A week had passed since the scandal—the whispers of the media, the harsh stares in the corridors of Velmonte Technologies, and the relentless pressure of public opinion. Alexander Velmonte had retreated into the cold confines of his study, seeking refuge in silence and solitude. The heavy drape of dusk shrouded the room in a melancholic glow, and only the soft scratching of pen on paper broke the stillness. Andrew sat at the long oak table beside him, their shared silence a fragile truce against the chaos outside.
Suddenly, the delicate quiet was shattered by a low, urgent murmur drifting in from the corridor. "No, sir, please…," a voice pleaded—barely audible yet impossible to ignore. Alexander's eyes, flickered with a hint of irritation. "I don't want to see anyone today," he muttered, dismissing the noise as nothing more than a bothersome echo of the outside world.
But before either man could resume their work, the heavy oak door slammed open. In strode Mr. Velmonte, Alexander's father, his face etched with worry and resolve, flanked by a disheveled servant panting heavily. "I really tried to stop them, sir—please forgive me!" the servant blurted out.
Alexander's gaze remained distant, locked on the scattered documents before him, as if the intrusion were merely another paper in a stack. Gasping slightly, he said in a hushed tone,
"I really tried to stop them, sir."
Andrew looked up, puzzled. "Them?" he asked softly.
"Yes, sir,"
No sooner had Mr. Velmonte's presence settled in the room then another sound—a soft, measured footstep—hinted at further arrivals. The heavy door swung open once more to reveal Mrs. Velmonte, her silver hair cascaded softly around her shoulders, and her emerald green dress, adorned with delicate diamond bands, swept the floor with quiet elegance as she walked in.
"Alexander," Mr. Velmonte said sharply, his voice a mix of firmness and worry, "why haven't you been answering your phone? And what is all this talk about an engagement?" His words were blunt.
Before Alexander could find his voice, his mother interjected in a gentle yet insistent tone, "Let me speak with you, dear. Please, lower your voice. Tell us what happened."
In that moment, Alexander's expression tightened. His fingers curled into a silent grip as if trying to hold back a torrent of emotions. The servant, sensing the rising tension, retreated quietly into the corner, leaving the family to face the truth together.
Andrew quickly guided Mr. and Mrs. Velmonte toward two chairs arranged neatly by a side table. Once they were seated, Andrew cleared his throat and began, choosing his words carefully no body must come to know about the underground business Alexander runs especially not his family only a few knew about it and they dared not say a word about it if they loved their life, " well, Alexander was caught in an inappropriate position with a new employee Miss Emily. He tried to help her and some employees entered and mistook it for something else."
His words were simple, yet each carried the weight of secrets and quiet despair. The air in the room grew heavy with the unsaid, every second stretching as they awaited Alexander's response.
At last, Alexander spoke in a low, measured tone. "Do not worry. This is only temporary—a measure until the media lets up." His voice, though soft, carried a resignation that sent shivers through the quiet room.
Mrs. Velmonte's eyes flashed with determination as she leaned forward. "Alexander, this is the first engagement for a Velmonte son. The public will not let this slip away unnoticed. Our family's honor is at stake. How can you believe that the matter will simply vanish?"
For a long moment, Alexander stared down at his hands as if searching for a way out. Finally, with a heavy heart and eyes full of both sorrow and resolve, he whispered, "There is no choice. I must go through with this engagement."
Mr. Velmonte's deep voice followed, "You must, for your reputation and for the honor of our family." His words, though firm, carried a trace of pity and understanding of the pain that must be hidden behind such a decision.
Andrew watched the exchange with a worried look. He knew that this was not a choice made lightly by Alexander, and yet the decision was final—a duty imposed by family and circumstance.
Alexander leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. His mother's words echoed in his mind, yet he refused to meet her eyes. Her presence brought a kind of weight he hadn't felt in years—not the burden of judgment, but the haunting ache of expectations.
Mrs. Velmonte sat with a poised elegance that belied the storm she felt inside. Her eyes studied her son, as if searching his face for a clue, something to help her understand what he wasn't saying.
"This girl," she finally said, her voice soft but firm. "Emily, you said? Who is she?"
Alexander's jaw tensed. He didn't answer.
Andrew cleared his throat, once again stepping in before the silence grew too thick. "She's… new. A researcher. Very bright. She just started a few weeks ago. I don't believe there's anything serious between them—"
"Then why announce an engagement?" Mr. Velmonte interrupted, leaning forward now. "If this was just a misunderstanding, why not address it as such? Issue a public correction, deny the rumors. Why fuel them by making it official?"
Alexander's gaze turned icy. "Because denial invites more noise. Engagement silences it."
The room fell into a strained silence. Outside, a faint rumble of thunder hinted at an approaching storm. The timing was almost poetic.
Mrs. Velmonte clasped her hands together, her fingers adorned with rings that caught the dim light. "Do you even know this girl? Truly know her?"
"No," Alexander said plainly, voice sharp. "And I don't need to."
"But you will have to stand beside her. Smile for the press. Dance at events. You will have to share your name with hers," she pressed, leaning forward now, her tone gentle but resolute. "Are you ready for that, Alexander?"
He gave a bitter half-smile. "When have I ever had the luxury of readiness?"
That silence returned again—thick and full of the unsaid.
Andrew shifted slightly, the tension biting at his composure. "It's all been managed, ma'am. The PR team released a controlled statement. The media is backing off. For now."
"And Emily?" Mr. Velmonte asked. "Has she agreed to all this?"
Alexander looked away for a second. "She didn't have much of a choice."
Mrs. Velmonte's brows lifted slightly. "Are you forcing her?"
"No," he replied. "But she's smart. She understands what's at stake."
"She's not like us," Mr. Velmonte said, rising to his feet. "Not from our world, not built for it. She'll crumble the moment the spotlight turns cruel."
Alexander stood too, facing his father directly. "If she crumbles, then I'll carry her until she learns to walk in it."
The elder Velmonte studied his son for a long moment, perhaps surprised by the conviction in his tone. Then he gave a slow nod, though it lacked approval. It was more resignation than agreement.
"You always were good at pretending strength," Mr. Velmonte said quietly. "I only hope this time, you're not pretending."
A thick silence fell over the room again after Mr. Velmonte's final words, like a curtain slowly descending on a play no one wanted to perform. The air carried tension—heavy, suffocating—and Alexander felt it settle deep in his chest. He didn't look at his parents. He didn't need to. He already knew the expressions they wore—his mother's poised disappointment and his father's iron-clad resolve.
Andrew, still standing, cleared his throat once more, trying to cut through the fog that had settled. "Would you like me to get you something to drink?" he offered.
Mrs. Velmonte shook her head softly, adjusting a diamond band that had slid slightly from her hair. "No, thank you. I've had enough to swallow for one evening."
Alexander pushed himself back slightly in his chair, the leather groaning beneath him. "This is all temporary. Soon, the buzz will fade. Emily will be out of sight, and this whole mess will be behind us."
"Out of sight?" his mother asked, tilting her head. "You've dragged a woman's name into this. You do realize she's not just some disposable tool, Alexander?"
At that moment, a quiet knock tapped against the heavy study door. All eyes turned.
The same servant from earlier peeked in cautiously, his face pale and uncertain. "Sir…" he began, his voice wobbling, "Miss Emily… she's here."
The room froze.
"What?" Alexander's voice dropped low, almost dangerous.
"She—she's downstairs. She just arrived. The men said you sent for her."
"I didn't," Alexander replied, standing now, eyes narrowed.
Andrew was already halfway to the door. "I'll check—"
"No," Alexander cut him off, walking past his friend and toward the hall. "If she's here, I want to know why."
—————————————————————————————
Emily sat at the edge of an impossibly soft sofa, legs crossed, fingers resting lightly on her lap. She didn't look out of place at all, despite the towering ceilings, the crystal chandeliers, and the endless hallways that stretched like secret passageways. The home was grand—bigger than anything she had imagined—and elegant, yet not overwhelming. It was quiet, unnervingly so, but she didn't feel fear. Not yet.
When the two men had approached her on the road, she'd assumed it was an invitation—a vague, perhaps arrogant request from Alexander. But when they picked her up and shoved her into the car, her instincts told her to protest. Her brain whispered, This is wrong.
And yet, her heart whispered louder.
You want to see where he lives, don't you? You want to get closer. This is your chance.
The ride had been long—at least an hour, most of it in silence. Emily had stared out the window, counting the trees, the turns, the vast stretches of empty road. The estate itself had been a marvel—tall walls, security gates, a driveway that seemed to go on forever. If Velmonte Technologies was a fortress, this was a kingdom.
Now, here she was—uninvited, possibly unwanted, but undeniably present.
One of the guards stood at the door watching her, his expression unreadable. She offered him a small, polite smile. "Is he angry?"
The man didn't respond.
Of course he's angry. You came unannounced—no, dragged in—and now you're in his home. Emily folded her arms, her gaze sweeping the room again. She was already rehearsing what she'd say—how she'd twist the situation just enough to sound innocent but still curious, still harmless.
She didn't have to wait long.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor, followed by the sharp sound of leather soles on marble. Alexander entered the room. His sharp icy blue eyes locked onto her the moment he stepped in, his jaw tight.
"Emily."
She stood up slowly, smoothing down her blouse as if to anchor herself.
"Mr. Velmonte," she replied calmly, as if this were a routine visit.
Alexander didn't break stride as he approached her. "Who sent for you?"
She blinked. "Your men. They said you wanted to see me."
"I didn't send for anyone."
"Well…" Her voice dropped into something between a whisper and a smirk. "Then maybe they misunderstood your silence."
His eyes narrowed. "And you just came along?"
"They didn't give me much choice."
He turned to the guard. "Leave us."
The man nodded and exited immediately, closing the door behind him.
Now it was just the two of them—Emily standing like a guest trying not to look impressed, and Alexander towering over her with that mix of authority and quiet danger he wore so naturally.
Emily broke the silence. "It's beautiful, your home. Grand. Cold. Very you."
"I don't appreciate being ambushed in my own house."
"I didn't break in," she said softly, glancing around again. "If anything, I was… escorted. Firmly."
Alexander stared at her for a long moment, then turned and walked a few steps away, his hands clasped behind his back. "You shouldn't be here."
"I gathered that," she said, moving a little closer, her heels clicking faintly on the marble. "But I also figured, since we're engaged and all—at least in the eyes of the public—we might as well have a conversation that isn't held in the middle of a media frenzy or a boardroom."
"You shouldn't joke about this."
"I'm not joking. You're the one who made the announcement."
"It was damage control."
Emily tilted her head. "And now you have a damaged reputation… and me."
His back stiffened.
"Tell me, Mr. Velmonte," she continued, voice soft, calculated, "do you want me to play along, or disappear quietly after the storm passes?"
Alexander turned slowly to face her. His eyes scanned her face like he was searching for something hidden beneath her skin. "I don't trust you."
"Good," she whispered. "You shouldn't."