Valentina Ashford was ninety percent nerves and ten percent dry shampoo by the time she stepped into ValeCorp's towering lobby. The building looked like money, ego, and perfection had a child and raised it with an iron fist. She adjusted her blazer for the seventh time, told herself not to sweat through it, and practiced a smile that said: I belong here and I'm not about to throw up from stress.
She did not succeed.
Two steps inside, she spotted him.
Adrian Ashford. The man who announced her to the world as his fiancée yesterday like it was a normal Tuesday update.
He stood beside the central staircase, hands in his pockets, posture impossibly controlled. Cameras weren't here today, but he still looked like someone unplugging him from elegance would be illegal.
His gaze flicked to her the moment she walked in.
Not dramatic. Not soft.
Just precise.
"Morning," he said.
Her voice almost cracked. "Hi. Hello. Morning. Yes."
Smooth.
He blinked once, probably questioning his life choices, and gestured for her to follow as they walked toward the elevator. His strides were long and purposeful. Hers were an anxious attempt to keep up while not tripping and dying publicly.
Inside the elevator, they stood in silence.
Her heart refused to behave.
"So…" she tried, because apparently silence felt heavier than humiliation. "Yesterday was… something."
"A necessary step," he replied without looking at her.
Right. Romance. Passion. Poetry. All dead.
She scratched her cheek, avoiding eye contact. "People online think I'm either a plant, a gold digger, or part of a secret cult."
His jaw tightened slightly. "Ignore them."
She snorted. "Oh perfect. I'll just turn off the entire internet."
He didn't laugh. But his brow twitched, which was probably his version of hysterical amusement.
When the elevator dinged open, Adrian walked out first. Val followed, trying not to stare at the floor like a lost intern.
A few employees passed.
Some smiled politely.
Some stared in open confusion.
Some whispered.
Val tried to smile back but probably looked like she was fighting a ghost.
Claire, Adrian's assistant, appeared like she'd been summoned by stress itself.
"Valentina." She looked relieved and anxious at the same time. "You have fitting appointments, media prep notes, and brand onboarding today. We're also monitoring internet coverage."
"Great," Val muttered. "How many people hate me?"
Claire blinked. "Public sentiment is… mixed."
"Translation," Val said quietly, "everyone has questions and zero chill."
Claire nodded sympathetically.
Adrian finally spoke. "She doesn't need the detailed report."
Claire straightened. "Right. Yes. Absolutely."
Val glanced at Adrian. "So what do I actually do today?"
"You observe." His tone softened just enough to register. "And learn how this works, so when you speak publicly again, you don't hesitate."
She flinched at the memory of yesterday's press conference where her brain melted like cheap ice cream on asphalt.
"I wasn't prepared," she muttered.
"You will be."
Unlike most things he said, that didn't sound like an order.
It sounded like certainty.
The next few hours were a blur: stylists pulling dresses, makeup artists debating tones, PR experts explaining phrases she wasn't allowed to say like:
"I don't know."
"This is insane."
"I was just delivering a package."
She wanted to crawl under the table.
Everyone looked polished, experienced, graceful.
Val felt like a raccoon someone shoved into a tiara.
By lunchtime, she was mentally fried.
She found herself seated next to Adrian in the private executive dining space. Chefs moved like silent ninjas. The food looked expensive enough to require insurance.
Val sipped water, trying to look normal. Adrian cut his food with calm efficiency.
"So," she whispered, "do I have to learn all the forks?"
"You'll adapt."
"That sounds like code for 'you're hopeless.'"
Finally, finally, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. Barely visible.
But it was there.
"You're doing better than you think."
She stilled.
Praise?
From Adrian?
Her brain short-circuited again.
Before she could respond, a junior executive passed their table and loudly whispered to someone walking beside him:
"Honestly, the engagement is clearly damage control. Everyone knows about the university rumor."
Val tensed.
Adrian didn't react.
Not outwardly.
His fork hit the plate a little harder than necessary.
She swallowed, debating asking.
Her voice came small. "Is it true that—"
He cut her a look.
Sharp.
Warning.
She clamped her mouth shut.
Silence stretched.
Only then, gently but firm, he said: "Don't repeat what strangers think they know."
She nodded, though curiosity burned.
After lunch, she was escorted to a room where a PR coach named Felicity tried helping her practice her introduction for future events.
"Try again," Felicity instructed. "Smile naturally."
Val tried.
It looked like pain.
"Less teeth," Felicity said.
Val tried again.
Now she looked guilty.
Felicity sighed. "Pretend you're happy."
"I'm exhausted and confused."
"No. Pretend."
Val took a breath, forced a calm expression, lowered her shoulders, and smiled in a soft but genuine way.
Felicity stared.
"That's… actually perfect."
Val blinked. "Wait—really?"
"Yes. Don't lose that."
She felt absurdly proud.
Hours later, while Val was scrolling headlines she definitely shouldn't have been reading, Adrian appeared at the doorway.
"We're leaving."
She nodded quickly, grabbing her things and trying not to run into everything on the way out.
In the car, the windows tinted out the world.
For a few seconds, there was silence.
This time, it didn't feel suffocating.
It felt like rest.
"You handled today better," Adrian said quietly.
She shrugged. "I only tripped once."
"And you recovered."
She looked out the window, unsure how to hold the warmth spreading through her chest.
When they reached her building, she hesitated before getting out.
"Hey… Adrian?"
He met her eyes.
"Why me?" she whispered. "Of all people?"
He didn't blink.
Didn't soften.
Just smirked faintly, like the universe amused him.
"Don't ask me," he said. "You're the one who signed the contract."
She stared. "That's your answer?"
"That's the only one you get."
She rolled her eyes, but smiled.
She stepped out of the car.
The door closed.
The car drove away.
Her phone buzzed.
One message.
Adrian: Tomorrow will be easier. Sleep.
She stared at the screen, smiling tiredly.
Then typed:
Val: Stop texting me bedtime instructions.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then:
Adrian: Then stop needing them.
She tossed her phone aside, crawled into bed, and let exhaustion win.
Somewhere between confusion and sleep, one stubborn thought lingered:
Maybe this wasn't just chaos.
Maybe it was the start of something dangerous.
And she wasn't sure if she wanted to run from it
or fall straight into it.
---