Chapter 3
Lorraine stood outside the CEO's office, took a deep breath, and tried to calm her pounding heart before reaching up to knock - three quiet taps.
"Come in." The man's low voice came from inside, cool and unreadable.
She pushed the door open.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, offering a sweeping view of the city skyline. The office was huge and sharply modern-monochrome tones of black, white, and gray gave it a cold, almost unwelcoming vibe, every corner exuding power, taste, and an almost deliberate distance.
But Lorraine's attention landed instantly on the man behind the desk - and her breath caught.
Tristan didn't look like his usual buttoned-up self in a tailored suit. He was in a charcoal cashmere sweater, collar casually loosened with the top two buttons undone, revealing a sliver of collarbone.
The absence of his usual strict edges gave him a slightly disarming allure - subtle but undeniably present.
What really made her heart skip, though, was the reddish mark just below his ear.
It was faint—but unmistakable. And the moment she saw it, something in her chest lurched. A single flash of memory slammed into her like a wave: her lips brushing against that exact spot, his breath catching, the way his hand had fisted in her hair as she kissed deeper, harder.
She hadn't meant to leave a mark. At least, that's what she told herself now. But in the heat of it—his body pressed against hers, his voice low and ragged in her ear—she'd wanted to claim him, even if just for that moment. Her mouth had found his neck in the dark, and she'd sucked, slow and possessive, until he groaned her name.
And now, in the daylight, that ghost of a bruise glowed like a secret only she knew.
Lorraine dropped her gaze, staring at her shoes as if they could ground her spinning thoughts. Her pulse was completely out of control. Why didn't he cover that up? Was... was it on purpose?
"Have you stared enough?" Tristan's voice was cutting, pulling her straight back into reality.
Caught like a kid raiding the cookie jar, Lorraine looked up fast, trying to compose herself. "Mr. Seymour, you asked to see me?"
He didn't bother answering directly. Instead, he tapped a finger against the polished desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm - tap... tap... tap - each sound landing right on her nerves.
"What's your take on last night?"
Her gut clenched. The one thing she'd been dreading came too fast. She dug her nails into her palm just hard enough to stay focused.
"It was an accident. I know you were just trying to help me, and I'm really grateful for that. I promise I won't mention it to anyone, and I'll forget it as soon as I can. I won't cause you any trouble - really."
Lorraine rushed out the words, wanting this painfully awkward conversation to end as quickly as possible.
"An accident?" Tristan echoed, his tapping halting mid-motion. His eyes locked onto hers, then calmly, he dropped a bomb.
"What if I said I need a wife, and you're the right choice?"
Her mind went blank. She could only stare at him, wide-eyed, completely frozen. Was he actually saying what she thought he was saying?
Mrs. Seymour? Seriously?
A whirlwind of disbelief, confusion, and something else she couldn't quite name swept through her - too fast, too much. She just stood there, dumbfounded.
"You... you said what?" the words stumbled out, barely audible.
"I need someone to be my wife - on paper. A contract marriage. One year. You'd accompany me to required events, and when it's over, you'll get a payout that'll more than cover you for life."
Tristan paused, his gaze drifting over the pale shade spreading across her face before casually adding, "That's a much better deal than staying in your current low-paid, replaceable position."
Her focus sharpened. This wasn't a fairytale confession. It was a cold proposal - and to her, an insult.
Lorraine squared her shoulders. She still looked pale, but her eyes sparkled with defiant energy.
"Mr. Seymour, someone like you has more than enough options when it comes to picking a wife. I'm not getting involved in something that messy. Let's just pretend last night never happened.
"If there's nothing else, I'll get back to work now."
The room instantly felt ten degrees colder.
Tristan stayed silent, his eyes fixed on her. Those deep, unreadable eyes seemed to hold a storm, so dark and intense they felt like they could swallow her whole. Lorraine could almost feel the weight of his stare pressing on her chest, like she couldn't breathe properly.
Just when she thought she'd pissed him off for good and maybe was seconds away from being kicked out - or worse - he suddenly looked away and grabbed his phone.
"Alright, we'll leave it at that for now. Accept my friend request on the APP."
His tone made it clear it wasn't optional. Lorraine stiffened, pulled out her phone, and sure enough, that familiar black profile pic was back in her requests.
Her fingers froze for a second, but under that silent pressure, she tapped "accept."
The second she did, her phone buzzed.
Tristan: [Soland Fashion Week. The company scored a promotion slot. Alexander will send you the details later.]
Lorraine blinked. Soland Fashion Week? That was the kind of opportunity people in the industry would kill for. What was this supposed to be? Compensation? A test?
She couldn't tell. Conflicted and unsettled, her mind was a mess.
"You can go," Tristan added, already flipping through his files again, that cold and unreadable CEO mask firmly back on.
Lorraine left his office with a complicated mix of thoughts, each step feeling like walking on air-light, but not in a good way-more like she might fall through.
Back at her desk, Celeste scooted her chair over in a flash, practically whisper-yelling, "Well?? What was that all about? Did he call you in to praise your report this morning?"
Lorraine looked at Celeste's curious, almost sparkly-eyed face. There was no way she could tell her even one word of what actually went down. She forced a small smile and said vaguely, "Nothing much, just asked about some project stuff."
She tried to look calm - even normal - but her brain was pure chaos.
Just then, the department manager walked in with Lucas. The manager clapped his hands once to get everyone's attention, grinning like he just won the lottery.
"Good news, everyone! The company just landed a big collaboration with Soland Fashion Week. After careful consideration, we've selected one staff member for a learning opportunity in this campaign -"
He paused. The whole room went silent; even the senior staff were holding their breath.
Lucas scanned the group, then smiled at Lorraine. "Lorraine! Congratulations. Make sure you prep well, this is a rare chance."
In that instant, every eye in the room turned to her: shock, curiosity, envy, awe - it was all there. Celeste clutched her mouth in excitement, practically glowing with happiness for her.
Lorraine, though, stood there stunned, emotions crashing over her all at once.
Tristan wasn't wrong. With just one word from him, her entire career path had shifted.
She stood up and gave a polite nod, trying to sound composed. "Thank you, Mr. Grant. Thanks to the company. I'll give it my best."
After work, Lorraine dragged herself back to her tiny but cosy apartment. Finally, she could drop the act.
Collapsing on her old sofa, scenes from the day kept playing over and over in her head.
Her phone lit up with a new message.
[Lorraine, I know you're still upset. But I'm not giving up. You didn't come home last night. I was worried. Did something happen? Tell me, I can help.]
It was Dylan.
Staring at the seemingly caring yet endlessly clingy message, Lorraine let out a cold laugh. She immediately deleted it and blocked the number again.
Why did men think they could just decide things for her? That they could box her in, label her, arrange her life?
Well, they couldn't.
Not her ex, not her boss.
No one could define who she was or how she lived.
