Chapter Five:
(Roy's POV)
By Monday morning, the air inside Titan Holdings felt different sharper, colder, humming with tension that mirrored the headlines running across every news ticker.
I'd learned long ago to ignore noise. But this noise was starting to bleed into everything the board, the shareholders, even my reflection.
Daniel followed me inside, closing the door. "PR's in meltdown mode. The board has called another emergency review next month. They're convinced the company's losing public trust because you're too…."
"…too ruthless, too cold, too unrelatable." I finished the sentence for him. "I've read the memos."
He sighed. "Then you know what they want.
"Yes," I said dryly. "A mascot. Preferably one with a smile."
"Not a mascot," Daniel said carefully. "A wife."
I turned, giving him a sharp look.
He held up a hand. "Hear me out. You don't actually have to marry anyone. It just needs to look real long enough for the media cycle to move on and the stock to recover. A respectable woman, someone the press can root for. We can stage photos, interviews, charity appearances…"
I didn't answer. My reflection stared back detached, unfeeling, exactly what the world thought of me.
Then movement caught my eye beyond the glass partition.
In the design wing, Chloe Carter was standing by a board of fabric swatches, talking to a junior stylist. Her hair was tied back, her expression focused, but her hands small, careful, moved with a quiet certainty.
Something about her presence disrupted the sterile calm of the office.
She didn't belong here, not really. She wasn't molded by corporate polish. She was real. Unrehearsed.
And as absurd as it sounded, an idea took shape slow, dangerous, and almost laughable.
"Daniel," I said without looking away.
"Yes, sir?"
"What if the board's right?"
He frowned. "Right about what?"
"About perception. About needing someone who balances me out." I turned back toward him. "Someone genuine."
"You mean…" His gaze followed mine, landing on Chloe. "Her?"
Silence hung between us.
Daniel blinked. "You can't be serious."
"I haven't decided," I said, though even as I spoke, part of me already had.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Roy, she's your employee. She's young, inexperienced, and…."
"….and exactly what the public would believe," I cut in. "She's grounded. Ordinary. People would see her and think she tamed me."
"Because nothing says 'PR redemption arc' like a billionaire marrying his designer?"
"Exactly."
Daniel groaned. "This is insane."
"Maybe," I said. "But it might work."
(Chloe's POV)
Monday afternoon, the office was buzzing with nervous energy. The rumor mill had shifted from gossip to panic layoffs, rebranding, restructuring. No one knew what was coming.
So when Roy Sinclair's assistant appeared at my desk and said, "Mr. Sinclair would like to see you," my stomach dropped.
It wasn't a request.
The walk to his office felt longer than it should have. Every step echoed off the marble floors like a countdown.
He was standing when I entered tall, composed, every inch the man from the headlines. The city stretched out behind him like a portrait of everything I could never touch.
"Miss Carter," he said, his tone unreadable. "Thank you for coming."
I nodded, trying not to fidget. "Of course, sir. Is everything alright?"
He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Please, sit."
The word please surprised me.
I sat, clutching the folder I'd brought, though I had no idea why I'd brought it.
He studied me for a long moment. I could feel his gaze, sharp and assessing, like he was reading something I couldn't see.
Finally, he said, "You've been here a few weeks now. Your work has impressed the creative team."
"Thank you," I managed, unsure where this was going.
"I'm about to propose something unusual," he continued. "And I need your complete confidentiality."
My pulse quickened. "Alright…"
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You're aware of the current state of Titan Holdings the merger, the media backlash, the board's pressure."
I nodded. "Yes, sir. Everyone's been talking about it."
"Then you understand that public perception can destroy everything I've built."
"I… suppose so."
He paused, choosing his words with surgical precision. "My team believes I need to appear more… relatable. More human. And the most effective way to do that, apparently, is through marriage."
I blinked, sure I'd misheard. "Marriage?"
"A public relationship. Staged. Contractual."
My throat went dry. "And… what does that have to do with me?"
His gaze didn't waver. "I want you to play the role."
For a moment, I couldn't speak. The room tilted slightly the skyline spinning behind him.
"I…what?" I finally whispered.
"You're smart, composed, and you come across as genuine," he said evenly. "The media will believe it. The board will believe it. It would be temporary for six months, until the review."
I laughed softly, though it sounded more like disbelief. "You can't be serious."
"I am."
"Why me?" I asked finally. "You could have anyone. Models. Actresses. Someone who actually belongs in your world."
"Because they'd look like lies," he said simply. "You don't."
Something in his tone disarmed me not arrogance, but sincerity. It terrified me more than any command could have.
He continued, "You'd be compensated, of course. The sum of $50,000,000
The words hit me like a blow.
Money. Of course. That was how men like him fixed everything not with apologies, but with transactions.
"Do you even hear yourself?" My voice trembled now, somewhere between anger and disbelief. "You're asking your employee to pretend to be your wife to fix your reputation?"
My mouth went dry. "You think I'd sell myself for your PR stunt?"
"It's not like that…."
"It's exactly like that," I snapped. "Do you know what you sound like right now?"
He was quiet. Then, quietly "Desperate."
The word hung in the air like a confession.
For the first time, he looked… human. Tired. Lonely, maybe.
But it didn't matter. I shook my head, fighting the strange ache in my chest. "I can't do this."
I turned for the door.
"Chloe," he said softly, and I froze. There was something in his tone not command, not anger. Something heavier. "At least think about it."
I didn't answer. I just walked out.