Chapter 1: Status Claim

“Allow me to introduce Eleanor Montgomery, my fiancée—the woman I love and intend to marry.”

Eleanor Montgomery’s eyes widened in shock. She stared in panic at her boss, Archibald Richter—or Archie—a thirty-one-year-old man who, at a remarkably young age, was already the President Director of Richter Company, a multinational corporation with immense influence in the nation’s business world.

What was the meaning behind Archie’s words? Why did he introduce Eleanor as his fiancée?

Eleanor felt a faint squeeze from Archie’s fingers resting on her waist. She tried to process what was happening—how on earth had she ended up trapped in this situation?

Eleanor had come to the restaurant to meet her fiancé, Julian Blackwood, only to catch him red-handed in an affair with Paula Hazelwood, the heiress to the Hazelwood fortune. An argument had ensued, ending with Julian unilaterally breaking off their engagement.

Having just walked away from Julian and Paula, consumed by anger and disappointment, Eleanor had accidentally bumped into Archie. Without hesitation, the man had grabbed her hand and said, “Come with me.”

Before Eleanor could even process what was happening, she realized that Archie had pulled her into the room to use her as a shield.

Indeed, Eleanor could see that the woman sitting across from them was so furious her face was flushed bright red upon hearing Archie’s sudden declaration.

Archie was claiming Eleanor as his fiancée.

Her boss had completely lost his mind.

“Archie, you’re just joking, right?” Greta Lindemann—the woman arranged to marry Archie—stood up from her seat, her eyes fixed intently on him.

Greta refused to believe what Archie had just said.

“As you can see, I am only going to marry Eleanor.” Archie’s voice was firm and leaving no room for argument.

Greta scoffed with a bitter smile. “Her?” Greta’s finger pointed at Eleanor, her eyes beginning to scan Eleanor’s appearance from head to toe.

“Don’t make me laugh, Archie! She isn’t even your type.” Greta sneered once more. “Only I am suitable for you. Tell this woman to leave, and I will forget everything you just said.”

Archie’s eyes narrowed sharply at Greta as he spoke. “My type? You don’t need to know my taste to decide whom I should marry. And you have no right to dictate this arranged marriage.”

Eleanor remained silent, caught in the middle of a conflict she knew nothing about.

The gentle pressure of Archie’s fingers on her waist seemed to lock her in place, preventing her from escaping the vortex of this charade.

Greta crossed her arms over her chest, her chin tilted high as she glared directly at Eleanor. She still refused to accept Archie’s explanation.

“Archie, look at her.” Greta’s voice was low, yet dripping with contempt. “Do you think I don’t know the kind of women who try to get close to you? Look at her appearance, her clothes, the way she stands, her posture—she doesn’t even dare to look me in the eye.”

Eleanor blinked, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides as Greta continued to look down on her.

“How much did you pay to bring her here?” Greta’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Your tactics are far too cheap, Archie. Rejecting our families’ arranged marriage by bringing a paid woman off the street? Absolutely laughable. Couldn’t you find a woman with a bit more class? At least someone taller than me.” Greta mocked again.

One corner of Archie’s eyebrow arched upward, his gaze cutting sharply toward Greta.

“A paid woman?” Archie repeated the phrase in a low voice, but it sounded far more dangerous than a shout.

“Yes, of course. I will never believe that she is someone you actually like. That’s impossible.” Greta kept her condescending smile, shaking her head softly.

Archie’s eyes flashed. He turned his body slightly, now fully facing Eleanor. His sharp eyes, usually as cold as ice, suddenly softened with an inexplicable glimmer.

Archie’s hand moved up from Eleanor’s waist, his long fingers slowly creeping upward until they rested at the nape of her neck, weaving through her hair.

Eleanor held her breath. The touch was warm, yet it left no room for resistance.

“I don't need to pay a woman who holds absolute control over my heart, Greta.” Archie’s tone was tender, his gaze remaining locked on Eleanor’s lips, which were slightly parted in surprise.

Before Eleanor could process her confusion, shock seized her as Archie pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers.

Time seemed to slow down. Eleanor could see Archie’s dense eyelashes resting close as he closed his eyes, right before she felt a soft yet firm pressure on her lips. The kiss was not rushed; it was a quiet, unyielding declaration of possession.