Chapter 2 Such A Gorgeous Man
Freya hung up the phone, excitement buzzing beneath her skin like caffeine on an empty stomach. “I will be there on the dot!” she had said, and she meant every syllable. This job at Castle High Fashion felt like a long-awaited lifeline—something stable, something dignified… something she desperately needed after years of raising twins alone.
Castle Group’s headquarters rose before her like a glass citadel. Sharp angles. Gleaming windows. The kind of place where people with perfect routines and perfect paychecks strutted in and out without missing a beat. It was the kind of building her old self used to daydream about working in.
Now she stood right in front of it with a slightly frizzy ponytail and sheer determination.
Inside, she followed the receptionist to the fashion department. Freya adjusted her blouse nervously before approaching the nearest staff.
“Hi, I’m here to report for my first day. Is Linda around?” she asked.
The woman barely looked at her before lazily pointing, “Over there.”
Freya turned.
And met Linda.
Linda was the human embodiment of “fashion magazine cover meets attitude problem.”
Her black dress was sleek with a deep V neckline. Her Doc Martens thudded against the floor with a designer-level arrogance. Rings shone on her fingers as though even her hands were too stylish to function.
Linda glanced up, eyes sweeping across Freya like she was scanning a thrift-store mannequin.
“Is that how you dress?” Her tone dripped with disdain. “Taking you out would insult my fine taste.”
Freya’s lips parted—half in offense, half in confusion—but words never came out. Instead, Linda shoved a stack of fabrics, folders, and tools into her arms like Freya was a portable hanger.
“Hold that. We’re taking measurements for Mr. Castle. If you dress too well, you might steal my limelight. Can’t have that.”
Freya almost choked.
“Mr. Castle? As in… Declan Castle? The CEO?”
“Obviously,” Linda said, flicking her hair. “And don’t even think about hitting on him.”
Freya blinked. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Flirting with the CEO? She could barely flirt with air at this point.
Still, she obediently followed Linda into the elevator.
The moment the doors opened on the executive floor, they stepped into another world—quieter, colder, and so polished she could see her reflection in the marble tiles.
Just as they approached the CEO’s office, a group of high-ranking executives entered first. The man walking at the front made everyone else fade into wallpaper.
Tall.
Sharp features.
Shoulders like they were sculpted by a designer.
Suit immaculate—no creases, no weakness.
His presence alone commanded the air.
Freya’s arms tightened around the items she carried. Whoever he was, he didn’t just walk—he dominated the hallway.
Then—
CRASH!
Something shattered inside the office.
A voice followed. Cold. Cutting.
“Are there only complete idiots working for Castle Group? You couldn’t even get that right? Get out!”
Freya’s pulse spiked.
That voice.
Why did it send a chill down her spine?
Why did it sound… familiar?
Before she could dive deeper into the uneasy feeling spreading through her chest, the CEO’s assistant, Ian Timms, stepped out of the office looking strained.
“Linda, wait outside first,” he said quickly. “Don’t go in yet.”
So they stood in the hallway. And waited.
Linda paced impatiently, muttering about schedules and professionalism. Freya, on the other hand, swallowed the rising panic clawing at her throat. Something felt wrong. Terribly wrong.
After nearly an hour, Ian reappeared and gestured.
“You may enter.”
Freya followed Linda into the CEO’s office, feeling like she was stepping onto the set of an expensive film. The thick wool carpet absorbed their footsteps. The color palette—black, white, and gray—looked sleek and cold, matching the reputation of the man who ruled the company.
A tall figure stood by the French windows, smoking. The long line of ash at the end of his cigarette bent downward, as if resisting gravity.
He turned.
The ash fell—
And Freya’s entire world shattered.
Her breath stopped.
Her vision wobbled.
Her soul nearly exited her body through her toes.
It was Declan Castle.
THAT Declan Castle.
The wrong man Eva drugged.
The man whose DNA she stole.
The father of her twins.
Five years of running from the truth slammed into her at full speed.
Her dream job?
Her first day?
It was the perfect setup… for disaster.
She nearly dropped everything in her arms.
Oh God…
Oh dear God… this is a cosmic joke.
Please don’t let him recognize me. Please don’t let him recognize me.
She bowed her head so fast it almost snapped her neck.
Declan’s gaze swept over the room—cold, sharp, assessing—but didn’t pause on her.
Freya silently thanked every deity that had ever existed.
Linda stepped forward, voice sugary sweet.
“Mr. Castle, I’m here to take your measurements. We received new high-quality fabric.”
Declan gave a short, disinterested “Mm.”
He removed his jacket with elegant precision, unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, and spread his arms slightly.
And there it was—
A model’s physique hiding under businessman armor.
Freya’s head dropped even lower. Her chin nearly touched her chest.
“Measuring tape,” Linda barked.
Freya’s trembling hand extended the tape. She prayed Linda would take it quietly.
But fate wasn’t on her side today.
As Linda approached Declan—
“Let her do it,” Declan said.
Silence.
Then Linda sputtered, “B-but Mr. Castle—”
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
Freya’s head snapped up.
“M-me? You want me to take your measurements?”
Linda stepped aside reluctantly, eyes full of suspicion and jealousy.
Freya approached Declan with all the confidence of a mouse walking into a lion’s den. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she wrapped the tape around his chest.
“Chest… forty-two point six inches…”
Her voice wobbled. She cleared her throat.
Next, shoulders.
“Shoulders… twenty point nine inches…”
Then she reached the hips.
And fate laughed again.
She had to squat—
Which put her face-level with the bulge in his pants.
Her mind exploded.
The hotel room.
His unconscious face.
His scent.
His body.
His voice saying “It’s hot…”
Every memory slammed into her like a tidal wave.
Declan’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist firmly as he pulled her upright.
His gaze pierced through her, cold and unreadable.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“F-Freya Myers,” she stammered.
“Is it our first time meeting?”
“Yes—yes, Mr. Castle.”
His lips curved ever so slightly.
Not kindly.
More like a man smelling a lie and enjoying it.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said.
Freya forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
“N-no. I just… admired you. You’re… very good-looking.”
Declan leaned closer.
Much closer.
His fingertips brushed the corner of her lips. Their noses nearly touched.
“Somehow,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous,
“I find you familiar.”
