The Mustard Mogul’s Muse

The glass doors of Wagner Enterprises hissed shut, cutting off the roar of the press, but the silence inside was somehow louder. The lobby was a cathedral of white marble and judgmental stares. Every employee, from the high-heeled receptionists to the security guards, stood frozen, their eyes darting between Sion’s sharp suit and Lilia’s charcoal coat, which was currently dripping onto the pristine floor.

Sion didn't slow down. He marched her toward the private elevator, his hand still firmly anchored to her waist.

"Marcus!" Sion barked as the elevator doors slid shut.

The personal assistant, who had somehow sprinted from the car to the lobby ahead of them, squeezed into the elevator at the last second, clutching a tablet and a steaming cup of artisan coffee. He looked like he’d aged five years in the last hour.

"The PR team is already drafting the 'Whirlwind Romance' press release, sir," Marcus panted, adjusting his glasses. "The 'Diner Disaster' is trending on T*****r. People are calling you 'The Mustard Mogul.' It’s... surprisingly effective for the brand's relatability index."

"I don't care about the index, Marcus. I care about the board meeting in twenty minutes," Sion said, finally releasing Lilia. He turned to her, his eyes scanning her like a high-resolution printer. "You need to be scrubbed, polished, and draped in something that says 'CEO’s Fianceé' and not 'Part-time Mascot.'"

"I have a name, you know," Lilia said, crossing her arms. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the charcoal coat felt heavy and the absurdity of the situation was settling in. "And I’m not a doll you can just dress up. I have a diner to run. I have shifts."

Sion leaned against the mahogany paneling of the elevator, his gaze cool. "You have a five-hundred-thousand-dollar debt to clear, Lilia. For the next six months, your 'shift' is at my side. Marcus, take her to the executive suite. There’s a wardrobe for 'emergencies.' Find something that hides the fact that she was wearing a giant hot dog suit forty-five minutes ago."

"Emergencies?" Lilia echoed as Marcus ushered her out when the doors opened. "What kind of emergencies involve women’s designer clothes in your office?"

Sion’s mouth quirked—not a smile, but a ghost of one. "The kind where I need a distraction. Today, you’re the distraction of a lifetime."

The executive suite was larger than Lilia’s entire apartment. While Marcus scurried around a walk-in closet, Lilia stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the city. She felt like a fraud in a palace.

"Here," Marcus said, emerging with a sleek, emerald-green silk wrap dress. "It’s modest enough for a board meeting but expensive enough to silence the skeptics. There’s a shower through there. You have twelve minutes."

Lilia took the dress, the fabric feeling like water in her hands. "Marcus? Does he do this often? Hire strangers to save his reputation?"

Marcus paused, his expression softening for a brief second. "Mr. Wagner doesn’t usually ask for help, Miss Lilia. The fact that he’s letting you into a board meeting—even as a fake fiancé—means he’s more desperate than he’s letting on. Or," he added, glancing toward the door, "he actually thinks you’re the only one who can handle him."

Ten minutes later, Lilia emerged. The emerald silk caught the light, and her damp hair had been pulled into a sleek, professional bun. She looked like a woman who belonged in a skyscraper, but her reflection still felt like a stranger.

When she walked back into Sion's private office, he was sitting behind a desk made of a single slab of obsidian. He looked up, and for the second time that day, his shark-like focus faltered. He didn't speak for a long beat.

"Better?" she asked, smoothing the silk.

Sion stood up, buttoning his jacket. He walked over to her, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a ring box—velvet, heavy, and definitely not a prop. He opened it to reveal a diamond so large it looked like a weapon.

"This is the final piece of the armor," he said, taking her left hand. His touch was clinical, but his eyes were intense. As he slid the cold metal onto her finger, he leaned in. "The board members in that room are looking for a reason to fire me. They think I'm cold, unapproachable, and volatile. You are here to prove them wrong. You are the heart, Lilia. I am just the muscle."

"And if I mess up?" she whispered.

"Then we both go down in flames," Sion said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous velvet. "But I have a feeling you're better under pressure than you think, Frankie."

He offered his arm. Lilia took it, the diamond on her hand catching the light of the afternoon sun.

"It’s Lilia," she corrected him, her voice steadying. "If we’re going to be 'in love,' you should probably learn my name."

"Lilia," he repeated, testing the weight of it. "Let's go go give them a show."