All Chapters of After One Night Stand I Became His Wife : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

By morning, chaos had taken form. The sleek headlines flashed across every major outlet, painting his name with scandal and desire. Reporters flooded outside the company gates, voices clamoring, cameras flashing, drones buzzing over the rooftop. Colden’s empire, known for its ruthless control, was now the center of gossip.In the mansion, silence stood thick as marble.Layla sat at the breakfast table, untouched toast on her plate, the tablet screen glowing faintly. Her name and photo were side by side with his—“CEO Colden Frost caught with another woman just days after marriage.”Her pulse echoed in her ears. Betrayal wasn’t new. But humiliation—this public humiliation—burned differently. The world wasn’t mocking him. It was mocking her. The unwanted wife. The poor girl who married into gold and got discarded within a week.Her hand trembled as she scrolled through the article. Every picture felt like a knife. Colden, sitting cold and distant, the woman on his lap, leaning close. His

The next morning dawned crisp and clear, sunlight filtering through the penthouse windows like a hesitant promise. Layla stood before the full-length mirror in her walk-in closet, her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed the fabric of her chosen outfit—a tailored navy blue dress that hugged her figure modestly, paired with low heels and a simple pearl necklace. It was elegant, professional, the kind of attire that screamed "CEO's wife" without trying too hard. I have to look the part, she thought, her reflection staring back with wide, anxious eyes. Composed on the outside, even if I'm a mess inside. What if they see through the act? What if I trip or say something stupid? Her heart raced at the prospect of performing this charade, but she squared her shoulders, drawing on the resolve she'd built over the past week. Colden had been true to his word so far; she owed it to him—and to herself—to hold up her end.Downstairs in the foyer, Colden was already waiting, his black suit im

Maria had greeted Layla with a professional smile, her demeanor efficient yet warm. "Mrs. Frost, it's a pleasure. Mr. Frost has briefed me; we'll head straight to his office. The employees are eager to see you."Layla followed Maria quietly through the long, polished hallways on the executive floor, her heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet. The walls were adorned with abstract art and plaques commemorating Frost Enterprises' achievements—mergers, innovations, global expansions. It was a testament to Colden's ruthless drive.The hallways seemed endless, a labyrinth of glass-walled conference rooms and private offices. Maria led the way with purposeful strides, occasionally nodding to colleagues who offered polite greetings. "Just through here," Maria said over her shoulder, her voice calm and reassuring. "Mr. Frost's suite is at the end. We'll avoid the main floor traffic."They turned a corner into a quieter corridor, lined with frosted glass panels that diffused the overhead

The sun hung low in the afternoon sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets as Elara stormed out of the Frost villa. The sight of them hand-in-hand, parading their so-called "marriage" like some triumphant spectacle, had ignited a fire in her chest that burned hotter with every step she took away from the building. Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement, her designer purse swinging wildly as she hailed a cab with a furious wave. "Home, now!" she barked at the driver, slamming the door so hard the vehicle shook. The ride was a blur of clenched fists and muttered curses under her breath, her mind replaying the scene: Colden's firm grip on that wretched girl's hand. It should have been her. It was supposed to be her.The cab screeched to a halt outside her family's opulent mansion, a sprawling estate nestled in the city's most exclusive neighborhood, with manicured lawns and towering wrought-iron gates that screamed old money. Elara flung a wad of cash at the driver w

Evelyn Frost sat like a spider in her web, her manicured fingers drumming rhythmically on a stack of confidential documents. She was a striking woman in her mid-fifties, with sharp cheekbones, raven hair streaked with silver, and eyes that glittered with a calculated malice. Her silk robe draped elegantly over her shoulders, but there was nothing soft about her—Evelyn was a master manipulator, a survivor who had clawed her way into power through seduction, lies, and unyielding ambition.Across from her paced Rowan, her son, a mirror of her intensity but with the raw edges of youth. At twenty-five, he was tall and lean, with disheveled blond hair that fell into his stormy blue eyes, inherited from his father. His expensive shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled up as if ready for a fight, and his face twisted in perpetual arrogance—a smirk that said he believed the world owed him everything.Rowan was spoiled, entitled, and dangerously impulsive, his ego a fragile shell over a seething pit