Her worst nightmare.

Lyra's POV

Every decision I'd made in the past week had led me to this moment, and I was regretting all of them.

Somewhere in this corporate labyrinth of glass-walled conference rooms and beige cubicles was my fake husband, who'd somehow also become my boss.

I stood in the break room, staring at what had to be the most unnecessarily complicated coffee machine ever engineered. The chrome surface reflected my tired face back at me—dark circles under my eyes, hair already escaping the professional bun I'd attempted.

Seventeen buttons for caffeine. Seriously, who needed seventeen buttons? The smell of burnt coffee grounds hung in the air, mixed with the artificial lemon scent of whatever cleaning product they used. I'd been jabbing at random options for five minutes when I felt eyes boring into the back of my skull.

"Well, well. You must be the famous Mrs. Damien."

I turned, coming face to face with a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. Slicked hair in a bun, loud lipstick that screamed for attention and a strong perfume that made my nose itch.

"Guilty as charged," I said, forcing what I hoped was a friendly smile. My cheeks felt stiff. "And you are?"

"Miranda Evans. Senior secretary." The way she said it suggested the title came with a throne and scepter. "I was Damien's assistant before you... arrived."

The pause was deliberate, loaded with enough implication to sink a ship. Her eyes were cold.

"Interesting how things work out, isn't it? One day I'm receiving my promotion, the next day the boss shows up married to his new secretary."

Oh, fantastic. So we were doing this territorial display. Great start to my first day.

"Life's hilarious like that," I said, turning back to the demon coffee machine. The metal was cool under my fingers. "Any chance you know how this thing works? I've been standing here for five minutes and I'm pretty sure it's mocking me."

"It's quite simple, actually." Her tone suggested otherwise. "But I suppose not everyone has the technical aptitude for office equipment."

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. I could feel the judgment radiating off her like heat.

"Tell me, how long have you and Damien known each other?"

"Long enough."

"That's remarkably vague." She retorted.

"That's remarkably intentional."

Her smile sharpened like a knife. "I'm just trying to be friendly. Get to know my new colleague so there's need to be so defensive."

"I'm not defensive. I'm desperately, catastrophically under-caffeinated. There's a significant difference."

She reached over and pressed a series of buttons with exaggerated patience, the kind you'd use teaching a particularly slow toddler basic shapes. The machine hummed to life, gurgling and hissing like it was personally offended by my incompetence.

"There. See? It's that simple."

"Thanks so much, Mirinda." I gave her a fake smile which made her eye twitch.

"It's Miranda." She corrected me. Off course I knew how to pronounce her boring ass name but what fun was in it?

"Right, right. My bad." I grabbed the nearest mug—ceramic with "World's Okayest Employee" printed on it. "So senior secretary—that sounds impressive. How long have you been here?"

"Five years. Worked my way up from the bottom, learned every single aspect of this company, every system, every protocol."

She watched me pour coffee like I was somehow doing it wrong.

"Not everyone gets to skip those steps."

"Skip steps?" I asked.

"Well, marrying the boss is certainly one shortcut to the top." She didn't bother the hide the disgust in her tone and I wasn't in the least bothered by it.

I took a sip. The coffee was scalding but at least it was caffeine. "You're absolutely right. I should've spent five years climbing the ladder first, then married him."

"I'm just saying, some of us earned our positions." She crossed her arms to her chest." We didn't need to sleep out way to the top."

"And some of us are apparently blessed with strategic nepotism. Life's wildly unfair like that." I leaned against the counter, the edge cold even through my blouse, matching her posture. "But hey, you got promoted, right? So really, my marriage created your opportunity."

Her jaw tightened enough that I heard her teeth click together. "You think this is amusing."

"I think you're amusing, actually. The whole passive-aggressive interrogation disguised as friendly concern?"

Someone coughed behind us—loud, uncomfortable, obviously desperate to escape. We both turned to find another employee hovering in the doorway like a deer who'd stumbled into a lion fight. His face was flushed, eyes darting between us.

"Sorry, just need sugar," he mumbled, sliding past us. He grabbed a packet and practically ran.

Miranda smoothed her already perfect hair, the motion practiced. "I should get back to work. Some of us have actual responsibilities."

"Yeah, I should probably figure out what mine are. First day and all that." I raised my mug in a mock toast, the ceramic warm in my palm. "Thanks for the coffee tutorial, Mirinda. Super helpful."

"It's—" She stopped herself, clearly realizing I was doing it deliberately. Her smile could have frozen hell. "Have a wonderful day, Mrs. Damien."

---

The morning passed in a blur of learning computer systems, memorizing passwords that made no logical sense, and trying to decipher Damien's filing system.

I was three folders deep into searching for last quarter's financial reports when Miranda materialized at my desk like a well-dressed ghost. Her perfume announced her before she spoke.

"Having trouble?" She asked.

I didn't look up, focusing on the spreadsheet that was giving me a headache. "Nope. All good."

"Those reports are in the red folder, subsection three, under Q4 Projections. Not the blue folder you're currently destroying."

I closed the blue folder with slightly more force than necessary. The mouse clicked loud in the quiet. "Appreciate it."

"You know, if you need help learning the systems, I'd be happy to train you properly." Her voice was honey-sweet, the kind that coated poison. "I know it can be overwhelming for someone without experience. We all need guidance at first."

"I'm managing fine."

"Are you?" She perched on the edge of my desk, uninvited. I could feel the weight of her there, invading my space. "Because from here, you look a bit lost. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Not everyone is cut out for this environment."

I finally looked up, my neck cracking from the angle. "You know what's interesting?"

"What?"

"You keep implying I'm incompetent, but I haven't actually screwed anything up yet. I'm just learning a new system. Something you've had five years to master." I leaned back in my chair, which squeaked in protest. "So either you don't believe in learning curves, or you're just fishing for reasons to criticize me. Which is it?"

"I'm trying to help."

"No, you're trying to act like the boss when you aren't one."

Her smile froze, lips pressed thin. "You're quite defensive."

"You're quite transparent." I smiled. "I have work to do unlike you whose job is to give unsolicited help."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't." I located the red folder—subsection three, exactly where she said. The data loaded with a soft ping. "Look at that, I've figured it out so guess I'm not completely hopeless."

She stood abruptly, the movement jerky. "Arrogance doesn't suit anyone." She glared at me and I responded in the same tone.

"Neither does jealousy, Mirinda."

"It's Miranda!" She yelled. "Miranda, not mirinda."

"Is it? Keep forgetting." When she saw that I wasn't ready for her nonsense, she left.

A guy from the next cubicle peeked over, his hair sticking up like he'd been running his hands through it. "Dude, that was brutal."

"Was it?" I turned my gaze back to my screen. "She started it first."

"Miranda's been gunning for Damien's attention for years. Then he shows up married? She's losing it." He grinned, revealing slightly crooked teeth. "I'm Jake, by the way, I work in Accounting."

"Lyra." I replied. "Apparently Miranda's personal nightmare."

"She'll get over it. Or she won't. Either way, it's entertaining." He disappeared back into his cubicle with a soft rustle of papers.

I tried to focus, but Miranda's words echoed in my skull: Marrying the boss is certainly one shortcut to the top. Not everyone is cut out for this environment.

She wasn't wrong. I did skip steps. I was here because of Damien, not by merit. The fact that our marriage was fake didn't change how it looked.

But I wasn't about to let her see that it bothered me.