His Wife by Mistake

by cleenTeenStories

Chapter 1: Wrong Elevator, Right Disaster

Nora Gideon was twenty-one, sarcastic as hell, and currently hanging by a thread of caffeine and chaos.
She sprinted across the glistening marble lobby of ValeCorp—her ponytail swinging like a metronome of doom, heels clacking like warning bells. Her phone buzzed in her palm: “You’re five minutes late. AGAIN.”
"Five minutes is basically early in architect time!" she muttered, breathless.
The elevator doors were closing, and in true dramatic fashion, she flung her body between them. Success. Almost. She tripped forward—and crashed directly into a solid chest.
Expensive cologne. Chilled silence.
A man’s arm caught her waist mid-fall.
She blinked up. Slowly.
Black shirt, sharp jawline, storm-gray eyes, and a glare that could turn granite to dust.
“Wow,” she exhaled. “Do you rescue every woman who flies into your ribcage, or am I just blessed?”
He didn’t smirk. He didn’t blink. He just stared at her like she was the root cause of global inflation.
Then his voice: low, even, dangerously calm.
“Is this how you usually show up to professional interviews?”
Nora stepped back, brushing off her blouse with as much dignity as one could after performing a near-death pirouette into a stranger’s torso.
“I wasn’t aware ValeCorp recruited models with personality disorders,” she replied, sweetly.
The man didn’t respond. The elevator dinged.
And she walked out—smug, flustered, and late.

---

Fifteen minutes later, her soul left her body.
The boardroom was all edges and ice—glass walls, a glossy black table, and chairs too clean to touch. The air smelled faintly like cedar and capitalism.
“This is Mr. Aeron Vale,” said the receptionist, gesturing to the same storm-eyed man from the elevator, now seated at the head of a polished obsidian conference table.
The Aeron Vale. CEO, venture capitalist, tech mogul, and apparently part-time human mood swing.
“You’re the intern?” he asked dryly, not even pretending to hide his disdain.
“I was,” Nora muttered under her breath.
Then louder: “I mean, yes. Nora Gideon. Architecture major, top of my class. Sorry about the, um... tackle earlier. I’m usually not airborne at 9 a.m.”

He just stared at her. Unreadable. His hands were laced in front of him on the dark surface like he was calculating her credit score using only her nervous twitch.

“You’re late. You’re reckless. You talk too much.”

“And yet,” Nora said, smoothing her blazer, “here I am, still standing.”

“Barely.”

She bit her tongue. Okay, maybe antagonizing the CEO wasn’t the wisest career move—but her mouth didn’t come with a filter.

“I’ve reviewed your portfolio,” he continued. “It’s good. A little chaotic. Lacks polish.”

“So... like me,” she said with a half-smile.

His eyes narrowed. “Do you always make jokes in serious situations?”

“Only when I’m internally panicking.”

For a beat, the room was painfully silent. Nora's palms were sweaty. She hated that.

“I want experience,” she said more firmly, locking eyes with him. “Real experience. Not just coffee runs and printer drama. I want to design. Observe. Work under pressure.”

“You’re already good at that last one,” Aeron murmured.

“I can handle the pace here,” she insisted. “Even if you’re not the easiest person to work with.”

“You’ve been here twenty minutes.”

“And you’ve judged me in fifteen.”

Something flickered across his expression. Amusement? Disbelief? Both?

“I don’t need interns who crack under pressure,” he said. “Or who flirt their way through disasters.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Nora replied. “That was me trying not to die in an elevator and salvaging it with sarcasm.”

She inhaled. A flicker of doubt crawled through her spine. What was she even doing here? Did she really want to work under someone like this—cold, controlled, unreadable?
But beneath the judgment and stormy glares, there was something else in him. A hunger for excellence. A fire. And maybe... a challenge.

“I want to work here,” she said quietly, but clearly. “Because I want to be pushed. Not coddled.”

His jaw tensed.

“There’s a design mock-up presentation next week. If you’re not completely incompetent, you’ll assist. If you embarrass me, you’re out.”

Nora straightened. “I don’t embarrass people. I just make strong first impressions.”

His lips quirked—barely. “Noted.”

---

Outside the conference room, Nora’s best friend Callum was waiting.
“Oh god, that was Aeron Vale?” she hissed. “Why didn’t you warn me he was an emotionally constipated Greek statue?”
Callum grinned. “Because if I did, you might’ve missed the chance to make such a... dramatic entrance.”
She punched his arm.
But inside, her brain was still stuck on Aeron’s voice. The way he looked through her like he was dissecting every part of her—calculating, cold, infuriating.
And underneath it?
A tiny spark.
Of curiosity.
Of heat.
Of something she absolutely did not have time for.

---

Somewhere two floors above, Aeron stood by the glass window of his office.
“She’s chaotic,” his assistant noted.
“She’s clever,” Aeron said quietly. “But volatile.”
“You want her gone?”
He paused. Then: “No. Let’s see how far she’ll go to prove herself.”
His fingers drummed once on the glass.
Let the game begin.

---

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