The world moved way too fast for someone who barely had enough sleep to process breakfast, let alone a billionaire announcing her existence like she was some shiny trophy from a luxury auction.
Valentina Ashford stood next to him, knees barely functioning, fingers trembling every few seconds like her body was buffering stress. Cameras flashed so aggressively her eyelids twitched. The backdrop behind them was elegant, black with subtle gold accents, and the name of the company embossed behind them like royalty.
People whispered her name like it was a spell no one knew how to pronounce correctly.
Valentina Ashford. Val. The random girl who signed for a package like a clown.
And now apparently the CEO next to her, Adrian Ashford, had announced she was his fiancée.
Love that for her life choices.
Adrian, of course, looked like he was posing for a magazine shoot. Grey tailored suit, confidence radiating like he invented it. His jawline could cut glass. His attention held every camera effortlessly. A perfect politician's energy with the bored arrogance of a man used to power bending around him.
A reporter raised a mic.
"Mr. Ashford, for the record, could you confirm the announcement?"
Adrian nodded once, controlled and deliberate.
"With full clarity," he said, voice smooth and cold enough to freeze movement, "Valentina Ashford is my fiancée."
Val tried to smile. Instead her stomach did a cartwheel, her heart somersaulted, and her soul quietly screamed into a void.
Microphones pointed toward them like weapons.
"Mr. Ashford, rumors say you're using this sudden engagement as a distraction from the scandal involving you and a student last week. Care to comment?"
The crowd murmured.
Val's spine stiffened. Student? WHAT student?!
She turned slightly, searching his expression for context, warning, explanation… literally anything.
Instead, Adrian leaned slightly forward, voice steady enough to shut the room up.
"I don't respond to fabricated gossip," he said calmly, tone sharp like velvet hiding a blade. "And I do not owe explanations for lies."
The reporters smelled blood anyway.
"So you're denying there was an inappropriate relationship? That the sudden engagement isn't damage control?"
Val's heartbeat was so loud she wondered if the microphones picked it up.
Adrian nodded once. "Correct. There was no scandal. There is no scandal. And my engagement has nothing to do with the media or public pressure."
Val forced a polite smile, even though her insides felt like a glitching computer.
Another voice shot forward.
"Who is she? Where did you meet her? Why her?"
Adrian didn't look at her. He stared forward, posture unshaken.
"She is someone I chose," he said simply. "Someone I trust. Someone who has no interest in fame or attention."
The crowd reacted instantly. Phones lifted. Tweets formed midair. A thousand conspiracy theories birthed in real time.
Finally someone called out,
"Miss Ashford! Do YOU have anything to say?"
She blinked.
Her brain: not buffering. Just… blue screen error.
The mic moved closer.
Adrian didn't speak.
He let her drown.
Val swallowed, cleared her throat, and forced her voice out.
"I… um…"
Excellent. Brilliant. Truly historic.
She tried again.
"I… didn't expect all of this, but I trust what Adrian said. I'm not here for attention or publicity."
Someone yelled, "Are you happy about the engagement?"
Another: "Were you the reason he rejected the student?"
Another: "Is this an arranged marriage?"
Her stress levels hit spiritual heights.
Adrian stepped subtly in front of her, blocking the storm of questions like a wall.
"That's all for today," he said calmly.
Security moved in. Cameras flashed. Voices shouted behind them as they were escorted away.
Inside the sleek black luxury car, silence finally existed.
Val exhaled like she'd been holding her breath since childhood.
Adrian leaned back, loosening his tie just slightly. "You handled it better than expected."
She let out a strangled laugh. "I froze like a malfunctioning toaster."
"Still better than most."
She turned toward him. "There was a rumor? About a student?"
"Yes."
"Is it true?"
"No."
"Do you care if people believe it?"
He finally looked at her, gaze unreadable.
"If I cared about public opinion, I wouldn't be where I am."
"That's… fair," she muttered.
"You're overwhelmed," he said.
"No kidding."
He ignored the sarcasm. "This won't last. Public interest dies fast."
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You belong here."
His attention sharpened. "So do you."
She scoffed. "I literally work three jobs and coupon groceries."
He didn't smile, but something softened in his expression.
"That doesn't mean you're out of place. It means you're disciplined."
The compliment hit harder than any headline.
The car pulled up to her building.
Val blinked. "You… know where I live?"
Adrian raised one eyebrow, offended on behalf of his intelligence.
"I announced you to the country. Of course I know where you live."
She nodded and stepped out.
The car didn't pull away.
He lowered the window.
"Get some rest."
No warmth. No expectation.
But it somehow felt personal.
She nodded and walked in.
Home smelled familiar. Laundry detergent. Old books. A candle she never lit.
She dropped her bag mid-floor and collapsed face-first on the bed.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Except not really.
Adrian: Media will calm down soon. Sleep.
She stared.
Then typed:
Val: My brain has one percent battery. Don't text me CEO sentences.
Sent.
Instant reply:
Adrian: Then sleep faster.
She laughed. Exhausted. Confused. Slightly doomed.
Her last thought before unconsciousness wasn't panic.
It was a question she shouldn't care about:
Why her?
And why did he sound so sure?