His Wife by Mistake
Chapter 2: Welcome, VIP
The elevator
doors slid open onto the 18th floor, and Nora blinked.
“This... can’t be
right.”
Callum grinned
beside her, arms crossed, clearly enjoying her confusion. “It’s right. The CEO
said intern accommodations are up here.”
They walked down
a sleek, matte-black hallway. The carpet was plush beneath her heels, like
walking on velvet. Spotless glass walls framed views of Manhattan, and every
few feet, sleek metallic plaques shimmered with names and titles. She passed
rooms labeled “Investor Relations,” “Legal Counsel,” and then—
VIP RESIDENCY
– Temporary Guest Office
“VIP?” she said
aloud, brows lifting. “Is that a sarcastic label or…”
Before she could
finish, a sharp pop of gum snapped behind her.
Nora turned.
A girl leaned
against the wall, dressed like a fashion editorial nightmare—platinum-blonde
waves, cropped designer blazer over a rhinestone tank, and stiletto heels too
tall for workplace sanity. She looked Nora up and down with a smirk that
practically screamed: You don’t belong here.
“Oh,” the girl
said, chewing obnoxiously. “So you’re the intern they dumped in my
room.”
Nora
straightened. “Sorry, I didn’t know this belonged to someone.”
“It did.
Until your little resume parade showed up.” The girl’s voice dripped venom.
“But sure. Take it. One month. Then we’ll see how long the board tolerates
chaos in heels.”
Before Nora could
fire back something appropriately witty, the girl tossed her hair and strutted
away, her gum popping like gunshots.
A moment later,
Aeron’s secretary—Maya, sleek and composed—rushed up, clearly having trailed
the mystery girl.
“Please ignore
anything she said,” Maya said quickly, brushing invisible dust off her
clipboard. Her tone was a little too polished. “Ms. Rhea tends to…
misunderstand internal arrangements.”
“Misunderstand?”
Nora asked, arching an eyebrow.
“She doesn’t work
here. Technically.” Maya’s voice was tight. “Just—don’t let her distract you.”
Nora smiled,
gracious but firm. “Don’t worry. I’ve met worse. Usually with better fashion
sense.”
Maya’s lips
twitched, impressed despite herself. “You’ll find a coffee machine inside,
fully stocked.”
“Excellent,” Nora
said. “I run on sarcasm and caffeine.”
Callum chuckled
behind her, nudging her forward.
“Now you don’t
have to worry about housing,” he said softly. “You got an actual apartment
inside a skyscraper in New York. For free. You’re officially royalty.”
She smiled shyly,
But the excitement fluttering in her chest dimmed for a moment.
Nora bit her lip,
eyes lowering. “You know, I left home in a rush. Mom and Dad thought this
internship was another pipe dream. I didn’t even think through the rent
situation. Just packed and ran. Figured I’d sleep on an office couch if I had
to.”
She tried to
laugh, but her throat tightened instead.
The truth was,
they had always loved her—but never trusted her. Her parents had always
believed in her brother more, even if he never asked for that favor. He had
always been kind. But her parents? They drew invisible lines between son and
daughter, ability and fragility—and she always ended up on the losing side. It
made her feel like a backup plan. Like her dreams were only valid if they fit
into a box they understood.
What she craved wasn’t applause—it was trust.
The kind they never gave.
She still
remembered that night during freshman year, hiding in the campus bathroom, eyes
swollen and red from holding in too much. Her parents had just dismissed her
decision to take on a design competition, calling it “unrealistic.” Callum had
found her there—awkward, gentle, holding out a paper towel like it was armor.
He didn’t ask questions. Just sat outside the stall, talking nonsense about how
the janitor kept playing 90s music on loop, until she laughed.
He never tried to
fix her. He just stayed. And in that quiet way of his, kept showing
up—listening, encouraging, reminding her she wasn’t crazy for wanting more.
Now, standing
outside a VIP-tagged door in the heart of ValeCorp, that memory wrapped around
her like a bittersweet hug. All she had ever wanted was for someone to trust
her. And maybe, this was life trusting her before her parents ever could.
Callum reached
for her shoulder. “They were wrong.”
“I hope so,” she
said quietly.
All the projects
she had done in college… all volunteer, all heart—giving others the care she
secretly craved herself. Seeing “VIP Only” etched on the door felt unreal—like
the world had made a clerical error in her favor.
“Hey,” Callum
said suddenly, glancing at his phone. His cheerful expression flickered, almost
imperceptibly. He tilted the screen slightly away from her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” he
said too quickly. “Just—meeting. Forgot I double-booked. You settle in, yeah?”
She narrowed her
eyes but let it slide. “Suspicious. But fine.”
He gave her a
crooked grin, and left.
She stood there
for a beat, watching him leave. A small pit curled in her stomach. It wasn’t a
big deal—he hadn’t even stepped inside—but part of her had wanted him to see
it. Maybe just to share the moment. Or maybe... she was just tired from 18
hours of jet lag.
Alone now, Nora
turned the handle on the glass door. It slid open with a whisper.
Inside?
It wasn’t an
intern suite.
It was an
entire luxury apartment.
White marble
floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the space in golden light. A
velvet couch in emerald green. A fully stocked, designer kitchen gleaming under
soft LED lighting. A queen-sized bed with a silk comforter. The kind of
interior design you only see in billionaire dramas or K-dramas with unnecessary
shirtless cooking scenes.
She walked in
slowly, handbag slipping off her shoulder. Her mouth opened in disbelief.
Then?
She let out a
squeal.
“IS THIS A ROOM
OR A MOVIE SET?”
She kicked off
her heels, tossed her bag on the velvet couch, and dove in face-first. Pillows
exploded in all directions.
“THIS CAN’T BE
MINE!”
She peeked into
the kitchen. “Is that a wine fridge? For me? What if I drink one and
combust? WHAT IF I BREAK A FORK AND OWE TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?”
Her voice echoed
as she walked into the attached bathroom and spotted a rainfall shower that
looked like it belonged in a music video.
Then she stood
still.
Completely still.
Because this—this
kindness, this absurd level of comfort—it didn’t match the cold way Aeron had
looked at her. It didn’t make sense.
Why give this
kind of treatment to someone you clearly didn’t want here?
She crossed her
arms, brows furrowing.
“Maybe he’s got
no brain cells,” she said aloud. “Or maybe it’s a trap. Honestly, with that
stare of his, it could go either way.”
She dropped onto
the plush couch again, the weight of jetlag finally sinking in.
New city. New
life. No safety net. And for now?
A room fit for
royalty… or a chess piece.
Monday, 10:00
a.m.
“Ms. Gideon.”
Nora froze. The
way Aeron said her name felt like both a warning and a challenge.
She turned to
find him at her desk. No expression. Just pure stone-statue energy in an
expensive suit.
“There’s a
project briefing in five minutes. Conference room three.”
She blinked. “Are
interns usually invited to those?”
He tilted his
head slightly. “No. But you’re not a usual intern, are you?”
Before she could
decode whether that was an insult or a compliment, he was already walking away.
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