by that name. Yet, the allure of seeing the designs of this mysterious visitor intrigued him, especially since he was in dire need of a new night outfit and had little time to spare for shopping.
As his thoughts swirled, the door to his office slid open, revealing a striking figure – tall, handsome, and impeccably dressed in a custom-made suit. This had to be Mr. Nukeson.
"You must be Mr. Nukeson?" Mr. Oman greeted, rising from his chair to meet Nukeson, extending his hand for a handshake. "Yes, I am Nukeson, sir. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," replied Nukeson, reciprocating the handshake warmly.
"Finally meet me?" Oman inquired, a hint of confusion in his voice, as he gestured for Nukeson to take a seat.
"Yes, I have heard a lot about you. The famous and intelligent secretary to the Chairman of Switze Media. Everyone knows your prowess," Nukeson remarked, admiration evident in his tone.
Mr. Oman smiled modestly. "Thank you, Mr. Nukeson. Please, let me see what you have."
Nukeson nodded, opening his bag to retrieve his catalog. With a flourish, he handed it over to Oman. "Here are my works, mostly done for US clients."
"US? You lived in the US?" Mr. Oman's fascination with the United States was palpable, evident in his expression. His admiration for all things American was unmistakable.
"Yes, I've lived in the United States all my life. My business is there. Let me tell you a secret," Nukeson leaned in conspiratorially.
"A secret?" Oman leaned forward, intrigued.
"Yes. I sew for the US White House. Barack Obama wears my designs," Nukeson revealed.
"Really?" Oman's eyes widened in amazement and admiration. It was clear that he was impressed by the revelation. At that moment, he knew that Nukeson was the perfect choice for his clothing needs.
"I am so impressed," he exclaimed, flipping through the catalog with evident enthusiasm, clearly enamored with what he saw. "I would like to get some designs from you"
"Okay, just pick anyone you like," Mr. Oman offered, gesturing to the array of suits in the catalog.
"I want this," Nukeson pointed to a customized suit with a unique design that had never been seen in the country. He retrieved a notebook to record the details of the suit and its page number in the catalog.
"I would like to take your measurement," Nukeson suggested.
"Great," Oman agreed, rising from his seat. Nukeson proceeded to take his measurements, meticulously recording them in his diary.
"Do you also sew for women?" Oman inquires.
"Sure," Nukeson confirms.
"Great," Oman continued, his excitement evident. "I would love for you to sew the same design for someone I have a crush on, but I wouldn't want her to know it's coming from me.
"Alright, but how will I take her measurements?" Nukeson queried.
Oman scratched his head, considering his options. "I will tell her that we will be attending a company event with a uniform outfit, and you will have to take her measurements."
"That will be fine," Nukeson agrees.
Oman dialed Felicia's number on his phone. She answered after three rings.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Does my father want me again?" Felicia's voice sounded wary.
"No, but I am sending a fashion designer to take your measurements," Mr. Oman explained.
"Why? I am a designer myself," Felicia retorts.
"We have a company event coming up, and this designer is the one assigned to sew the outfit," Mr. Oman clarifies.