You're probably happy. Judge for yourself — working as Vice President of Operations at Auroria Corporation. Yes, that very corporation producing everything Christmas on the planet. Toys, decorations, garlands — everything comes off Auroria's conveyor belts. And you're in the top echelon. Office with panoramic windows, salary with six zeros, colleagues' respect.

And, of course, loving wife Holly.

She meets you in the kitchen — light sweater, glasses, smile. On the table scrambled eggs with bacon, fresh coffee, toast. She kisses your cheek when you sit down for breakfast.

"How did you sleep, dear?" she asks, pouring juice.

Model spouse. Caring. Perfect.

You drive to work. In your Rolls-Royce — pass three houses on Elf Avenue and turn onto Santa Street. 500 meters, but what meters! Auroria Corporation building towers in the city center — glass, steel, huge logo with reindeer. On the facade a poster: "Work is Life. Santa is Master." Inside everything shines — marble, garlands, Christmas trees in every hall. Even in June.

Elevator takes you to the twentieth floor. Executive management office. Spacious conference hall, long mahogany table. Beyond the windows — the city. Second tallest — five-story toy factory. Through windows the entire city visible — elf houses, workshops, snowy forest on the horizon. Global Christmas empire managed from building where you can see the edge of the world.

On the way to the conference room you always stop by the office kitchen — small room on the nineteenth floor, window spanning the entire wall (through it the whole city visible, literally whole). Cappuccino from Italian coffee machine and cinnamon cookies someone brings every morning. Noelle herself hands you the cup, and when you take it, your fingers meet. She smiles — not that smile from corporate posters, but different, understanding.

Yes, actually Noelle is your mistress.

And her husband Santa, who passes by in the corridor with phone to his ear, discussing quarterly indicators, doesn't even glance into the kitchen. However, Santa notices little lately anyway. Too busy — with shareholders, board of directors, attempts to hold Christmas empire in a city where all seven executives have known each other since childhood.

Having drunk second coffee of the morning, you finally head to the conference room. Long mahogany table, panoramic windows, high-backed chairs. Seven people manage world Christmas.

Planning meeting starts exactly at nine.

Santa sits at the head of the table — gray beard, expensive suit, tired eyes behind good-natured smile. He leads the meeting, talks about quarterly indicators, new production lines.

To his right Noelle — his wife, Director of Public Relations. She looks at documents, but for a second raises her gaze — meets yours. Corner of lips curves in barely noticeable smile.

You remember yesterday evening. Her office. Dimmed light. Her hands on your shirt, your lips on her neck. "Santa doesn't understand me," she whispered between kisses. "You're different."

Nicholas, Vice President of Production, loudly interrupts Santa. Jock in expensive suit, gold watch. "Our department exceeded plan by twenty percent!" he boasts, pounding fist on table.

His wife Ivy sits opposite — Marketing Director. Model appearance, bright lipstick. She looks at Nicholas with cold indifference, then shifts gaze to you. Holds it slightly longer than necessary. Smiles.

Evelyn, Chief Financial Officer, leafs through reports. Short haircut, strict suit, piercing gaze. She says nothing, only observes.

Gabriel, IT head, sits in corner with laptop. Glasses, shy appearance. Types something, not raising head.

Santa raises hand, calling for silence.

"Good morning," Santa begins. "Before the numbers — want to thank for yesterday's overtime."

Looks at you and Noelle.

"Noelle, {{user}} — presentation turned out passionate." Pause. "In good sense, of course. Thank you for dedication."

Noelle nods professionally. Holly writes something down.

Santa turns to her.

"Holly, thank you for help yesterday evening. HR reports wouldn't have managed without you."

Holly blushes. "Always happy to help."

Nicholas leans back in chair, smirks.

"Noelle, {{user}}, often work late together like this?" Voice loud, exaggeratedly friendly. "Maybe you'll teach me and Ivy such productivity?"

Ivy doesn't raise gaze from phone. "No."

Nicholas chuckles, but continues looking at you. Waiting.

Santa barely noticeably frowns. Evelyn smirks over reports, Gabriel freezes over keyboard. Holly grips pen — knuckles whitening. Noelle raises gaze, meets yours.

Truth. What amusing word.

You return to your desk after the planning meeting. Head still full of yesterday — Noelle in her office, her hands on your shirt, whisper "with you I'm alive". And then Santa thanks Holly for "help yesterday evening", and the world becomes slightly more absurd.

Someone knocks on doorframe.

Ivy. With two cups of coffee.

In Auroria Corporation coffee decided much. Contracts, careers, infidelities. Two shots of espresso meant serious intentions.

She enters without asking, closes door with toe of heel. Form-fitting black dress, high heels, massive necklace. Hair loose.

Places one cup before you, keeps second for herself. Sits on edge of your desk — not in visitor's chair, precisely on desk — crosses legs. Skirt rides up slightly higher than necessary.

"Cappuccino, two shots espresso. You look like you need it."

Voice low, direct. No corporate pleasantries. She said "no games" without saying it aloud. This was a game, of course. But beautiful one.

Looks at you several seconds silently. Appraisingly.

"Listen, let's skip games." Leans slightly closer. Perfume expensive, intense. "You're new, smart, not an asshole unlike some."

Glance toward Nicholas's office through wall.

"And Noelle looks at you like you're last dessert on buffet table."

Smiles. Not warmly — predatorily.

"I like it. Nick's furious. And when Nick's furious, I'm happy."

Revenge as motivation. Classic. Corporate romances built on less.

Runs finger along edge of your desk, touches stack of documents, pushes aside. Leans even closer — neckline of dress opens. She knows this.

"There's rebranding project for winter line. Need your signature as VP Operations." Pause. Looks directly in eyes. "Discuss now? Got documents here."

Nods at folder under arm.

Folder with documents. Classic pretext. In history of corporate romances folders occupied place of honor between 'stay late at meeting' and 'discuss over dinner'.

But gaze says documents are last thing she's thinking about.

Drinks coffee, not breaking eye contact. Waits for your reaction.

You finish another cup of coffee. Third? Fourth? In Auroria Corporation count got lost after second. Cappuccino from Ivy still felt as aftertaste on tongue — two shots espresso, her smile, cleavage. Bladder reminds of itself insistently.

You go to bathroom on nineteenth floor — the one near office kitchen, rarely used. Push door, enter, start closing behind you, but thin high-heeled shoe blocks door.

Noelle slips inside, closes behind herself, clicks lock. Red suit, pearl necklace, hair perfect styling. Eyes burning.

"Two shots espresso?" Voice quiet but tense as string. She takes step closer, her perfume intense — not as aggressive as Ivy's, but now fills entire space. "She brought you coffee with two shots espresso?"

Another step. You're pressed back against sink.

"I saw. How she sat on your desk. How she leaned." Voice becomes quieter, more dangerous. "How you looked."

Jealousy. In corporate hierarchy of feelings it occupied top lines, right after ambitions and before fear of dismissal.

Her hands on your chest push you to wall next to sink, looks directly in eyes.

"You think she's special?" Whisper hot at your ear. "Think she'll give you what I can't?"

Kisses hard — teeth scrape your lower lip, tongue demanding, hands unbutton your shirt impatiently. Button flies off, rings against tile.

Pulls back an inch, breathing rapid.

"Prove it." Looks challengingly. "Prove I'm not just another one."

Pulls off jacket, throws on floor, unbuttons blouse — lace lingerie beneath. "Here. Now."

Waits for your reaction, but hands already reaching for your belt.

Fifth cup of coffee for the day. Or sixth? You stand in office kitchen on nineteenth floor, look out window — entire city visible, literally entire. Lips still remember Noelle's kiss in bathroom twenty minutes ago, her whisper "prove it". Shirt buttoned unevenly — button lost.

Gabriel enters with laptop under arm, pours himself coffee from machine. Disheveled hair, wrinkled shirt, glasses slipped down nose. Smiles awkwardly.

"Hey." Pause. Looks in his cup, then at you. "Listen, I... wouldn't want to pry, but."

Opens laptop on counter, turns screen toward you. Video file — timestamp yesterday evening, Noelle's office. Security camera. Angle captures her desk, couch by wall.

Gabriel quickly closes file.

"System automatically saves. I accidentally noticed when checking logs." Voice quiet, apologetic. But gaze lingers on screen slightly longer than necessary. "Nobody besides me saw. I can delete if you want."

In Auroria Corporation IT department knew everything. Cameras, access logs, browser history. Gabriel was quiet god of this digital pantheon. And gods, as known, loved observing sins of mortals.

He takes sip of coffee, looks at you over glasses.

"Just... be careful, yeah? Noelle's Santa's wife. If someone else sees—"

Kitchen door flies open.

Nicholas. Suit tight-fitting, gold watch, smile wide predatory. He walks to coffee machine, but looks at you.

"Oh, new VP!" Voice loud, fills entire room. "And our IT genius. What meeting."

Pours himself espresso, drinks in one gulp, pours second. Turns around, leans against counter, crosses arms on chest. Muscles visible under jacket.

"Listen, {{user}}." Smile becomes wider. "I've been thinking. You're new, talented, Santa values you." Pause. "And Noelle values you too. Very much. Noticed at meeting — looks at you so... attentively."

Gabriel freezes with cup at lips.

Nicholas takes step closer.

"Think you're special?" Voice quieter but sharper. "Think she's different with you?"

Laughs shortly.

Seventh cup of coffee. Definitely seventh. You feel caffeine vibrating in veins. After Nicholas in kitchen you returned to office, try to focus on quarterly reports. Not working. Gabriel knows. Nicholas suspects. Ivy flirts. Noelle's jealous.

Corporate life.

Knock on door — once, formal. Evelyn enters without waiting for answer.

Short platinum hair, strict black suit, gray eyes piercing. She closes door behind herself, sits in chair opposite your desk. Crosses legs, places folder on knees.

"Operations department budget for next quarter." Voice even, businesslike. Opens folder, lays out documents before you. "Need your signature by end of day."

You look at numbers. Everything looks standard.

She observes you several seconds silently, then leans forward, points finger at line in table. Her hand touches yours — accidentally? — for moment.

"Here." Pause. "And here."

In Auroria Corporation touches had meaning. Accidental ones didn't exist at CFO level.

Evelyn leans back in chair, looks at you appraisingly.

"You adapted quickly." Cold smile. "Santa's satisfied. Noelle... too."

Pause lasts slightly longer than necessary.

"I noticed you're popular." Gaze doesn't shift. "Ivy brings coffee. Noelle stays late at meetings. Even Holly looks at you... caringly."

Stands, walks around desk, stops next to your chair. Leans, places hand on back of your chair — not touching you, but close.

"Sex is simply asset class." Voice quiet, direct. "Some invest emotionally. Foolish." Pause. "I prefer clean transactions."

Turns to you, looks down.

"You interest me. Not romantically." Smirks. "Strategically. New VP Operations, access to production decisions, proximity to Santa." Leans closer. "And, apparently, good in bed. Otherwise Noelle wouldn't risk."

Straightens, walks to window, looks at city.

"Offer's simple. You give me information I need — production plans, Santa's decisions, board moods." Turns around. "I give you whatever you want. Money, influence, protection." Pause. "Or simply pleasure. No drama, no jealousy, no feelings."

Returns to desk, takes pen, extends to you.

"Sign budget. Think about offer." Cold smile. "I'm patient."

Waits.

Three PM. Lunch break ended ten minutes ago, but office still half-empty — someone lingered in cafeteria, someone smokes on roof. You walk down twentieth floor corridor — need to pick up documents from Santa's office, he asked this morning.

Seventh cup of coffee for the day. Head buzzing — Ivy with her cleavage, Noelle in bathroom, Gabriel with recording, Nicholas with provocations, Evelyn with cold offer. Thoughts tangled.

You approach Santa's office door, reach for handle, push without knocking.

In Auroria Corporation forgetting to knock on CEO's door was mistake. Sometimes career-ending. Sometimes — enlightening.

Door opens.

Santa sits in chair, leaned back, eyes closed, shirt unbuttoned. Holly kneels before him, hands on his thighs, head tilted.

She raises gaze. Sees you.

Freezes.

Santa doesn't open eyes — didn't notice door opened, too immersed in moment.

Holly looks at you through glasses. Second. Two. Face reddens, but she doesn't pull away from Santa. Lips parted — shock? embarrassment? something else?

Then slowly, not breaking eye contact with you, returns to what she was doing.

Your wife. On knees. Before your boss. Looking at you.

Santa quietly exhales, places hand on Holly's head.

"You really understand..." Murmurs, not opening eyes.

Holly doesn't break eye contact with you.

Six PM. Work day at Auroria Corporation officially ended. Sun sets beyond horizon, painting office windows gold. You sit at your desk, look at unfinished cup of coffee — eighth for the day. Or ninth?

Morning started with planning meeting. Santa thanked Holly for "help yesterday evening". Nicholas provoked. Noelle looked at you like you were last dessert on buffet table.

Then Ivy brought cappuccino with two shots espresso, sat on your desk, leaned so cleavage opened. "Discuss project now?"

Noelle caught you in bathroom twenty minutes later. Pressed to wall, kissed hard, whispered "prove I'm not just another one".

Gabriel showed security camera recording — you and Noelle in her office yesterday evening. "I can delete if you want." But gaze lingered on screen too long.

Nicholas burst into kitchen, laughed. "Think you're special? Think she's different with you?"

Evelyn offered deal in cold voice. "Sex is simply asset class. You give information, I give whatever you want."

And you opened Santa's office door without knocking. Holly on knees before him. She looked at you.

One day at Auroria Corporation.

Phone vibrates. Message from Noelle: "Stay late. Need to talk."

Second message, from Ivy: "Northern Lights restaurant, eight PM. I'm waiting."

Holly appears in doorway. Sweater, skirt, glasses. Eyes red, hands grip purse handle.

"You... you saw." Voice quiet, trembling. Takes step inside. "I need to explain. Please."

Adjusts glasses — fingers shaking.

"I did it for us. For your career. Santa works so much..." Voice breaks. "I thought you'd understand."

Looks at you pleadingly, waits for reaction.

Behind her in corridor Evelyn passes by, throws glance, smirks. Gabriel types on laptop at his desk — screen turned so you don't see what's there.

Noelle stands by conference room window, looks at sunset. Turns, meets your gaze through glass. Waiting.

Christmas empire managed from building where edge of world visible. Question was which edge you'd choose today.