She wondered why Mr. Cagliari wanted to see her. Mr. Turner pressed the button to open the private elevator.
"Are you sure? I can take the stairs," she suggested, but he stood firm. As they made their way up, her mind ran in circles, trying to understand why the CEO wanted to see her. She hadn't received any complaints so far and saw no reason for him to want to see her. She would only know once she arrived. Once again, she found herself on the fourth floor of the company, the executive floor. This was the floor housing the offices of the president and the vice president, although she had never met the latter. They walked past the conference room to the end of the hall where a gold plaque on a door read: CEO. "You may go in," Turner gestured, opening the door for her. She stepped inside. The space was vast, furnished exquisitely with Italian pieces. She hadn't imagined a room could be so expansive. Her eyes roamed the opulent space before landing on a seating arrangement near a large window. Her aunt sat on one of the plush couches, Mr. Cagliari on another, and a third man she didn't recognize was seated beside him. The couches were arranged around a sleek glass center table, upon which sat an envelope and mugs of coffee. "Aunt," she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the large room. Mrs. Smith looked up, a warm smile gracing her lips. Mr. Cagliari also raised his eyes, as did the unknown man. "My dear, why are you standing so far?" her aunt beckoned. But Ashleigh remained rooted to the spot, peering at Mr. Cagliari with unconcealed suspicion. "What's this about, Aunt?" she questioned firmly, her gaze meeting Mr. Cagliari's head-on. A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. He looked impeccably dressed today in a beige suit and matching shoes. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a strong jawline accentuated by a neatly trimmed stubble that lent him a mature air. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, reaching for his cup of coffee on the table and sipping it nonchalantly. "Won't you come closer? Or must we shout?" Hesitantly, Ashleigh moved to sit beside her aunt, keeping a wary distance from Mr. Cagliari. Adrian took a long, assessing look at her. Her eyes were wide with apprehension as she waited for him to speak, her hands clutching her aunt's clothes tightly. "Ashleigh, your aunt and I have been discussing things before you arrived," he remarked. She turned to her aunt, who avoided her gaze. "I have a proposition for you—a marriage proposal," he stated, the words hanging in the air, and Ashleigh couldn't mask her shock. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?" she asked, staring at him in disbelief. "I am asking you to marry me," he repeated firmly, and a startled laugh escaped her lips. This man seemed completely out of touch with reality. Who talks about marriage so casually? "I'm sorry, it's just... it sounds like a joke. Is it? Can you tell a better one?" Her smile quickly faded, replaced by a serious expression. Her aunt started to intervene, but Ashleigh cut her off. "No, Aunt, I need to speak to him." She held Adrian's gaze. "Well, Mr. Cagliari," she began, a hint of sarcasm lacing her tone, "why exactly do you want to marry me?" A wry smile touched his lips. "Miss Hartman, I have a pressing need, and I believe you suit those requirements," he replied, his eyes sweeping over her in a considering manner. Ashleigh was bewildered by the absurdity of the situation, even more so that her aunt had apparently heard this nonsense and hadn't immediately dismissed it. "Aunt," she inquired, her voice incredulous, "did you hear what he just said?" Mrs. Smith let out a low sigh. "Well, Ashleigh dear, I've heard everything, and I want you to consider it as well," she responded, her voice softening as Ashleigh's disbelief deepened. "Look, Ashleigh, it's not a bad offer," her aunt continued, trying to sound encouraging. "He has promised to care for you and compensate you when the contract is over." Ashleigh shifted away from her aunt, a sense of betrayal washing over her. "Miss Hartman, I am Mr. Cagliari's lawyer and legal representative. I have the marriage contract here," the man who had been observing silently finally spoke. He reached into the envelope and placed a document in front of her. Ashleigh sat silently, her eyes fixed on the bold letters at the top: MARRIAGE AGREEMENT CONTRACT. "Ashleigh, I know this is a lot to take in," Adrian added, his gaze steady on her still figure. "I want you to think carefully. During the time you are my legal wife, you and your aunt will be fully taken care of. Consider it a favor." Ashleigh finally raised her head to look directly at him, a spark of anger igniting in her eyes. "Did I ask you for a favor, Mr. Cagliari? There are a thousand women who would jump at this opportunity, but I am not one of them. And don't you ever approach me with such a proposition again," she said through clenched teeth, turning abruptly to leave. She had reached the door when Adrian's voice stopped her. "Miss Hartman... or is that your real name?" She turned sharply, a fierce glint in her eyes. "What?" "You think you're just an orphan? Then your aunt hasn't been entirely truthful with you, has she?" Adrian taunted, a knowing look in his eyes. "What are you talking about?" she asked in a hushed tone, her heart pounding. He stood up to face her, his presence suddenly looming. This was the question that had always been a thorn in her side. She longed to know about her birth parents but lacked the resources to find out, a desire buried at the back of her mind, something she hoped to pursue after saving enough money. She had lived her life day by day at the orphanage until her aunt appeared one day. Until now, whenever she had asked her aunt or tried to broach the subject, her aunt had fiercely shut it down, insisting her parents were dead and there was no reason to discuss it. Her aunt had told her no stories of her parents, their hometown, or their families, explaining that it was for the best. Looking at Adrian Cagliari, a chilling certainty washed over her: there was far more to her story than she knew.Adrian’s eyes moved slowly across the breakfast spread. He didn’t speak at first, which made Ashleigh fidget beside him.“It’s… not too much, right?” she asked, watching his expression for any flicker of disapproval.He turned to her finally, his voice low and unreadable. “You did all this?”“I had help,” she admitted quickly. “Chef Larry did the heavy lifting by making sure I didn’t ruin the dough the third time.”His brow lifted slightly at her words, the edge of his lips twitched upward. “You made the bread?”“Yeah, but this is the third one. The other two tried to eat the counter.”A soft chuckle escaped him, catching her off guard. It wasn’t often Adrian laughed, and even rarer for it to sound so unguarded and gentle.“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said after a moment, his tone soft. “You’ve been exhausted lately with College, so it’s best you rest even more.”Ashleigh sat fully beside him, folding her hands in her lap. “I almost didn’t. But then I was told that you haven’t
Monday (2 days left )"I knew this was a bad idea, Larry! Look at this disaster!” Ashleigh groaned, glaring at the deflated mess of dough that had refused to rise. It looked more like a sad pancake than bread.From the corner of her eye, she caught Susan stifling a laugh. Her frown deepened."What’s so funny, Susan?" she asked sharply.Susan straightened immediately, lips twitching as she tried to hold a neutral face. “Nothing, Madame. You’re doing… quite well so far.”Larry, who stood beside her, jumped in quickly. “Yes, it’s a great start for someone who’s never made bread before.”Ashleigh gave him a skeptical glance, then turned her gaze back to the dough. “Are you sure about that?”Chef Larry nodded confidently and motioned to one of the assistants to clean up the table. “Absolutely. You just need to learn how to balance the yeast ratio. It’s all about timing.”Ashleigh let out a sigh and began untying her apron. “I don’t think I can do this again. It’s too much for six a.m. in t
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in a steady, sterile rhythm in the cavernous study lounge at Alana’s off-campus penthouse. A sleek black table sat at the center of the room, cluttered with biochemistry textbooks, scattered notes, and half-built protein models. In front of the digital whiteboard stood a middle-aged man, gesturing as he explained complex metabolic pathways. Alana sat poised at the head of the table in a black turtleneck and perfectly tailored jeans, twirling a pen between her fingers. Her eyes skimmed the tangled diagram of the TCA cycle projected onto the screen.Her friends, however, were less involved in the study session.Diane lounged on Cameron’s lap, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear while Samantha barely looked up from her phone. The tutor tried to ignore the distractions, sticking to what he was paid to do, but their apathy was painfully difficult to miss.“Alright,” he said, raising his voice to grab their attention, “pop quiz time.”The screen chan
Hours later, Damien stood at a whiteboard in his off campus apartment, marker in hand, half solved questions scattered across the surface. He was trying to focus, but his eyes kept drifting to his phone. There was neither missed calls nor texts from her, and the silence gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.Although he tried not care, telling himself that everyone’s in this for themselves, it didn’t feel the same. Not without the sound of Ashleigh's pen scratching across her notebook or her relentless questions about formulas and theories.The door creaked open, and Arthur strolled in holding a smoothie in one hand and a half peeled banana in the other. He raised a brow, noting how Damien hadn’t even noticed his entrance.“Waiting for a call?” he questioned as he plopped onto the couch, watching him snap out and return to the board instantly.“No,” Damien replied, without turning and Arthur arched his brows slightly.Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s why you didn’t even not
“The battle stage is set and the stakes are high as Ashleigh Hartman fights to retain her number one spot on the Biochemistry competition team at the showcase next week,” Arthur read aloud from his phone, pacing the narrow study room with a dramatic flair. “The department has come to this decision after her reinstatement into the competition team was not well received by her colleagues, who claim a breach of trust still exists and remains unresolved since the infamous Robinetter bash…”“Enough,” Damien snapped, tugging Arthur down into a seat with a glare. “If you’re not going to stop reading trash blogs and help us out, then leave.”Arthur huffed, rolling his eyes. “Relax. Just trying to lighten the mood. Besides, I think you have helped yourself into a grave. You two have been trapped in here like caffeine-fueled zombies all week. Do you two even remember what the sun looks like?”Ashleigh didn’t respond. Her fingers drummed anxiously on the textbook in front of her, eyes red and t
“Where has the sun risen from, that you decided to accompany me today?” Alexander asked for the fifth time that morning, glancing sideways as they entered the golf course grounds.Adrian didn’t bother answering, adjusting the cuff of his polo shirt which Turner scrambled to pick up on short notice.He then gave Alexander a flat look. “I told you when I called. I’m here to see what your little gentlemen’s club is about and it’s prospects.”Alexander snorted. “You don’t give a damn about clubs. You hate gatherings. Hell, you ghosted me for two weeks after the last one. And golf?”He gave Adrian a pointed look. “You’d rather stab yourself in the foot.”Adrian’s fingers paused briefly on his glove before pulling it on. His gaze flickered to the tinted locker room window as his thoughts briefly returned to the call he took the night before. Without further comment, he secured the glove and turned.“You’ll know soon enough,” he said quietly. “Let’s just say today is... strategic.”Before Al