Page 77 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
His smile is slow and deeply satisfied. "Then you'll sit beside me during every call, every meeting, every decision. We'll build this together, properly."
"Thank you," I say, and mean it completely. "For trusting me with this."
"Thank you," he counters, pulling me close, "for being worthy of that trust."
As we spend the rest of Christmas afternoon making calls, setting meetings, putting the pieces in place for my medical empire, I can't help but marvel at how perfectly everything is falling into place. Victor thinks he's sharing power with me because he loves me. He has no idea he's handing me the keys to transform everything he's built into something that serves my vision of justice.
By sunset, I have commitments for funding, a shortlist of properties, and meetings scheduled with architects and equipment suppliers. I also have a comprehensive understanding of how Victor's organization operates, who his key allies are, and where the leverage points lie.
Information is power, and he's just given me more information than he realizes.
"Merry Christmas, my queen," Victor murmurs against my hair as we watch the sun set over the mountains.
"Merry Christmas, my king," I reply, my fingers already moving across the tablet screen, planning the next phase of my long game.
The best part? He thinks he's won. He thinks he's corrupted me, claimed me, turned me into his perfect partner in darkness.
He's not wrong about the partner part. He's just wrong about whose vision we're ultimately serving.
By this time next year, his criminal empire will be funding trauma centers across the country. His dirty money will be saving lives, advancing medicine, training the next generation of cardiac surgeons. He'll be so proud of what we've built together that he'll never question how thoroughly I've redirected his power toward my own moral ends.
The thought fills me with a satisfaction deeper than any orgasm, sweeter than any revenge.
This is what victory looks like—not destruction, but transformation. Not defeating your enemy, but converting them into your greatest asset.
Merry Christmas to me.
Kyra
Epilogue
Three Years Later
The Sinclair Institute for Advanced Cardiac Research spans three floors of what was once Denver's most prestigious office building. Victor bought it outright in the first year of our marriage, had it completely renovated by year two, and now in our third year together, I'm performing experimental procedures that are revolutionizing trauma surgery worldwide. The nameplate on my office door reads "Dr. Kyra Sinclair-Strickland, Director," and every time I see it, I feel a surge of satisfaction that has nothing to do with the hyphenated surname.
Though the surname itself carries power I'm still learning to wield.
"Dr. Sinclair-Strickland?" My research assistant, Jennifer, appears in my office doorway with the kind of excitement that usually means breakthrough results. "The latest trials on the rapid cardiac repair technique—you need to see this."
I set aside the funding proposals I've been reviewing—proposals that will be approved based on my recommendation alone, thanks to the Strickland Foundation's seemingly unlimited resources, and follow her to the main lab.
The numbers on the screen make me catch my breath. Ninety-six percent survival rate on cardiac trauma that would have been fatal six months ago. We're not just saving lives anymore; we're rewriting the rules of emergency medicine.
"This is incredible," I breathe, scrolling through the data. "We're looking at thousands of lives saved annually once this gets approved for widespread use."
"The medical board wants to fast-track approval," Jennifer says, practically vibrating with excitement. "Dr. Harris from Johns Hopkins called it 'the most significant advancement in cardiac surgery in the past decade.'"
Pride swells in my chest, but it's not just professional satisfaction. It's the deeper pleasure of a plan executed perfectly. Victor's dirty money is literally saving lives, and the medical community is praising our "innovative private funding model" without having any idea where the money actually comes from.
"Schedule a press conference for Friday," I decide. "I want to announce the trial results and our plans for the next phase of research."
After Jennifer leaves to handle the arrangements, I remain in the lab, surrounded by equipment that costs more than most hospitals' entire annual budgets. Every machine, every tool, every innovation possible because Victor saw what I could become and gave me the resources to become it. Three years ofmarriage, three years of building this empire together, and I'm still amazed by what we've accomplished.
The sound of familiar footsteps in the hallway makes me smile before I even turn around.
"There's my brilliant wife," Victor says from the doorway, and the pride in his voice sends warmth through me. "Jennifer told me the results came in."
"Ninety-six percent," I say, moving into his arms. "We're going to save so many people, Victor."
