Chapter 3: The Wife

I didn’t sleep well.

 Lucien Moreau’s voice kept replaying in my head like a warning I couldn’t escape.

 *Always visit my wife. Because I don’t want to be around her.*

 The words didn’t sit right with me.

 Who tells their personal assistant to check on their wife like she’s some kind of scheduled appointment?

 The morning felt heavier than yesterday. The building still intimidated me, but this time it wasn’t the marble floors or the expensive scent in the air that made my chest tighten.

 It was him.

 I stepped out of the elevator and found him already inside his office, seated like he owned not just the company but the world itself.

 Black suit. Perfect posture. Cold eyes.

 He didn’t look at me immediately.

 “You’re three minutes early,” he said calmly.

 I blinked. “Is that… bad?”

 Now he looked at me.

 “No. It means you learn fast.”

 Why did that sound like both a compliment and a threat?

 He stood from his chair and walked toward the window, hands tucked into his pockets.

 “You’ll be visiting my wife today.”

 Straight to the point. No hesitation.

 I swallowed. “Where?”

 “At the penthouse.”

 Of course. A billionaire’s wife wouldn’t just live anywhere.

 “You will observe her condition. Make sure she takes her medication. Stay for at least an hour.”

 Medication?

 “What condition does she—”

 He turned slowly.

 And I immediately shut up.

 “I didn’t ask you to question me, Venice.”

 Right. Rule number two.

 Don’t interfere with things he never asked me to manage.

 “I understand,” I said quietly.

 His eyes lingered on me for a second too long.

 “Good.”

 ——

 The penthouse was breathtaking.

 Glass walls. A view of the city stretching endlessly below. Everything was white and gold and painfully elegant. The place makes me feel like an outcast as I was watching at the chandeliers knowing it costs a lifetime to buy an authentic one. Though all these riches and luxury might matter to both of them, but it felt… empty.

 A maid led me inside and told me the Madam was in the living area.

 When I stepped in, I saw her.

 She was beautiful.

 Soft features. Long dark hair. Dressed in a silk robe that probably cost more than my monthly salary. She sat by the window, staring outside like she was waiting for something that would never come.

 “Madam?” I called gently.

 She turned.

 Her eyes were sharp.

 Not fragile.

 Not broken.

 Sharp.

 “And you are?” she asked.

 “Venice Laurent. Mr. Moreau’s new personal assistant.”

 Her lips curved slightly.

 “New?”

 Something about the way she said it made my stomach twist.

 “Yes.”

 She studied me from head to toe. Not in a jealous way. Not in an insecure way.

 More like she was evaluating me.

 “You’re young,” she said.

 I forced a polite smile. “I suppose.”

 She stood up slowly and walked toward me.

 Up close, I noticed something.

 She didn’t look unstable.

 She looked lonely.

 “So,” she continued, “did Lucien tell you why he doesn’t visit?”

 The question caught me off guard.

 “No, Madam.”

 She hummed softly.

 “Of course he didn’t.”

 Silence stretched between us.

 Then she stepped closer.

 “You should be careful.”

 My brows furrowed. “Careful of what?”

 “Of him.”

 The air shifted.

 “Lucien doesn’t keep people around unless they serve a purpose,” she said quietly. “And when that purpose is fulfilled…”

 She didn’t finish the sentence.

 She didn’t have to.

 A chill ran down my spine.

 “I’m just here to do my job,” I replied.

 She smiled again.

 “That’s what they all say. You might be the last one to say that, Venice”

 They.

 Plural.

 I froze, I tried not to let that bother me and focus on my job.

 “I’ll be visiting regularly to check on you, Madam,” I said professionally.

 Her expression softened for a moment.

 “Tell me,” she asked suddenly, “does he look happy these days?”

 The question felt… strange.

 “He looks… composed,” I answered carefully.

 She laughed softly.

 “That means no.”

 She walked back to the window.

 “Lucien never wanted this marriage.”

 My heart skipped.

 “He was forced.”

 Forced?

 Before I could ask anything else, she spoke again.

 “But don’t mistake him for a victim.”

 Her tone changed.

 “He’s dangerous in his own way.”

 I stayed there for an hour like he instructed.

 We talked about light things. Books. The city view. Nothing too personal.

 But before I left, she said one last thing.

 “Venice.”

 “Yes?”

 “You’re not the first assistant who lasted this long.” she slowly closed the doors bigger than my house and I stood there reflecting everything that has happened inside. I might be overthinking but... she does not look vulnerable.

 The elevator ride down felt suffocating. If I could just forget about what happened inside, I'll be at peace. I can't believe I'll be visiting her wife from now on. I know I won't handle this, I might get crazy afterwards.

 What did she mean by that?

 When I returned to the office, Lucien was waiting.

 He was standing this time.

 Like he had been anticipating my arrival.

 “How was my wife?” he asked.

 His voice was calm. Controlled.

 “She’s… fine,” I replied.

 He stepped closer.

 “Did she say anything interesting?”

 Our eyes locked.

 For a moment, I felt like he was reading every thought inside my head.

 “She asked if you looked happy.”

 Something flickered in his expression.

 Gone in a second.

 “And what did you say?”

 “I said you looked composed.”

 Silence.

 Then—

 He smirked.

 “Smart answer.”

 He walked past me and returned to his desk.

 “You’ll visit her twice a week.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “And Venice?”

 I paused.

 “Yes?”

 His gaze lifted slowly to meet mine.

 “Don’t let her fill your head with stories.”

 The way he said it wasn’t a warning.

 It was a challenge.

 Because suddenly, I wasn’t sure who I should be careful of anymore.

 His wife.

 Or him.