Chapter 4
Andreas
She’s as infuriating as she is fascinating.
I can’t believe she just sent me packing.
I was ready to make an offer today, for heaven’s sake, and finalize the purchase this week.
Was what I did really so bad? I feel the anger rising inside me.
I’m driving faster than I should, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are turning white.
I can’t remember the last time someone dismissed me like that.
I start formulating a plan because I still want to buy the villa, preferably before any other buyers swoop in.
I want to avoid this turning into a bidding war, which could cost me a fortune.
I need to know who Nora is and how I can convince her to sell me that house.
If I’m being honest, I also want to know why she reacted so strongly, why she got emotional, and why she’s willing to let this deal slip away because of it.
I have to give her credit. She’s not after my money, and that’s a refreshing change from the usual vultures.
A woman who sets high standards for those around her—I have to admire that.
Eric works exclusively for B-Tech, overseeing everything related to the company’s security, including my personal safety.
He designed a high-tech alarm system for the office building and handles all matters of cybersecurity.
If I don’t trust someone, Eric is the first to know.
I trust him with my life. He has a degree in bioengineering and is a former soldier.
After serving a year in the military, he transitioned to the police force.
Eric is intelligent and knows how to get things done.
Unfortunately, an infected gunshot wound in his leg ended his career.
It took months of treatment and rehab, and while he’s fully mobile today, the injury left him with a slight limp and ended his career with the Belgian federal police.
At the time, my company was on the brink of success, and that success apparently comes with its own risks.
Eric was the right man at the right time.
We’ve known each other for at least fifteen years because we spent part of our childhood in the same foster home.
Eric is the same age as me and knows me inside out.
He’s the one person I can’t fool. He has a great sense of humor but rarely laughs.
He doesn’t have anyone in his life except me and his brown German Shepherd, Spike. Time to give him a call.
“Eric, I need your help. I don’t have time to explain everything, but I want you to find out everything you can about Nora Dewolf.
She’s a real estate agent in Bruges, and that’s all I really know.
I want to know where she lives, who she hangs out with, what kind of person she is—everything, got it? ”
“Is she a threat, Andreas? What context am I working with here?” Eric asks seriously.
“No threat this time, and no context needed, Eric. I’m handling this one on my own,” I say curtly.
“Got it, Andreas. I’ll start digging and send you what I find as soon as possible.”
I thank Eric and instruct my BMW to call the next person on my list: Donna.
She’s my personal assistant and pretty much runs my entire life.
She’s been working for me for four years and has made herself indispensable in that time.
It’s a privilege to be surrounded by capable people like Donna.
Usually, she’s already taken care of things before I even know I need them.
She’s petite, slender, and a bit older, and at first glance, she seems timid, but her appearance is deceiving.
She’s assertive, confident, and incredibly efficient.
A woman who truly gets things done, and since she works for me, I benefit from her no-nonsense approach every day.
Donna earns more than the average manager in my company—they’d be shocked if they knew how much—but she’s worth every penny.
“Donna, what’s on my agenda for tomorrow?” I ask.
“Let’s see, tomorrow morning you have a haircut at 10 a.m. and don’t even think about canceling it—it’s long overdue!” she says sternly.
Only Donna can get away with saying things like that to me.
“At 11 a.m., you have the weekly brunch meeting with the development team. At 2 p.m., there’s an applicant coming in for a final interview—HR is already convinced. At 4 p.m., there’s a meeting to fine-tune next week’s launch. After that…”
“Clear my schedule over lunch. They can manage without me during the briefing. I’ll be back in time for that job interview and the meetings afterward.”
“Uh, okay, are you sure? Should I schedule something else for you?” she asks.
“No, that’s not necessary. By the way, have you heard anything about the work being done in my apartment today?” I ask, quickly changing the subject.
“Yes, everything went smoothly. The new doors have been installed, and I had the cleaning service come in, so you won’t even notice any work was done when you get home.” Perfect.
“Thanks, Donna, what would I do without you? See you tomorrow!”
I hang up, knowing exactly what I need to do tomorrow.
Technically, I could call Bertrand and have him handle the purchase of the house.
It’s his job, after all, and that would make the most sense.
But I need to do this myself. I’m the one buying the house.
It’s my money, and I’m the one who’ll live there.
Of course, the main reason is probably that I want to see Nora again—not that I’m ready to admit that to myself yet.
For now, I’ll just tell myself there’s unfinished business between us.
She doesn’t get to decide whether or not I can buy that house.
Tomorrow at noon, I’ll find her, and we’ll begin negotiations.
I continue driving toward my apartment. It’s truly breathtaking.
Located on a quiet street in the historic center of Bruges, it offers an ideal blend of charm and modern convenience.
Sure, the tourists and occasional horse-drawn carriages can block the streets now and then, but it’s worth it.
I can park my cars safely underground, and in the evenings, when the city empties out, it’s incredibly peaceful.
At times, you feel like you’ve stepped into a different, medieval world.
The apartment itself is a penthouse in a renovated historic building from the 16th century.
The ceilings soar to three meters, and the dark oak doors, floors, and tall windows still have the original stained glass in the street-facing section.
Most of the walls are paneled, except for one with exposed brick, adding a rustic touch.
This place exudes history and warmth, yet the modern finishes and luxurious details make it feel contemporary.
The kitchen has a dark marble countertop, light green cabinets, and an AGA stove, which has never been used.
Today, two interior doors were reinstalled after a full restoration.
The rooftop terrace has space for an elegant dining table, a jacuzzi, and a lounge area, all surrounded by lush greenery that makes you feel like you’re in a jungle.
The plants offer a level of privacy that’s rare in the heart of Bruges.
It sounds crazy to want to leave here, and yet I have a good reason for it.
The rest of the building also belongs to me and houses my company.
Initially, living above the office seemed like a brilliantly practical solution, but over time, it’s felt more like a disadvantage.
I work hard—constantly, really—and I don’t mind being closely connected to the company.
But the saying about keeping your work and private life separate?
I’m starting to see the wisdom in it. I no longer want to be available 24/7, nor do I want my home to be perpetually associated with work.
I’ll never sell this apartment. I’ve only lived here for two years, and it’ll undoubtedly come in handy during busy deadlines, but I also want a place that’s truly mine, a place to truly relax.
I drive into the garage, park in my usual spot, and take the elevator to my apartment.
My private elevator doesn’t make any stops; it goes straight to the penthouse.
At least that keeps work and private life somewhat separate.
Once upstairs, I hang my blazer on the coat rack, place my car keys on the counter, and head straight to my dressing room for a set of fresh workout clothes.
Over the years, I’ve learned that exercising is the best way to work through my frustrations, fears, or whatever else is clouding my mind.
I’ve set up a separate room with fitness equipment and weights.
I promise myself an hour of intense training to blow off steam and detach from the day’s demands.
I quickly change, turn on my favorite playlist, and start my usual workout routine.
I work up a serious sweat, cranking the music as loud as it’ll go, but I still can’t seem to silence my thoughts.
The physical exertion feels good. I enjoy pushing myself, reveling in the burn of hard work, and most of the time, it’s enough to give me a mental boost.
Right now, however, the entire conversation with Nora keeps replaying in my mind. Her presence lingers, vivid and persistent. The louder the music, the harder it becomes to organize my thoughts. It’s a paradox—a mental workout that feels more like torture.
I finish my usual routine and call it quits after an hour.
Sweaty, thirsty, physically and mentally exhausted, I head to the bathroom for a quick, cold shower.
The icy water cascading over my body helps ease some of the tension.
Goosebumps ripple across my skin as the cold works its way in.
I wash my hair and scrub away the day’s grime.