The morning light slipped through the dusty cream curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. Emily ward's stirred beneath the silk sheet, her brows furrowing as the ache of sleep clung to her body. Everything from last night felt like a blur — soft music, clinking glasses, painted smiles, a cold hand gripping hers.
She blinked a few times, her lashes brushing against the pillow, before slowly sitting up. Her head was quiet, too quiet—as though her mind was afraid to speak. She pushed the covers aside, feet finding the coldness of the wooden floor. The floorboards creaked under her bare feet.
Still half-asleep, she padded toward the kitchen. The scent of leftover perfume and faint cologne still lingered in the air. In the kitchen, she filled the kettle at the old porcelain sink and reached for her favorite mug. The coffee maker—a simple drip machine—sat ready on the counter. Water, grounds, switch on. Steam curled from the spout within seconds, filling the room with warmth and the promise of clarity.The low mechanical hum filled the silence until a warm stream poured into her cup.
She raised the mug to her lips, eyes still heavy, when something caught the light.
A flash.
It was small but unmistakable.
Her diamond ring.
Frozen for a moment, the cup stopped mid-air. Her gaze locked onto the glittering stone on her finger. That's when it all came flooding back—the engagement party, the walk-ins, the speeches, the toasts. Alexander Velmonte. His hand wrapped around her waist. The way he stood by her when Juliet's parents spat venom masked in etiquette.
A part of her had to admit, he didn't have to do that. He could've said nothing.
Maybe… maybe he's not what I think he is.
But that thought was short-lived.
No, her mind snapped back. Don't be foolish. He's still a Velmonte. Still carved from the same blood-stained stone as the rest of them. And he—he did that to her. To my sister.
Emily took a slow sip of the coffee, then set the mug down gently. Her eyes drifted to the contact lens case on the counter. Pale green. Her disguise.
She walked across the kitchen to the tall, faded mirror hanging on the wall opposite her. The frame was slightly rusted, the corners chipped—but the mirror held truth. It always had.
She stared into her own reflection. Her real eyes—grey and striking, framed by long lashes—held back Eyes that had seen too much. Felt too much. Held back too much.
Pain clung to them. Pain she had buried deep but never truly escaped. Her jaw tightened slightly as her fingers opened the case. Two small lenses—pale green—rested within.
One by one, she placed them in.
Blink. Blink.
The reflection shifted.
The woman in the mirror no longer looked like her.
"I have to hide you," she whispered to the mirror. "Just a little longer."
This family has to pay.
But…
What if Mr. Alexander—
Before she could finish the thought, her phone buzzed against the marble counter.
She turned. The screen lit up with the name she should've expected but still wasn't ready for.
Mr. Alexander.
She scoffed under her breath, "What are you saying, Emily? Did you forget everything? This is the Velmonte family. And Alexander… is one of them. I would've kept you out of this if not for what you did to my sister."
The phone rang again, louder this time, snapping her out of her thoughts.
She reached for it slowly and finally answered.
"Where have you been?" Alexander's voice came sharp and impatient. "Couldn't you hear your phone ringing?"
He didn't wait for her to respond, "Get ready as fast as you can you have work today." With just that he disconnected the call.
Emily Wards stood before the bathroom mirror, damp hair in hand, as she twisted it into a loose bun. Her reflection was still half‑asleep: pale skin, dark circles under her. A sudden buzz shattered the quiet.
She fumbled for her phone. Caller ID: Alexander.
"Where are you?" His tone was clipped, urgent. "I'm on my way to the office in thirty minutes. You should be there."
Emily glanced at her watch. "I'm—just finishing up—"
"I'm outside your house," he interrupted, breathing hard through the line. "Come down in the next five minutes or I'm coming in."
Before she could answer, he hung up.
Her heart flipped. She smoothed the front of her blouse, fingers grazing the first two undone buttons. With a shudder, she tightened the knot of her bun and hurried downstairs.
Outside, Andrew sat behind the wheel of the sleek black car, engine idling. Alexander lingered by the passenger door, arms crossed. Andrew glanced back. "Maybe you should show a little patience. This isn't easy for her."
Alexander's gaze cut to him. "She's a suspect—linked to my stolen sigil. Don't forget that. You've been too… comfortable with the wedding charade. Dig deeper into her past, Andrew."
Andrew bowed his head, chastised, before he could protest.
Emily flung open the front door in one movement—no sound of keys, no click of the lock. She emerged startled but composed, her hair escaping in wisps, blazer slung over one arm. For a heartbeat, car and men sat frozen.
Alexander and Andrew took her in. She wasn't perfectly polished—her hair was slightly messy, her blouse still unbuttoned at the top—but she was breathtaking. Their eyes both flickered to the open neckline, the curve of her breasts subtly framed by crisp white fabric.
Emily caught sight of their stares and hastily fumbled with her hair, pushing stray strands into the bun and shaking out her jacket. Alexander shook off his surprise and turned to Andrew.
"Drive."
The engine purred forward. Emily settled into the back seat, smoothing her skirt. Silence closed in around them.
"Why did you come here?" she finally asked, voice soft. "I would've taken a cab."
Alexander avoided her gaze. "I can't let my fiancée take public transport. Your status has changed—this has to look real, in front of the office, in front of the media."
Emily forced a polite nod. "Of course."
As they rolled over a pothole, the car jolted. Emily lost her balance and collided into Alexander's side. Her breasts pressed against his chest, warm and insistent. In the rear‑view mirror, Andrew watched, eyes narrowing.
Through the low rumble of the ride, Alexander's voice was almost a whisper. "Your buttons."
Emily's fingers froze. "What—?"
He bent slightly and, with deliberate care, fastened the first two buttons of her blouse. Each snap echoed in the hush of the car. Emily stared at him, heart pounding, cheeks flushed by more than embarrassment.
The city's morning rush greeted them as the SUV eased to a stop at the curb in front of Velmonte Technologies. Alexander stepped out first, his tie straight, expression unreadable. Andrew followed, giving Emily a curt nod before slipping away to valet the car.
Emily took a slow breath and opened her door. The cool air hit her face, and she smoothed her skirt one last time. She steadied herself on the edge of the seat, then rose, her movements measured. Alexander's hand brushed her elbow, guiding her toward the polished steel doors.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with early arrivals—researchers clutching coffees, secretaries tapping at phones, a few board members murmuring about quarterly results. Everything paused for a heartbeat as Alexander and Emily emerged from the elevator, side by side.
At his quiet nod, Emily offered a small, composed smile. She lifted her chin, meeting a dozen curious gazes with calm green eyes. The ring on her finger caught the fluorescent lights in a perfect flicker.
They walked through the glass doors of his office suite. Alexander ushered her in, closing the doors softly behind them. The morning sun spilled across his mahogany desk, illuminating a single photo of him—clean‑shaven, confident—standing beside her now. She felt a pang of irony.
Alexander placed a gentle hand at the small of her back and guided her to the seating area. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, his voice low but not unkind. Then he turned to Andrew, who was already dialing a number on his phone.
Emily sank into the leather chair, careful to sit with poise. Her heart still raced from their intimate moment in the car. She crossed her legs at the ankle, hands folded neatly in her lap.
Across the room, Andrew glanced between the two of them before clearing his throat. "Mr. Velmonte, we have the morning briefing in five. Your half‑hour talk with the board is next." He flicked his eyes toward Emily. "Miss Wards, your first project update is at nine, and the team expects you in Conference Room B."
"Thank you," Emily replied, her voice steady. She realized how natural "Miss Wards" sounded now, as if she truly belonged here.
Alexander watched her, a faint crease at the corner of his mouth. Then he nodded to Andrew and approached Emily's chair. "I'll walk you to your meeting." He offered her his arm.
She hesitated a moment, then took it. His warmth seeped through her blazer—proof he was more than the distant titan everyone whispered about. She forced her expression into the practiced calm of the Velmonte fiancée.
They passed through the corridor together: walls adorned with plaques celebrating scientific breakthroughs, windows overlooking the city's skyline. Employees stepped aside respectfully, some daring to whisper, "Good morning, Miss Velmonte."
Emily's pulse fluttered. She met each gaze with a polite nod, though her mind raced with questions: Was he truly protecting her? Or was every gesture another piece in his relentless puzzle?
They passed through the long corridor lined with glass display cases—ancient relics juxtaposed with cutting‑edge prototypes—until they reached Conference Room B. The door slid open, and Emily stepped inside, her slides already projected on the wall: a detailed analysis of the newest artifact interface module, showing a 27% increase in energy efficiency and a breakthrough in secure data encryption.
She advanced to the first slide. "As you can see, by realigning the quantum flux stabilizer and integrating the new polysynthetic lattice, we've reduced signal degradation by over 40%. This not only extends operational lifetime but also tightens the security protocols against unauthorized access." Her voice was clear, confident; her fingers danced over the remote, calling up charts, 3D schematics, and a short video of the module powering up to full capacity in under two seconds.
Heads nodded. Whispers of approval rippled through the ten‑member panel—senior researchers, board directors, even a couple of investors who'd flown in for the quarterly check‑in. She clicked to the final slide: a glowing hologram of the module, floating above a stark white pedestal. "This innovation positions Velmonte Technologies to corner the market on high‑security artifact applications. With this, we can move forward with the Castellum Project next quarter."
Polite applause filled the room—enthusiastic, professional. Emily allowed herself a small, gracious smile before lowering the remote. She glanced toward Alexander at the back of the room; his expression was inscrutable but proud.
"Remarkable work, Miss Wards," said Dr. Stern, the head of research. "This will change everything."
But before anyone else could speak, a sharp voice cut through the applause.
"That's enough," declared Erica, the senior project manager, her tone icy. She stood so abruptly her chair scraped the floor. "Do you really think just because you're engaged to Mr. Velmonte you can walk in here, present anything you like, and demand we accept it?"
A hush fell. Emily's heart thudded, but she met Erica's glare with steady green eyes.
Erica paced to the front. "This isn't over. You're not married to him yet, Miss Wards—and frankly, I don't see how you can keep working here while you're engaged to the boss."
Murmurs rose around the table. Emily felt every gaze, some sympathetic, some eager to see a scandal. She drew a calm breath, lifted her chin, and spoke—not as the fiancée, but as the researcher whose work had just won unanimous approval.
Murmurs rippled through the room, soft at first, then stronger, until nearly everyone leaned forward, voices rising in agreement.
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Exactly."
Emily's breath caught. The panel's mood had shifted overnight—from professional curiosity to something darker, flavored with doubt. She kept her face still, eyes locked on the swirl of board members and researchers.
At the head of the table, Alexander remained motionless, his gaze unreadable as he watched the scene unfold. He made no move to defend her.
Dr. Stern cleared his throat, leaning forward on his elbows. "Miss Wards, your work is undeniably impressive," he began, voice calm but cautious. "But Erica raises a point. This engagement—true or not—could influence how our partners perceive your objectivity. We need to consider whether it's wise to proceed without addressing those concerns."
A hush fell. Erica closed her notebook with a satisfied smile and slid back into her chair, as if the entire debate had been her design.
Emily swallowed. The applause that had followed her presentation felt miles away now. She realized just how thin the line was between her accomplishments and her new title.
Dr. Stern continued, "Perhaps we postpone any immediate decisions until we clarify the nature of your role here—so that nothing detracts from the merits of the technology itself."
Heads nodded around the table. The momentum had stalled.
Emily placed both hands on the table, fingers splayed. She lifted her head, meeting Dr. Stern's eyes first, then sweeping the room. The polished veneer of the boardroom felt strained, as though she'd cracked it with a single word.
"Understood," she said, voice steady and low. "If it helps the project—and the company's reputation—I will step back from any public-facing duties until we all agree the work stands on its own."
A flicker of surprise passed over Erica's face, quickly masked by triumph. The others exchanged glances—some impressed by Emily's grace under fire, others relieved to sidestep the awkward tension.
Alexander finally spoke, his tone quiet but unmistakable. "Thank you, Emily."
He rose, rapping his knuckles once on the table. "Let's move on."
The meeting resumed as if nothing had happened, but in the charged silence that followed, Emily Wards realized she'd just navigated her first true test—and the real game had only just begun.