A Taste of Deception

Elara woke early the next morning, sunlight spilling softly through the tall windows of the guest room. She dressed simply and elegantly, then quietly made her way to the kitchen.

The maids were already busy, moving with careful precision. They knew who she was, Alessia Vale, and they also knew Adrian Wolfe did not care for his new wife. Yet, out of respect for Alessia’s family and her reputation, they could not be rude. Politeness marked their every gesture, a careful distance between them and the young woman before them.

Elara’s soft voice broke the quiet. “Good morning. Could you tell me what Mr. Wolfe likes for breakfast? Does he take coffee or tea? Milk, sugar, or black?”

The maids exchanged a glance, a little surprised at her calm, polite tone. Then Gloria, a slightly older woman who had been Adrian’s longtime helper, relaxed. Her eyes softened as she spoke, treating Elara with a cautious warmth.

“He doesn’t eat much in the morning,” Gloria said, her voice steady. “Usually coffee, toast, and eggs. Sometimes fruit, if he feels like it. And his assistant, Thomas, comes in early with updates on the company.”

Elara nodded quietly, listening carefully. “And his coffee? How does he like it?”

Gloria’s lips curved slightly, amused at her attention to detail. “Black, no sugar. Sometimes a splash of milk, but only if he’s had an early workout. Oh, and he dislikes onions, he can’t stand the smell.”

Elara smiled faintly, storing every detail. She asked gently about other preferences, dislikes, allergies, and minor routines. Gloria answered patiently, clearly impressed by her polite diligence. She even mentioned Adrian’s morning habits: a quick session in the home gym, shower, suit, then coffee before starting his day.

By the time Adrian arrived in the dining room, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, Elara was there in a neat apron, quietly preparing breakfast. Thomas followed behind him, carrying documents and files.

Adrian’s eyes flicked to her, surprise flashing briefly. Then, as he suspected, he said nothing. He assumed this socialite bride was either trying to impress him, or would fail miserably.

He sat down, immediately absorbed in discussion with Thomas. Then he took a sip of his coffee. He paused, brow furrowed. The coffee tasted... right.

“Who made this?” he asked, neutral but sharp.

Gloria answered carefully, “The madam prepared it, sir.”

Adrian’s expression tightened. He placed the cup down, refusing to show interest, though a flicker of curiosity lingered.

Adrian finished his coffee, glanced briefly at the plate of eggs and toast in front of him, then pushed it aside without a word. He focused entirely on the documents Thomas had brought, as if Elara weren’t even there.

Gloria cleared the dishes quietly, shooting Elara a small, almost imperceptible nod, an acknowledgment that she had done well, without saying it aloud. Elara smiled faintly, her calm demeanor unchanged.

She noted everything: the way Adrian held his cup, the speed at which he ate, the little preferences Gloria had mentioned. Every detail was stored carefully in her mind. She moved with quiet efficiency, refilling his coffee when needed and ensuring the table was neat.

Once Adrian left, Elara allowed herself a brief pause. Her mind raced, what he eats, how he moves, what he notices. This was just the beginning. She would prepare his favorite lunch and deliver it to his office.

Every step was planned with quiet precision, every ingredient chosen carefully. Nothing would be left to chance.

Later, when she entered the Wolfe building, Elara paused for a moment, taking in the grandeur of the lobby. Marble floors stretched in wide, polished expanses. Brass railings gleamed, chandeliers hung like frozen stars, and the quiet hum of activity gave the space an air of importance and power.

The receptionists watched her with curiosity. They knew the CEO had married the Vale heiress, yet she moved with quiet awe, her eyes lingering on the details as if this world were entirely new to her. Her calm composure and gentle curiosity made her seem different from the spoiled socialite they had heard about.

Catching herself slipping into old habits, she straightened immediately and moved forward with measured grace. “Is Mr. Wolfe available?” she asked politely.

The receptionist blinked. “Ma’am, you can take the private elevator. No appointment needed.”

Elara nodded quietly and walked away, her calm, confident presence leaving the staff exchanging curious glances, wondering if she really was the Alessia Vale they thought they knew.

At Adrian’s office, Thomas greeted her and led her to the door. Elara knocked lightly, then stepped in.

Inside, Adrian was absorbed in his laptop, fingers moving quickly across the keys. She paused for a moment, taking in the sight. His sharp profile, the dark intensity of his eyes, the quiet power in the way he held himself, it was commanding, even in the stillness of the office.

For a brief instant, she allowed herself to note the firmness in his shoulders, the precise posture, the effortless authority that seemed to fill the room. But just as quickly, she reminded herself: she was only a stand-in. This wasn’t her life, and in three years, she would be gone. Admiring him had no purpose, her role was observation, precision, and survival.

Taking a steadying breath, she focused on the reason she was there.

When Adrian finally looked up from his laptop, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, irritation clear in every word.

Softly, Elara replied, “I brought your lunch. Eating out isn’t always healthy. I prepared your favorite meal.” Her tone was calm, gentle, and polite, carefully measured.

Adrian’s dark eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to do this, I have a chef. You may go.”

Unfazed, she stepped closer, her voice still soft. “You could at least try the soup I made. It’s good for your stomach.”

He waved her off with a small, dismissive gesture, as if swatting a fly. She inclined her head slightly and left, composed, without argument.

Once the door closed behind her, Adrian sat back and stared at the neatly arranged meal. For a long moment, he said nothing, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. Then, finally, he called Thomas over.

“Throw it away,” he said curtly.

Thomas hesitated, glancing at the meal. “Sir... the madam specifically prepared this for you. Are you sure?”

Adrian’s gaze didn’t waver as he leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Eat it if you want. I’d rather not risk being poisoned.”

Silence settled over the office, the lunch left untouched.

Despite his words, his eyes lingered on the containers, noting the details. He wouldn’t admit it, but someone had clearly taken the time to observe his habits, and remember them.

And that was... unexpected.