Chapter 4: Of Coffee Cups and Cold Meetings

Three rules.

No love. No guests. No exposure.

Simple, right?

I told myself that again as I stared at my reflection in the east wing’s marbled bathroom mirror. My makeup was light, my hair loosely tied back in a half-bun, and I wore my usual neutral-toned blouse and slacks — the kind that screamed efficient team leader, not secret heiress turned secret wife.

This arrangement was perfect.

We weren’t in love. We weren’t even friends. Just two people tied by duty, bound by a royal seal, and placed inside the same house like chess pieces on opposite sides of the board.

There was a strange sort of comfort in it. Maybe that was why I didn't feel suffocated. Maybe that was why I even smiled a little as I sipped my lukewarm coffee and glanced out the window at the mist curling around the garden hedge.

I was still free.

I could still live my life, laugh with my team at AV Tech, binge dramas on weeknights, or sneak out for street food after dark without the world watching my every move.

No one at the office knew.

To them, I was still Valerie Vale — low-profile, slightly chaotic, caffeine-dependent, and stubbornly ordinary.

And I planned to keep it that way.

The driver dropped me off a block away from the AV Tech tower just before 8 a.m., as usual. I preferred walking the last few steps alone, blending into the morning buzz of employees trickling in with ID lanyards and paper cups. The building loomed like a mirrored titan above Aurora City, sleek and silver, with the golden AV logo gleaming at the top.

As I entered through the main lobby, I greeted the receptionist with a warm smile and tapped my employee badge. My heels clicked across the marble floors as I passed the corporate art displays and moved toward the design department on the 17th floor.

Just another day.

Or so I thought.

The moment I stepped off the elevator, a ripple of tension passed through the air like static. My teammates were whispering, clustered awkwardly near the break room. Lianne, one of our junior designers, spotted me and rushed over, clutching her tablet like a life raft.

“Val! Did you hear?” she whispered, eyes wide.

I blinked. “Hear what?”

She leaned in close. “The new Director. Today’s his first day. He’s already on the executive floor. People say he’s ridiculously intimidating and — wait for it — insanely hot.”

Oh no.

My stomach dipped.

I feigned confusion. “What’s his name?”

“Leon Albourne,” she whispered dramatically, eyes gleaming with the kind of thrill people usually reserved for celebrity gossip. “You know, The Perfect Prince?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Never heard of him.”

Lie #1 of the day. Perfectly delivered.

We were called for an all-departmental orientation by 9 a.m. sharp.

As we filed into the glass-walled conference room, I took my usual spot near the back. My heart thudded annoyingly loud in my ears as footsteps echoed from behind the side door.

And then he walked in.

Leon.

Tailored black suit, navy tie, hair perfectly styled back — the very image of ruthless elegance. His presence shifted the air in the room, like gravity subtly tilting in his direction. Every single employee sat straighter, quieter.

His gaze swept across the room with cool precision.

And then… paused.

On me.

Only for a second.

Then nothing.

He stepped up to the front of the room and addressed the team with all the grace and dominance of a monarch leading a court.

“Good morning. I’m Leon Albourne, your new Director,” he said, voice calm and cutting through the air like silk over steel. “Starting today, I will be overseeing all AV Tech departments in preparation for the global expansion rollout. I expect discipline, efficiency, and creative excellence. We do not tolerate mediocrity.”

The way some of the girls near the front squirmed in their seats told me they were already halfway in love.

He continued talking, outlining the vision, the standards, and his expectations. I kept my eyes on my notepad, scribbling words I barely registered, heart still pounding with a cocktail of nerves and adrenaline.

When the meeting ended, everyone clapped — half from awe, half from fear.

I stood to leave quietly.

But his voice cut through the chatter before I reached the door.

“Team Leader Vale,” he said.

I froze.

My coworkers turned to stare.

“Yes, Director?” I said, turning slowly, a carefully neutral expression on my face.

He held my gaze, unreadable. “Stay behind. I need a word with you.”

The room emptied out, one by one, until it was just the two of us.

I crossed my arms. “So. Director.”

He didn’t smile. Of course not. He set down the folder in his hand, stepped a little closer, and studied me — not like a husband looking at his wife, but like a CEO sizing up his newest acquisition.

“Rule One,” he said quietly, “doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you in private.”

“I’m aware.”

His eyes flicked to my outfit. “Your blouse’s crooked,” he noted calmly. “Fix it before someone starts whispering.”

I scowled, tugging it down slightly. “Thank you for the fashion tip, husband.”

He raised a brow. “I’m just making sure we don’t get exposed.”

I moved to walk past him, but he caught my wrist.

Not hard — but firm.

It was the first time he touched me since the banquet. And like that night, the contact was small but electric.

I looked up.

His eyes weren’t cold now. Just… deep. Focused.

“I meant what I said, Valerie,” he said, voice low. “No falling in love.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied with a hollow little laugh. “Trust me — I’m perfectly content being your fake wife.”

We stood there for a second longer than necessary.

And then I pulled my wrist free, turned, and walked out.

Outside, the office lights were too bright. The buzz of designers and analysts typing away filled the air like a low storm.

I returned to my desk, sat down, and stared at my monitor.

This was just work.

A job.

A secret.

A marriage of convenience.

And I was free.

Still… I couldn’t stop the echo of his fingers brushing my wrist.