I stared at my phone in confusion as "Grandson" called while the real Arthur Sterling sat across from me. My heart hammered in my chest.
"It's... you," I said slowly, holding up my screen for him to see.
Arthur's lips curled into a slight smile as he lifted his own phone. "And yet, I'm calling 'Need Iron' right now."
The pieces clicked together in my brain. "You have two phones."
"Separate phones for business and personal matters." He ended the call. "An interesting coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
I exhaled sharply. "Look, Mr. Sterling—"
"Arthur," he corrected, leaning back in his chair. "After all, we're supposedly married."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you."
He tapped his fingers methodically on his desk. "You know, I had Philip look into you after our first encounter. Elara Dubois, the illegitimate daughter of the Dubois family. No criminal record. Multiple part-time jobs. Nothing particularly remarkable."
I bit back a retort. Let him think what he wanted.
"Yet somehow," he continued, "you've managed to insinuate yourself into my grandmother's life, claim a marriage to me, and now appear as my HVAC technician. That's quite the coincidence."
"It's not a coincidence," I said firmly. "I needed to talk to you, and you weren't exactly making it easy."
"So you stalked me?"
"I tried the direct approach first, remember? Your security had me removed."
Arthur's phone chimed with a message. He glanced at it, then back at me. "You fixed the air conditioner."
"That's my job."
"One of many, apparently."
I shrugged. "A girl's got to eat."
He studied me for a long moment. The silence stretched between us, tense and weighted.
"The marriage certificate," he finally said. "Where did you get it?"
"From the Civil Affairs Bureau, where all marriage certificates come from. Check for yourself if you don't believe me."
"Oh, I will." His voice was cold. "But this conversation is over for now. I have a business lunch to attend."
On cue, Philip opened the door. "Sir, your car is ready."
I stood up, grabbing my toolbox. "Fine. But this isn't going away, Arthur. We need to resolve this situation."
Arthur rose, buttoning his suit jacket in one smooth motion. "Philip, see Ms. Dubois out. And make sure maintenance pays her contractor fee."
With that dismissal, he strode past me without another glance.
I clenched my jaw, watching him leave. This man was impossible. How was I supposed to get through to someone so arrogant and dismissive?
As Philip escorted me to the elevator, a plan began forming in my mind. If Arthur Sterling thought he could brush me off so easily, he was about to learn otherwise.
---
Two hours later, I walked confidently through the kitchen of Le Ciel, one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. The head chef, Marcel, gave me a quick nod as I tied on my apron.
"Are you sure about this, Elara?" he whispered. "If Mr. Sterling recognizes you—"
"He will," I replied, adjusting my hair under the chef's cap. "That's the point."
Marcel shook his head. "Your funeral. Table twelve is his. The Horton Group executives are already seated."
I smiled. "Perfect timing."
Working part-time as a sous chef at Le Ciel had its perks—like knowing exactly where Arthur Sterling would be having his business lunch today.
When the main course was ready, I personally arranged the plates on the serving tray. "I'll take this one," I told Marcel.
He raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.
I pushed through the kitchen doors and made my way to table twelve. Arthur sat at the head, deep in conversation with three older men. Philip stood dutifully behind him, scanning the room.
Philip spotted me first. His eyes widened in recognition, but before he could intervene, I was already setting plates in front of the Horton executives.
"Gentlemen," I said smoothly, "pan-seared sea bass with lemon beurre blanc and seasonal vegetables."
Arthur's head snapped up at the sound of my voice. The shock on his face was almost worth all the trouble I'd gone through.
"You—" he started.
"Enjoy your meal," I continued professionally. Then, leaning closer to Arthur as I set down his plate, I whispered, "Civil Affairs Bureau. Check it. Today."
The Horton CEO beamed. "Sterling, you didn't tell us the chef here was so lovely!"
I straightened, smiling politely. "Just helping out today, sir. I have many jobs."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Ms. Dubois—"
"Is there anything else you gentlemen need?" I asked, ignoring him.
Philip moved forward, placing a hand on my arm. "That will be all," he said firmly.
I shook him off. "Actually, Mr. Mercer, I believe there's something Mr. Sterling needs to know."
The table fell silent, all eyes on me.
"I work at the coffee shop across from your office building on Mondays and Wednesdays," I said calmly. "I deliver packages for Speedy Courier on Tuesday afternoons. I fix air conditioners for Aurora Technical. I'm a sous chef here three nights a week. And yes, I care for your grandmother on weekends."
Arthur's expression darkened. "This is neither the time nor place—"
"I'm not trying to make a scene," I said quietly. "I'm simply trying to make you understand that I'm not what you think I am. I'm just someone trying to solve a problem that affects us both."
Philip leaned down to whisper in Arthur's ear. Arthur nodded sharply.
"Gentlemen," Arthur addressed his guests, "please excuse this interruption. Ms. Dubois was just leaving."
Two security guards appeared beside me, summoned by Philip's discreet signal.
I backed away, holding up my hands. "No need for that. I said what I came to say." To Arthur, I added, "Noon. Civil Affairs Bureau. I'll be waiting."
As the guards escorted me out through the kitchen, Marcel shot me a sympathetic look. I didn't regret my actions, but frustration burned in my chest. Why was this man so impossibly stubborn?
Outside the restaurant, I pulled out my phone and opened my social media app. Without thinking, I typed:
"Some people are so arrogant they can't see the truth even when it's served to them on a silver platter. #ExhaustedByStubborness"
I posted it to my story and shoved my phone back in my pocket. Let "Grandson" see that if he checked his feed.
---
Arthur stared at his plate, barely tasting the exquisitely prepared fish. That woman was becoming a genuine nuisance. How had she even known about this lunch meeting?
"Sterling?" Richard Horton prompted. "About the merger terms?"
Arthur snapped back to attention. "Yes, of course. As I was saying, the initial offer stands, but we're open to negotiating the transition period."
The conversation droned on, but Arthur found his mind wandering repeatedly. There was something about Elara Dubois that didn't fit the profile of an ordinary gold-digger. Her persistence was remarkable, he'd give her that.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Normally, he'd never check during a business lunch, but the meeting was wrapping up anyway.
It was a notification from "Need Iron." Curious, he opened it and read her status update. The message about arrogance and silver platters made him pause.
Silver platters. Like the ones the chef—Elara—had just used to serve their meal.
Could it be another coincidence? Two interactions with two different women, both involving frustration and silver platters within minutes of each other?
Arthur excused himself as the Horton executives prepared to leave. Once alone, he opened his chat with Need Iron.
Arthur: Rough day?
The response came almost immediately.
Need Iron: You could say that. Tried to talk to someone important. He had me thrown out. Again.
Arthur frowned.
Arthur: Maybe he was busy.
Need Iron: Maybe he's too stubborn to listen. Ever consider that possibility, "Grandson"?
Arthur felt an odd chill. There was something too familiar about her tone.
Arthur: Have we met in person?
There was a long pause before she replied.
Need Iron: Would it matter if we had?
Arthur found himself strangely drawn to this mysterious woman. Unlike the brazen Elara Dubois, Need Iron seemed genuine in her frustrations. There was something comforting about their exchanges.
Arthur: I find our conversations... refreshing. A break from the pretense I deal with daily.
Need Iron: That's funny. I feel the same way.
He hesitated, then typed:
Arthur: I'd like to visit my grandmother tonight. Will you be there?
Another pause.
Need Iron: Yes, I'll be there. Sunset Villa, Building C, Room 305.
Arthur stared at the message. She'd just given him her exact location—something she'd never done before. Was this an invitation? More importantly, was he actually considering accepting it?
He slipped his phone back into his pocket, an unfamiliar feeling stirring in his chest. For the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to the evening.