CHAPTER 7

KIMANI

I tapped the headline and skimmed through the article. To my relief, it wasn’t as scandalous as I feared—just a glossy recap of our “grand entrance.” Still, I couldn’t help but frown. How did they already know which designer made my dress? I don't even know about that, and I'm the one wearing them.

These journalists were like bees swarming around the smallest drop of honey. Relentless, buzzing, everywhere.

With a sigh, I closed the article and braced myself as I opened my messages. Dozens of unread texts flashed across the screen.

Me: Good morning, guys.

Malik: Don’t “good morning” us. What’s been going on, Kimani?

Zendaya: Spill. Now. And don’t leave out any details.

Denise: Sooo… how’s the honeymoon suite

oops, I mean office? (^_-)

I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

Me: It’s not a honeymoon. And can we not make this a big deal?

Zendaya: Girl, the media already made it one. We’re just… following up.

Malik: Following up? You mean interrogating her. Which is exactly what we should be doing.

Denise: She looks so soft next to him. Did you see that picture? Like a cinnamon roll with a grizzly bear.

Me: …wow. Thanks, I guess.

I chewed my lip, rereading their messages, trying not to think about how accurate that description was. Next to Alaric, I did look small, almost delicate. But that's because the man is just tall like he didn't want to stop growing.

Malik : So what are you up to at the office?

Me: Nothing, just spending the day with him to make a good impression.

Denise : Good impression, you are definitely making a great one(^_-)

I rolled my eyes at her reply.

Zendaya: A good impression?? Girl, you’re practically trending. You’re a headline now.

Me: Ugh. Don’t remind me.

Malik: No, no, this is good. Use it. Lean into it. Walk into that office like the queen you are.

Denise: *crown emoji* Mrs. Walker to you peasants.

Me: You’re all impossible.

I set the phone down, blowing out a breath. My friends were chaos embodied, but they weren’t wrong. People were staring. Even here, tucked inside Alaric’s glass-walled office, I could feel the glances burning through. The staff outside were pretending to work—papers shuffled, keyboards clicked—but every so often, someone’s eyes darted to the window, to me.

I caught one woman whispering to another, her brows lifting in disbelief before she quickly bent her head over her files again.

“Ignore them.”

Alaric’s voice cut through the low hum of the office, steady and commanding. He hadn’t even looked up from his laptop, yet he seemed to know exactly what was happening outside.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I muttered. “You’re used to this kind of attention.”

Now he looked up, eyes locking on mine. “And you’ll get used to it too.”

I shifted in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs. “What if I don’t want to get used to it?”

Something flickered in his expression—barely there, but sharp. “Then they’ll have to get used to you anyway. You’re my wife. That alone demands their respect.”

Wife.

The word still sat strangely on my tongue, like a shoe not yet broken in. Every time he said it so easily, my chest tightened.

A knock at the door interrupted us. One of the assistants peeked in nervously. “Mr. Walker, the department heads are waiting in the conference room.” Her eyes darted to me before quickly flicking away.

“Tell them we’ll be there shortly,” Alaric said.

The assistant nodded and closed the door behind her.

My jaw nearly hit the floor. “Wait—we? As in, me too?”

Alaric’s mouth curved—just a hint, but enough to make me squint suspiciously. “You have a problem with that?”

“Yes!” I whispered fiercely, jumping to my feet. “They’re going to stare at me like I wandered into the wrong meeting room. Which, for the record, I will have.”

He slipped on his jacket with effortless grace, like even clothes were scared to wrinkle around him. “You’re my wife. That means wherever I am, you belong.”

I gawked at him. “That’s not how boardrooms work. I don’t even own a briefcase. Scratch that, I don't work here or have any business with your company."

I almost wanted to stomp my feet, even though that will make me look childish.

Alaric crossed the room toward me, every step measured, deliberate. “You’re my business now, Kimani. That’s all that matters.”

My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. “That’s not how… any of this works!”

He didn’t answer, just extended his hand as if he expected me to take it. Like he was some prince leading me into a ballroom instead of a boardroom full of billion-dollar sharks.

I glared at his hand, then at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Maybe.”

I smacked his hand away, mostly because my own fingers were already itching to slip into his. “Unbelievable.”

But when he opened the door, I followed anyway.

The office buzz dimmed the moment we stepped out. Conversations dropped mid-sentence, keyboards paused mid-click. Heads lifted, eyes followed. Some staff blinked as if they weren’t sure what they were seeing—Alaric Walker walking his wife to a meeting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs Walker,” someone said quickly, almost too loudly.

Alaric nodded in return, calm, unbothered. Meanwhile, my skin prickled with heat. I resisted the urge to wave awkwardly at the sea of employees who were pretending they weren’t staring.

A whisper carried from the corner of the floor. “She’s really here.”

“Of course, she is here,” another hissed back.

I wanted to melt straight through the marble tiles, like a candle.

When we reached the sleek glass doors of the conference room, Alaric pushed them open without hesitation. The department heads—all sharp suits and sharper gazes—rose to their feet in unison. The air shifted, stiff with hierarchy and expectation.

Every pair of eyes flicked to me.

“Gentlemen. Ladies,” Alaric greeted smoothly, guiding me toward the long table. “This is my wife, Kimani Walker.”

My knees wobbled. My name sounded heavy in his voice, weighty, final. Like a declaration.

The executives exchanged glances. A few nodded politely, masking their curiosity. One older man cleared his throat. “A pleasure, Mrs. Walker.”

I managed a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Uh… hi.”

God. Hi? Out of all the words in the English language, that’s what my brain offered?

I caught Alaric’s smirk out of the corner of my eye. He pulled out a chair at the head of the table—his chair—and instead of sitting, gestured for me to take it.

I blinked at him, horrified. “You’re not serious.”

His gaze was unflinching. “Sit.”

I looked at him shocked, why is he asking me to sit on HIS seat. He looked at me, waiting. I groaned quietly and sat.

The leather of his chair was so soft and comfortable. I gripped the armrests before the huge chair swallowed me whole. The room was silent for a heartbeat too long, until Alaric sat beside me, reclaiming the head of the table by presence alone.

“Let’s begin,” he said, voice low but commanding.

Immediately, the department heads straightened in their seats. Papers shuffled, tablets lit up, and the room clicked into motion as though a conductor had just raised his baton.

I, however, was no orchestra member. I was the total odd one in the room.

One by one, voices rose and fell, throwing around words like projections, quarterly margins, expansions, cost analysis. My brain caught maybe one in ten, but mostly it was just static. Numbers blurred, graphs blurred, me blurring into the background.

I glanced down at the neat stack of reports in front of me. Without thinking, I picked up a pen and started doodling in the margin. At first just lines and circles, then flowers, then a wobbly attempt at Alaric’s jawline—which came out looking like a potato with eyebrows. I quickly scribbled it out before anyone saw.

Every so often, I felt eyes flick to me. Not hostile, not exactly judgmental—just curious. As if they were all silently asking the same question: Why is she here?

My ears burned.

Alaric didn’t so much as glance my way. He spoke with practiced precision, cutting through updates, asking pointed questions that made entire departments sweat. His hand, though, rested on the table close to mine. Close enough that if I shifted, even slightly, our fingers would brush.

I refused to shift.

Instead, I traced little crowns on the corner of the page, my friends’ teasing voices echoing in my head. Mrs. Walker. Queen. Cinnamon roll next to a grizzly bear.

At one point, someone cleared their throat and said, “With Mrs. Walker here, perhaps she might also want to weigh in—”

I froze mid-doodle, pen dangling like a guillotine. Why are they bringing me into this?

Alaric cut him off with a single glance. “She’s here to observe. Continue.”

Relief flooded me so fast I almost sagged in the chair. Observe, yes. That I could do. Though I am not actually observing anything.

The rest of the meeting was a blur of charts and strategies. I nodded at nothing, flipped pages when everyone else did, and prayed no one noticed my doodles slowly evolving into a cartoon crown-wearing grizzly bear.

Finally—thankfully—the meeting wound to a close. Chairs scraped back, papers were gathered, polite farewells exchanged.

As the department heads filed out, more than a few glanced at me again, polite smiles masking curiosity.

Alaric stood, buttoning his jacket. “Good work today. We’ll reconvene next week.”

When the last executive left, the room fell into silence again.

I slumped in the chair, dropping the pen dramatically onto the papers. “That was the longest three hours of my life. Do people actually… enjoy this?”

Alaric arched a brow, clearly amused. “Some do.”

“Well, I didn’t understand a single word after… quarterly something. My brain checked out.”

"I noticed." he said "But you were still present."

Heat crept up my neck. I wanted to say because you told me to, but the pride in his tone tangled up my words.

I grabbed the papers to distract myself—then froze when I realized my doodles were still there. I slapped them face down on the table. “Nothing to see here.”

Alaric only smiled and he stretched out his hand as if to say, 'this way'. I walked ahead of him and we stepped out of the conference room.

Instead of us turning to the direction of his office, he grabbed me by my waist and we walked towards the elevator. "Where are we going?" I asked, totally aware of his arm around my waist.

"Lunch."he replied and we stepped into the cabin.