Crown of the Empire

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

The moment the plane's wheels kissed the tarmac at NAIA, I knew I was walking straight into hell.

Not the burning flames, demons with pitchforks kind of hell. No. My hell came with flashing bulbs, microphones shoved into my face, and the delightful chorus of reporters screaming questions I had no interest in answering.

I hadn't even stepped out of the private jet yet, but I could already see the vultures gathering beyond the tinted windows of the car waiting for us on the runway. My name was on their lips, my ring was in their camera zooms, and my marriage to Nikolai Sebastian Romanov Takedo was the headline they were ready to bleed dry for the next month.

I glanced at my reflection in the window: oversized black shades, sleek bun, ivory jumpsuit cinched with a gold belt, heels sharp enough to double as weapons. I didn't just look like money—I looked like the bank itself. And that was exactly the point.

Beside me, Nikolai scrolled through his phone, unbothered as always. He was already in work mode, his suit immaculate despite the long flight, his expression that calm, unreadable mask he wore so well. I envied it sometimes—how he could glide through chaos like it was a ballroom dance.

"They'll eat you alive out there," he said without looking up, voice cool, accented, amused.

I smirked, adjusting my sunglasses. "Let them choke."

The door opened. Heat slammed into me first—sticky Manila air that clung to skin like gossip. Then came the noise.

"Mrs. Takedo, how was Thailand?"

"Are you pregnant already?"

"Is ME Bank a jab at Vergara?"

"Do you think your father is watching?"

"Who designed your ring? Is it Cartier?"

I stepped out like I was descending a runway, not a staircase. If the cameras wanted a show, they were going to get one.

A wall of microphones surged forward, but the security Nikolai insisted on (his men, not mine) held them back. I moved slow, deliberate, each click of my heels a reminder: I survived worse than you. I built my name from your whispers.

One particularly brave reporter shouted, "Mrs. Takedo, your critics say you're just riding on your husband's name—what's your response?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Turned my head, let my sunglasses slide just low enough for him to see the full weight of my glare.

"My husband married me, not the other way around," I said, voice like crystal dipped in venom. "If anyone's riding, darling, it's him."

Gasps. Laughter. The feeding frenzy doubled. And God, it was delicious.

I slid back into the car waiting at the base of the steps, Nikolai following. The door shut, muffling the chaos into a dull roar. I leaned back against the leather seat, exhaling like I'd just performed.

"Was that necessary?" Nikolai asked, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him—he was fighting a smile.

"Of course it was," I shot back. "If they want a villainess heiress, I'll give them a queen."

The convoy rolled out, whisking us through Manila's traffic toward Makati, where the new ME Bank headquarters rose like a glass jewel against the skyline. One month old, and already the subject of headlines worldwide. Investors swarmed. Clients lined up. Downloads of the ME app broke records faster than my father's empire crumbled.

As the tower came into view, I felt it again—that electric hum beneath my skin. This wasn't just a building. This was my war banner, my palace, my revenge carved into steel and glass.