Semua Bab Mr.Wrong: Bab 61 - Bab 70

Casey P.O.VThe air inside the bridal shop smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla, a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind. Lauren was in front of a floor length mirror, swishing back and forth in an ivory gown that glimmered faintly under the boutique's lights. Zazu was helping her to put on the veil .The veil cascaded in delicate waves, pure white and nearly translucent, reaching gracefully down to the floor. Its edges were adorned with intricate lace, soft floral patterns curling like whispers of elegance. When the light hit it , it shimmered faintly, as if dusted with stardust, adding an ethereal glow. It framed Lauren’s face gently, creating an aura of serene beauty and timeless grace.I stood at the edge of the room, sipping on complimentary champagne, trying to avoid Owen’s gaze as he rifled through some paperwork at the front desk. I still had not figured out how we ended up with a marriage certificate tucked in his wallet and worse, why he was so nonchalant about it.The ni

Casey P.O.V The reception venue was stunning, exuding elegance without being overwhelming. Set in one of the city’s most sought after restaurants, the private dining room had been transformed into a dreamy space for Lauren and Marcus’s wedding celebration. The ambiance was warm and inviting, illuminated by a mix of chandeliers and candlelight that danced across the room's polished wood floors. The tables were arranged in an open U-shape to promote conversation and camaraderie, adorned with crisp ivory linens, gold rimmed plates, and crystal glassware. Each table featured a centerpiece of fresh roses, lilies, and peonies in shades of white and blush, interspersed with sprigs of greenery. Tall candlesticks completed the look, casting a soft, romantic glow. The air buzzed with laughter, conversation, and the soft strains of a string quartet playing in one corner of the room. Our families mingled near the bar, where bartenders skillfully crafted cocktails and poured champagne. The s

Owen P.O.VThe air in the conference room was tense. I stood at the head of the table, They shuffled papers, exchanged quick glances, and adjusted their devices, but no one dared to break the silence.Casey sat beside me, tablet in hand, already immersed in the task at hand. Barbara, my right hand in the business, stood across from me, her usually composed demeanor showing signs of stress. "Owen," she started, handing over another folder filled with the latest updates. "This is the latest update from this morning. I wish I had better news.This is everything we have managed to pull together since this morning." I opened the folder, skimming through the pages filled with detailed reports on lost contracts, supplier defections and their words of switching sides, and murmurs of investor dissatisfaction with the instability of my company which I did not know I have until I was looking at the folder.Each line felt like a punch to the gut because I knew none of this what they claimed is tru

Casey P.O.V The morning air was crisp as I stood in front of the towering glass building that was Brown Group’s headquarters. The corporate giant I had heard so much about, the one that Owen had worked so hard to build, and now, for reasons I could not quite explain, I was about to step into it. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. You can do this Casey. Show them what you have got. I had spent two days planning what I was going to do. After giving ten interviews and being rejected by eight I think I have acquired enough interview experience after not giving for five years.I was trying to figure out the best way to keep my identity hidden. I did not want any special treatment or the perception that I was here because I was his pretend fiance and now real wife which no one knows yet because we are crazy enough to get drunk and get married. But that was not the reason . I just do not want anyone to say I got this because I am his fiancée, so, I disguised myself

Casey P.O.V The first day at Brown Group was nothing like I had expected. I had walked in with my head held high, eager to prove myself, but it did not take long for reality to hit. The office was sleek and modern, with glass walls, polished floors, and an air of efficiency. I was assigned a desk in the operations department, a space filled with a group of women who eyed me as if I did not belong. I could feel their stares from the moment I walked in, but I brushed it off. “Good morning,” I greeted with a polite smile, setting my bag down and adjusting the blazer I had chosen this morning. The women exchanged glances, whispering among themselves, their eyes flicking from my clothes to my face with a look I recognized all too well. Judgmental bitches get over yourself. This is an office not a New York fashion week ramp. “Morning,” one of them finally responded, her tone cold and clipped. She was tall, with sharp features and an even sharper attitude. Her name tag read Rachel Thom