Chapter 5: Husband’s Mistress Exposed?

Nora's POV

Three damn days into this sham of a marriage, and I hadn’t laid eyes on my so-called husband since he pulled off his act on our wedding night, waking from a freaking coma. Not that I’m bitching about it. I’ve been holed up in a gorgeous suite in Claflin Estate, just a stone’s throw from Alexander’s master bedroom.

I perched on the window seat, laptop teetering on my knees, scrolling through job postings. My cursor hovered over an opening at Claflin Enterprises’ R&D department. Perfect goddamn fit for my skills, I mused, but the name—Claflin—made my stomach churn. Would working for my husband’s empire make this fucked-up situation even messier?

A sharp rap on the door snapped me out of my spiral.

“Mrs. Claflin?” Edward, the butler, asked.

“Come in,” I sighed, slamming my laptop shut.

“Mr. Claflin requests your presence in his study. Immediately,” he announced, stepping inside.

I walked into Alexander’s study—a cavernous room of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leather everything, and a desk that probably cost more than my entire life. Behind it sat my husband, looking like the billionaire asshole he was in a charcoal suit tailored to perfection. He didn’t even glance up as I entered.

“You wanted to see me?” I prompted, the silence stretching like a damn rubber band about to snap.

Finally, Alexander met my gaze, his face a cold, unreadable mask. Without a word, he slid a document across the desk.

“What the hell is this?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Since you’re here, let’s discuss our situation,” he said, voice flat, like I was a fucking inconvenience. “My grandfather insists we keep this marriage intact. For now.”

I snatched up the document. “Marriage Contract” screamed at me in bold letters.

“A contract? Are you fucking kidding me?” I couldn’t hide the disbelief in my voice.

Alexander leaned back, cool as a cucumber. “I’ve just clawed back control of my company. I don’t have time for a divorce circus or the gold-digging vultures that’ll swarm Kingsley City the second I’m single.”

“So, what the hell are you proposing?” I flipped through the pages, each clause twisting my gut tighter.

“It’s all there. We keep up appearances. You get your hundred million, as agreed with your parents. I get to run my business without distractions.”

The clauses were cold as ice, clinical as fuck:

1. Absolute confidentiality about our marriage’s true nature.

2. No emotional attachment to Alexander Claflin allowed.

3. No private interactions with other men.

4. Public use of “Mrs. Claflin” title strictly forbidden.

The list went on, each point more dehumanizing than the last. It wasn’t a marriage contract; it was a goddamn leash.

“And don’t expect any bedroom action,” Alexander added, like he was doing me a fucking favor.

A weird pang of disappointment hit me, which made zero sense. Why the hell would I care? Maybe it was just the sting of being rejected so bluntly.

“Where do I sign?” I asked, keeping my voice steady as steel.

Alexander’s brow twitched, maybe surprised I didn’t fight. He pointed to the last page, and I signed with a dramatic flourish.

“I want to work at Claflin Enterprises,” I said, dropping the pen.

His cold laugh sliced through the air. “Ink’s not even dry, and you’re already ignoring the confidentiality clause?”

“I was planning to apply before this shitshow started,” I snapped. “I’m not gonna parade around as ‘Mrs. Claflin.’ I’ve got expertise in skincare formulation—your R&D department would be lucky to have me.”

“Is that so?” His tone dripped with condescension.

“Yeah, it is,” I shot back, mimicking his smug-ass vibe. “I won’t use our... connection. I’ll apply through normal channels.”

Alexander stood, signaling the convo was over. “Try if you want. No special treatment in my company. The interview process doesn’t bend for anyone.”

---

The next morning, I sat in the sleek waiting area of Claflin Enterprises’ headquarters, surrounded by jittery applicants clutching resumes like lifelines. Word was, Alexander Claflin himself was conducting R&D interviews today—an unheard-of move that had everyone shitting bricks.

“I heard he made a Harvard PhD cry once,” whispered a woman with a tight bun and nervous eyes.

“My cousin in Marketing says the CEO’s a cold bastard,” another muttered.

One by one, candidates shuffled into the interview room and stumbled out, broken. Some sobbed openly; others looked like they’d seen a ghost.

“He didn’t even glance at my research samples,” a redhead wailed as she bolted past. “Just said I wasn’t qualified and kicked me out.”

My confidence flickered, but I squared my shoulders when my name was called.

Alexander barely looked up as I entered his office.

“Nora Frost,” he said, flipping through my resume like it was junk mail. “Columbia University. Bachelor’s degree.”

“Yes, with honors and—”

“We typically hire research staff with at least a Master’s,” he cut me off, voice like ice.

“My practical experience and patent portfolio make up for that,” I countered.

His green eyes locked on mine, hard as fucking emeralds. “Rules are rules, Ms. Frost. You’re not qualified.”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” I hissed, anger boiling over. “Research assistants don’t get grilled by the damn CEO.”

“I interview who I want,” he said, colder than a winter storm. “This meeting’s over.”

I stood, hands trembling with rage. “I didn’t want to work at your precious fucking company anyway!”

I stormed out, not giving a shit how unprofessional I looked. Arrogant prick. He set me up to fucking fail.

Lost in my fury, I didn’t watch where I was going. Just outside his office, I slammed into someone hard, sending us both crashing to the floor in a mess of scattered papers.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I started, then froze as heavy footsteps approached.

Alexander emerged from his office, and for a split second, I thought he’d help me up. Fat chance. He strode right past me to the other woman.

“Daisy, are you alright?” His voice carried more warmth than I’d heard in our entire fucked-up marriage.

He offered his hand to the blonde on the floor, helping her up with a gentleness I didn’t think he was capable of. When she looked up, my breath caught. She was stunning—delicate features, and holy shit, brilliant green eyes, the exact shade of Alexander’s. My mind raced. Who the hell is she?

“It was just an accident,” Daisy said with a kind smile. “I wasn’t looking either.”

Alexander turned to me, all warmth gone. “Apologize to Ms. Traynor. Now.”

“I was about to before you swooped in like a damn knight,” I snapped, eyes glued to Daisy’s face.

“It’s fine, really,” Daisy insisted. “No harm done.”

“Since Ms. Traynor’s unharmed, you can leave,” Alexander dismissed me, like I was a fucking servant.

I staggered to the elevators on shaky legs, glancing back once. Alexander and Daisy were deep in conversation, his expression softer than I’d ever seen. Who the fuck is she to him? A lover? A mistress?