After Divorce, I Married The CEO

Monterrey, Mexico — 7:42 a.m.

The office of Herrera & Sons gleamed under the harsh morning lights—an intimidating temple of glass, steel, and silent judgment. Everything about it screamed cold efficiency... just like its CEO.

Into that icy perfection stormed Valeria Mendoza—twenty-six years old, five-foot-five of determined chaos—clutching a leaking caramel macchiato and her last shred of patience.

"¡Maldita sea!" she hissed, frantically dabbing at the spreading coffee stain on her cream blouse with a disintegrating napkin.

The receptionist at the front desk flinched. "Señorita Mendoza, are you okay?"

"Perfect," Valeria said with a strained smile. "Just embracing my destiny as a walking frappuccino."

Without waiting for sympathy, she stalked toward the elevator, her high ponytail bouncing, her heels clicking like gunshots across the marble floor.

Today was important. She needed to get the updated design boards to him — the Ice King himself — before the morning meeting. If she was lucky, she'd escape with only a mild glare instead of a full corporate execution.

She jabbed at the elevator button, muttering under her breath, "One day, I’m going to pour hot coffee on Alejandro Herrera and call it an avant-garde design choice."

A low voice behind her said coolly, "Noted."

Valeria froze.

Her stomach plummeted as she turned — slowly — and met Alejandro Herrera’s smirking gaze.

He was maddeningly, unfairly gorgeous, even when he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and his gray eyes cold enough to freeze oceans.

"Señor Herrera," she said, forcing a sickly sweet smile. "Didn’t see you there. Probably because I was busy going blind from caffeine trauma."

His gaze flicked pointedly to the coffee stain on her blouse. His lips twitched — an almost-smile that was somehow more dangerous than a scowl.

"Interesting choice of attire for a staff meeting," he said.

Valeria bit the inside of her cheek. Hard.

"I’ll change before the meeting," she said through gritted teeth. "The coffee... fought back."

"Mmm." He stepped into the elevator, casually pressing the top floor button without looking. "Make sure you change your attitude, too."

Valeria barely swallowed a growl as she followed him inside.

"Do I have a choice?" she muttered.

"Not today," Alejandro said smoothly, eyes fixed on the gleaming doors as they slid shut.

8:00 a.m. — Conference Room, Top Floor

Valeria laid out the design boards with shaking hands, willing her heart to stop racing. She hated how Alejandro got under her skin. Hated even more how he noticed her — not with kindness, but with sharp, assessing interest, like she was a puzzle he didn’t have time to solve.

The door opened again.

Alejandro walked in, his expression unreadable. But something was off. His steps were slower. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the materials... then her.

Without preamble, he said, "Change of plans."

Valeria stiffened. "Did I miss something?"

"I need you to come with me. Now. No questions."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"There’s a brunch meeting. Important investors. They’re traditional. Conservative. They value stability. Family. Marriage."

She crossed her arms. "And you want me to... what? Serve the coffee?"

Alejandro took two strides toward her, stopping so close she caught a whiff of his expensive cologne — clean, sharp, unfairly intoxicating.

"I want you to be my fiancée."

Valeria's jaw dropped.

"I’m sorry," she said, voice rising. "Did I just fall into a bad telenovela?"

He didn’t even flinch. "It’s temporary. Just until the deal closes. You’ll be compensated."

"Compensated?" she repeated, laughing hollowly. "You’re offering me a bribe to play house?"

"Triple your current salary," he said smoothly.

Valeria hesitated.

God knew she needed the money. Her mother’s medical bills were stacking up like dominoes, and Valeria was drowning faster every month.

Alejandro must have sensed her struggle because he leaned closer, voice low and coaxing. "You need the money. I need the image. We don’t have to like each other. Just act like we do."

She stared at him, tempted to hurl the coffee-stained folder at his perfect face.

But... triple salary.

Medical bills.

And, if she was honest, a dark, reckless part of her wanted to see what it would be like — to pretend she was the woman Alejandro Herrera chose.

Even if it was all a lie.

"Fine," she snapped. "But if you ever call me ‘darling’ in public, I’m suing for emotional distress."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face.

"I’ll risk it," he said.

And that was how Valeria Mendoza — broke, burnt, and one spilled coffee away from unemployment — became the fake fiancée of Mexico’s most heartless CEO.

At least, that was the plan.

Neither of them realized that the legal folder Valeria had accidentally signed last week — tucked inside a stack of design contracts — was a real marriage license.

And the storm they were about to unleash?

It would be anything but fake.