ALLURA'S POV:
BREAKING NEWS: "THE REIGNING COUPLE OF THE NIGHT SEIZES THE SPOTLIGHT AT GRANDFATHER'S 7TH YEAR ANNIVERSARY." I read, nibbling on a chocolate cookie, the rich taste flooding my senses. "CEO OF FROST ENTERPRISE IS SEEN WITH THE CHAIRMAN OF SKY TECH COMPANY. IT SEEMS THERE'S AN ALLIANCE ABOUT TO FORM DESPITE THE UNCERTAIN FATE OF HIS COMPANY."
"The only thing he'll be forming an alliance with is his downfall," I muttered, my voice dangerously low. "He will pay for betraying the love I had for him." I set my iPad face-down on the sleek dining table.
A strong hand wrapped around me from behind, and a warm breath feathered against my neck. "Never knew you were into newspapers, Allura," Xavier's voice was deep, husky from the morning. His tattooed arm snaked around my waist, pulling me tightly against his body.
I twisted in his grasp to face him, his blue eyes intensely colored. "Just playing the elegant wife role. I always want to be updated on every little detail," I replied, gently pulling myself free.
Xavier had been exceptionally touchy-feely since last night. After all the men at the anniversary had looked in my direction, he'd become noticeably possessive. I was certain we'd surpassed the "three kisses, plus one for emergency" clause in our contract countless times. His intensity was not part of the original plan, but I wasn't going to complain—not as long as he was still willing to help me.
I gestured for him to sit down as I set a steaming plate before him: pasta, rich tomato sauce, and three perfectly browned chicken drumsticks. "What's this?" he asked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. I ignored the question momentarily, placing the cutlery beside the plate.
I took my own small portion, sat down, offered a quick silent prayer, and began to cut into a drumstick. "It's food, Xavier. I figured you haven't been eating properly, so I prepared this for you."
He didn't immediately respond. When I glanced up, I saw a rare, faint smile soften his lips. "I've been eating. I just haven't been getting a good rest," he tried to deny.
I gave him a pointed, questioning look. "Is that why you sent Madison and the rest over to the guesthouse?"
"I didn't want anyone to get in the way. I wanted us to both celebrate our beginning."
He looked straight down at his meal, picking up his knife to cut the chicken.
"Except by smoking and drinking whisky, you mean," I retorted, taking a slow bite of my pasta.
He merely shrugged, then took a forkful of the pasta. "Hmmmm. Your food has improved. It's better than before."
I felt my cheeks flush crimson. I was definitely blushing. "I learned from Clara Pierre. Her dad's a renowned chef at the Mr. Chef show and owns a big restaurant in France and China."
"It's good," he repeated, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay. So, according to the contract, I've given you seven luxurious cars, there's twenty million pounds in this card, and fron today's henceforth star trek belongs to you."
"That's wonderful," I breathed, the fork dropping from my hand with a soft clank that echoed in the room.
We stared at each other, the moment silent and fleeting between us. It was abruptly shattered when Tank and Russo barged into the room.
"Good morning, Sir and Ma'am," Russo said, giving a respectful bow—an instruction Xavier had always enforced, insisting I be respected despite my "acting fiancée" status.
"Hi, guys! Do you care for some?" I asked, gesturing to the plates.
"No, Ma'am, we've already had breakfast," Russo replied. He then leaned closer to Xavier, whispering about what was unfolding.
Xavier instantly stood up, giving me a final look before stuffing the last chicken drumstick into his mouth. "Bye. I'll see you in the evening," he said, giving a quick wave as he strode out.
STAR TREK, MARYLEBONE, UK.
I arrived at the headquarters of Star Trek Coffee. The glass facade of the building gleamed, reflecting the bustling city street. The company was already thriving—too successful, perhaps, a testament to the sheer, relentless force of Xavier's support.
I was met instantly by Mr. Wang, the manager. He had been well-briefed on my arrival.
"Welcome, Madam Allura," he greeted me, maintaining a respectful distance.
I gave a polite, measured nod and walked elegantly beside him toward the executive board room. After a brief, formal address introducing myself as the new CEO—and clarifying that the company name reflected my current ambition, not necessarily a love for sci-fi—I buried myself in company paperwork.
Hours later, needing a break, I went downstairs to the main store. It was absolutely bubbling—filled to capacity with customers, the air thick with the scent of espresso and cinnamon.
Quickly, I removed my expensive jewelry and handed my watch to Mr. Wang. I slipped into an apron and tied my hair back, stepping into the chaotic efficiency of the kitchen to help the overwhelmed staff. I needed to see the business from the ground up.
That's when I saw her. Tasha, the impeccably dressed wife of Magnus, whom I'd seen at the anniversary party yesterday, was screaming at one of my young baristas.
"You foolish, clumsy twat! Do you not know your place? This drink is cold!" Tasha shrieked.
The poor worker was visibly shaking, tears welling up as she cradled her arm. A shattered ceramic mug lay at her feet, and tiny shards had clearly sliced her skin. My blood boiled.
An impulsive, violent image flashed through my mind: I snatched a mop bucket full of murky cleaning water from a nearby janitor, my muscles tensing to heave the foul liquid over Tasha's pristine dress.
Snap.
I blinked, the image dissolving. No. That was the old Allura—the rash, emotional girl. I was bigger now, more elegant, more effective. I would not tarnish the polished image Xavier had helped me craft. This was not about making a scene; it was about building a powerful foundation.
I walked toward them with slow, measured steps, gesturing subtly to Mr. Wang to attend to the crying worker.
Tasha was too furious to notice me. Her biggest flaw was her rage; she never thought before she spoke when she was in this mode. She stomped her foot and barked at the nearest cashier. "Where is your manager? Why is this waitress wearing an apron if she's married to the richest man in the country?"
I stopped directly behind her. She didn't have to shout for the surrounding customers to hear; a crowd was already gathering, many pulling out their phones to film the escalating drama.
I didn't dignify her question with a direct answer. Instead, I let a confident, controlled laugh escape. "You don't need the manager, Mrs. Magnus. The owner of Star Trek is standing right here."
Tasha whirled around, her eyes wide with contempt as they traveled down my apron-clad body. "An owner? Don't be ridiculous. You're nothing but a bored housewife trying to break free from your husband by cleaning kitchens for others!"
I simply met her gaze, the amusement draining from my face. "I am the CEO, Mrs. Magnus. And I assure you, your behavior is not only disgraceful but financially irresponsible." I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out a clean card. "I will pay for every single thread you are wearing, and I will send my deepest condolences to your home. You clearly need them."
The crowd gasped at my bold statement, but Tasha just mocked again. "Oh, a charity case? Are you trying to buy my silence, housewife?"
Suddenly, Mr. Wang, having discreetly taken the injured worker away, reappeared. He looked straight at me, bypassing Tasha entirely. "Boss, I've confirmed a meeting with the smaller French firms this afternoon. We should finalize the papers by four."
Tasha froze. The term "Boss" stunned her into silence. She sputtered, attempting to accuse Mr. Wang of lying.
I didn't wait for her to recover. "You seem to doubt me, Mrs. Magnus. Before you embarrass yourself further, I suggest you research the owner of Star Trek Coffee."
Her fingers flew to her phone, shaky with adrenaline. As she pulled up the public search results, her mouth fell open. Samantha Rowling. Thanks to Xavier's quick, efficient move, my new CEO status and business profile were already broadcasted, untouchable and undeniable.
Tasha's composure shattered. She stumbled forward, beginning a torrent of panicked apologies.
I simply smiled, cold and polite. "Don't worry, Mrs. Magnus. You've given Star Trek great publicity. "Mrs Morgan word of advice. Never look down on others and always know when to speak.
I turned, giving Mr. Wang a subtle, knowing glance.
I walked away, feeling utterly accomplished. I hadn't resorted to violence or shouting. I had not only made a fool of Tasha in public, but I had successfully used the situation to showcase my new, powerful identity to the world.