Chapter Four:
(Dual POV – Roy & Chloe)
Roy's POV The moment she walked out of my office, the air felt different.
Too quiet.
Too heavy.
I sat at my desk, staring at the door long after it closed.
Chloe Carter.
There was something about the name soft but firm, familiar but impossible to place. The way she carried herself… it stirred something I didn't want to acknowledge.
The way she'd said "stories are what make people remember you."
It echoed in the quiet corners of my mind, I'd spent the morning trying to dismiss it, but each time I did, her words came back, soft and certain the kind of voice that lingered long after the person was gone.
Maybe I'd met her before. A partner's daughter? A networking event? The memory tugged at me like a half-forgotten dream.
Still, I couldn't afford a distraction. Not today.
Two days later
(Chloe's POV)
The email came on a Tuesday morning.
I was halfway through folding laundry, Eli humming to himself on the couch, when my phone buzzed.
Subject: Titan Holdings – Employment Offer
For a moment, I didn't move. My hands froze above the pile of shirts.
Then I opened it.
Dear Ms. Carter,
We are pleased to inform you that you've been selected for the position of Junior Designer at Titan Holdings. Annual salary: $50,000.
My knees gave out, and I sat right there on the floor, laughing and crying at the same time.
Eli looked up, confused, clutching his little stuffed bear. "Mommy?"
I wiped at my face quickly. "It's good news, baby. Really good news."
A week later, I walked into the glass tower that was Titan Holdings.
The lobby gleamed with marble floors, mirrored walls, and people who walked with purpose. I felt small, out of place, like I'd wandered into the wrong world again.
But I held my head high and followed the receptionist's directions up to the 32nd floor.
Design department.
My dream, hiding inside a company that didn't even know how much of my life it already owned.
When I stepped into the open-plan office, I could see sketches pinned to walls, fabric samples scattered across tables, and the soft hum of collaboration.
And then, through the glass wall, I saw him.
Roy Sinclair.
My breath caught.
He was standing by the window, sleeves rolled up, talking to his assistant, Daniel I'd later learn. Even from this distance, I could see the precision in every movement, the quiet authority that made people straighten when he spoke.
He didn't look my way. Of course, he didn't. Why would he?
He had no idea who I was.
When Daniel led me into his office to sign my final paperwork, I had to steady my breathing.
Roy glanced up briefly, his expression unreadable. "Miss Carter. Welcome aboard."
By the time I sat at my new desk, I'd convinced myself it was for the best.
He didn't need to remember.
And I couldn't afford for him too.
This was my chance my one real shot at a life for Eli and me.
Two weeks later
(Roy's Pov)
I set my tablet on the desk, refocusing on the numbers that were beginning to define my failure.
The Hong Kong merger had collapsed overnight billions lost in projected revenue, headlines speculating about Titan's "cold-blooded CEO." I'd spent years cultivating an image of precision and strength. Now, the press called it arrogance. Ruthlessness.
The irony was, they weren't entirely wrong.
The door opened, and Daniel stepped in crisp suit, tablet in hand, already halfway through a list before he'd even greeted me.
"Morning, sir. I've pulled the analytics from the press fallout Forbes, Financial Weekly, and a few gossip columns have already picked up the story. Social media sentiment has dropped by twelve percent overnight."
"Numbers, Daniel," I said quietly.
He adjusted his glasses. "Forty-eight million negative engagements in less than twenty-four hours."
I exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Of course."
Daniel hesitated, glancing at me. "The board's worried."
"When are they not?"
"This time it's different. They think your… demeanor isn't helping."
I looked up at him. "My demeanor?"
He winced slightly. "Their words, not mine. They want a shift in your public image before the next review.
I turned back to the window, the city blurring behind its glass. "And what would they like me to do?
Daniel hesitated. "Actually, PR suggested something else."
When I didn't respond, he continued carefully, "They think a relationship or at least the appearance of one might… soften you."
I turned to face him fully. "You're joking."
"I wish I was." He scrolled through his notes, as if hoping the absurdity would sound logical once it was data. "A public engagement, charity appearances, magazine spreads. It's worked before for other executives family-oriented branding improves stockholder confidence."
"Daniel," I said flatly, "you're suggesting I manufacture a marriage."
"Not exactly. Just an image. Someone who balances you out. Someone the press can believe in."
I stared at him. "Do I look like a man who has time to play house?"
"No," he admitted, then added quietly, "but you look like a man who's losing control of the narrative."
That landed harder than I expected.
I leaned back in my chair, letting silence stretch between us. The sound of the city below filled the space with horns, sirens, and the pulse of a world that didn't care if I collapsed or thrived.
I'd built my life on control. On precision. Every move calculated. Every word deliberate. But lately, I'd begun to wonder if control was just another kind of cage.