He did not love her, but against all odds she loved him - the person he was and not Nicolaas de Koningh.
With a curse, he swung away and walked out of the airport.
She was not of his world, was not for him, and would never deserve someone as cynical as he was.
Nic started drinking the moment he stepped inside his limousine, and by the time he arrived in the family’s palatial compound, liquor had numbed his senses, enough to bury the regret and pain deep inside him.
It was over. He had to accept that.
The main estate was ablaze with light when his limousine rolled down the paved driveway. It was a sure sign that Willem was once again performing his duty as the head of the Amsterdam side of the clan and hosting a party for one of their family members. Nic was tempted to turn away and drink himself into a stupor in his own estate, but years of hard-earned lessons in self-discipline prevented him.
Taking a deep breath, he strode inside, his handsome face wearing a courteous smile that revealed not a hint of the deep and clawing regret he felt inside him. All female guests, with or without partners, stopped to observe his entrance. Many stared at him with coy invitation in their eyes. Others openly gawked. Only those who were also part of the de Koningh clan were impartial to the air of brooding mystery and haughty aloofness that Nic exuded and which all the other women found so incredibly attractive.
“Nic,” Willem greeted his youngest brother with warmth, making sure not to pull Nic into a welcoming hug and instead only offering his hand for a shake.
Nic nodded.
Willem took one look at his brother’s eyes and knew two things:
Firstly, Nic was drunk.
Secondly, Nic was in trouble.
He said quietly, “Come to my study and let’s talk about it.”
Nic immediately shook his head, knowing what his brother was up to. “I am fine. I’ve made my decision.”
“Made a decision about what?”
“About her—-” Nic stopped speaking.
Willem only continued gazing at him, and Nic expelled his breath in frustration. He knew that look on his brother’s face. Willem would only quietly and stubbornly keep at him until he was forced to reveal the truth.
And that was...what? That he might have just found out love at first sight could happen? That it did happen? Even to his own ears, it sounded fucking crazy.
“You can talk to me about anything, Nic,” Willem stressed.
“Later,” Nic finally said. “After the party.”
Willem’s body slowly relaxed. “Understood.”
They did not speak after that, both of them concentrating on their own thoughts and neither of them aware that one woman was eavesdropping on their conversation. This same woman would later successfully wrangle an invitation to stay behind and spend the night in the de Koningh estate. Afterwards, when all the guests and staff had departed, Thelma Laarson would quietly slip out of her room to search for Nicolaas de Koningh.
She was a beautiful woman, made rich from divorce money. But she wanted more and she had long decided that Nicolaas would be her next husband. As he was the only male in the prestigious de Koningh family who was likely to fall for her trap, Thelma was determined to do everything she could to make her dreams of becoming part of his family come true.
Nic’s story as the poor rich little boy became known throughout the Netherlands when a friend turned paid source revealed his history to the tabloids. His mother had tried to abort him, not wanting to suffer another nine months of pregnancy and having to work hard to regain her slim figure after birth. His father had been just as callous, treating Nicolaas like a bastard child because that was exactly what he thought Nicolaas was until DNA tests proved him wrong.
His horrible childhood had made Nic the most frighteningly aloof man in the de Koningh clan, but Thelma knew that same childhood would also most assuredly make him vulnerable emotionally in certain ways. All she had to do was to discover the largest chink in his armor – and tonight was her best chance of finding it.
It took Thelma nearly fifteen minutes to find Nicolaas, who by then was sprawled on one of the velvet couches in the patio facing the estate’s sculptured gardens.
He stirred awake at the sight of her. “Thelma?” His voice had the barest hint of intoxication to it, but that was more than enough for her.
“Can I join you for a drink?” she asked throatily even as she took a seat next to him on the couch, not really caring to wait for an answer.
“Of course,” Nic replied, striving to perform the usual niceties even as he tried to clear away the cobwebs on his mind.
Thelma gave it her all then, entertaining him with amusing banter, plying the billionaire with wine, and in between she asked him the most subtle of questions. She was patient but methodical in the way she extracted information, and in time she had all the answers she needed.