His Wife by Mistake
Chapter 3
Nora's POV
The conference room smelled like money—polished walnut, faint cedar cologne, and the kind of imported coffee only millionaires seem to sip without flinching. Everyone was dressed like a Vogue spread disguised as a corporate warzone: men in dark tailored suits, women in sharp heels and even sharper expressions. I sat at the far end, trying to look like I belonged, even though my blazer felt about two internships too big. The air was too clean, too still—like the whole room was waiting to see who’d crack first. Me, probably.
I wasn’t sure if it was the jet lag still making my brain a puddle or if Aeron Vale had actually just frozen me into a solid block of embarrassment in front of ten executives.
One minute I was nodding along to a slide about adaptive residential layouts, and the next—
“I think if we incorporated vertical pocket gardens into the facade—” I began, not even finishing the sentence before—
“Miss Gideon,” Aeron’s voice sliced across the room like ice water. “This isn’t a college brainstorming session.”
The silence after was… unbearable.
Even the click of the assistant’s stylus paused mid-air.
My mouth stayed slightly open, heart thudding so hard it echoed in my ears. It wasn’t what he said—it was how. Calm. Cold. Dismissive.
Like I was a fly buzzing too close to a polished table.
I swallowed whatever pride was left in my throat and sat back in my chair, eyes straight ahead, pretending I didn’t just burn alive inside.
So much for “not a usual intern,” huh?
Callum’s words from earlier looped in my head, but right now I felt incredibly usual. And incredibly humiliated.
He didn’t even glance at me the rest of the meeting. Like I didn’t exist.
And that—hurt more than I wanted to admit.
By the time the meeting ended, my face had cooled but my thoughts hadn’t. I filed out with the rest of the suits, keeping my expression blank.
Inside, I was furious.
Okay sure, Mr. Perfect Tech Mogul, maybe I’m not a billionaire genius—but was it necessary to treat me like a speaking inconvenience?
It reminded me too much of home.
Of how my father would sigh loudly every time I suggested something that didn’t align with his plans for my life.
Of how my mother would only trust my brother with “real responsibilities.”
They never said it outright.
But I knew.
They didn’t trust me. Never had. Not with choices, not with dreams—and certainly not with proving myself.
And Aeron Vale? He just stepped right into their shoes and slammed the door on my voice like it was second nature.
The event was later that afternoon. Some architecture-tech collaboration mixer for potential clients and sponsors.
Big names. Bigger egos.
I was only here because Aeron had said I needed to “observe.”
Observe, huh? Can I observe how not to crush someone’s confidence next time?
I lingered near the champagne table, swirling the flute in my hand like it could answer my life choices.
“Nora, right?”
I turned. A tall man with an expensive smile and expensive cologne. He held a drink in one hand and charm in the other.
“I’m Kellan Rowe. Real estate strategist. New York division.”
His smile was warm. Too warm.
“Hi. Nora Gideon.”
“You’re with ValeCorp?”
“Intern. Architecture.”
He let out a low whistle. “Impressive. Most interns don’t look like they belong on the cover of Forbes.”
I smiled tightly. “Most strategists don’t come with prepackaged flattery.”
He laughed. “Sharp. I like that. Care for a drink somewhere quieter?”
Before I could answer, a voice slid in—soft but unmistakable.
“She’s busy.”
I turned and—of course—Aeron. Standing a few feet away, sipping his own drink like he didn’t just materialize to monitor my oxygen intake.
Kellan’s brow arched. “Friend of yours?”
Aeron didn’t blink. “Employer.”
Kellan turned back to me. “Still up for that drink?”
My blood boiled a little. Aeron had humiliated me earlier, and now suddenly he wanted to dictate who I spoke to?
No. Not happening.
I looked directly at Aeron, lifted my chin, and said, “Lead the way, Kellan.”
Aeron’s jaw flexed. But he didn’t say a word.
We sat in a quieter corner of the hall, away from the crowd and fake laughter.
Kellan was smooth. Polished. Made all the right compliments, asked all the right questions.
But then—just when I started to think maybe I’d overreacted to Aeron’s warning—he leaned in and said:
“You know, I think it’s cute how women are getting into design these days. You’ve got taste, for sure. But the real structural decisions—those always need a man’s eye. Balance and logic, you know?”
I blinked.
I wasn’t sure if it was the jet lag, the champagne, or just plain shock—but it took me a full second to realize what he’d just said.
“I—excuse me?” I asked.
Kellan chuckled. “Didn’t mean offense. You’ve got great potential. But it’s biology, right? We’re wired differently. Women are emotional thinkers. It’s why they do interiors and men do the skeleton of things.”
I froze. My mouth opened—and then closed.
And then—
A warm hand pressed gently against my bare back.
I startled.
Aeron. Standing behind me. Calm, cold—but this time, not silent.
“That’s a fascinating theory,” he said, his voice low, deadly. “Especially coming from someone whose last three projects failed building code compliance.”
Kellan stiffened. “What the hell—”
“But please,” Aeron cut him off smoothly. “Tell me more about how women aren’t logical enough for the foundation of a building. I’m sure the women-led board of ValeCorp would love to hear it.”
I turned, stunned—not just at Aeron’s presence, but at the fire under his usually blank voice.
He wasn’t defending me like it was part of his job.
He was defending me like it mattered.
“I—I didn’t mean it that way,” Kellan stammered.
Aeron smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Toasts are being made. You’ll want to be far away from mine.”
Kellan stood abruptly, muttered something under his breath, and vanished.
I turned back to Aeron, still speechless.He held my gaze for a few seconds—unreadable, intense—like he was searching for something he’d never admit. Then, just like that, he looked away, cutting the connection so sharply it almost felt like whiplash.. When Aeron’s hand finally left my back, it was like something warm had been yanked away too soon. The air felt colder—too sharp against where his fingers had been. It was stupid, obviously. A reflex. A gesture. But still… something in that touch had quieted the chaos inside me, even just for a second.
And now, without it?
The chaos was back. Tenfold.
I straightened my shoulders, forcing myself to focus, to ignore the ridiculous heat creeping up my neck. Whatever that was—it meant nothing.
It had to mean nothing.
But his words stayed.
So did the ghost of his touch.
And for the first time since arriving at ValeCorp, I wasn’t sure if Aeron Vale was heartless—
—or just hiding the parts of him that weren’t.
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