Anne stood in front of the mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted the soft beige cardigan draped over her simple blouse. Her reflection stared back at her—too ordinary, too out of place in this penthouse, and especially not the type to impress a woman like Eleanor Lancaster.
[She's here. Eleanor Lancaster. What do I do?]
The message was sent to Brian.
There was no reply yet. Just the silence of the house and the low sound of heels clicking downstairs.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Brian.
[Don't say too much. Let her talk. Be calm. I'm telling Rayden now.]
Anne exhaled, typing a quick reply:
[I'll try.]
There was no more time.
She turned, heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor as she descended the grand staircase. Halfway down, she saw her—Eleanor. Composed, elegant, with an air of superiority that made the entire room feel like it had to hold its breath.
Anne had never felt so small.
The maids had already laid out a full tea set in the living room. Rosella tea steamed gently in porcelain cups rimmed with gold. A plate of delicate cookies sat untouched.
Eleanor didn't rise to greet her. She simply watched as Anne stepped closer.
"Are you Rayden's fiancée?" Eleanor asked, skipping pleasantries altogether.
Anne nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I am."
Silence. Then Eleanor tilted her head slightly.
"How old are you? You look far too young for someone like my son."
Anne paused. Her heart pounded as she tried to keep her voice steady.
"I'm twenty-two. I know the age gap seems large, but we complement each other."
Anne could hear how rehearsed she sounded. She hated it. But she had to sell this story. For now.
"Twenty-two?" Eleanor's eyebrows lifted just slightly. "You could very well be fresh out of college. Why are you thinking about marriage? Shouldn't you be starting a career? Or perhaps finding a partner who's more suited to your… circumstances??"
Anne's fingers curled against her lap.
Because this isn't about love. It's survival. It's dignity. It's a ten-million-dollar lifeline disguised as a fairy tale.
But she couldn't say any of that.
"I chose this path because I love your son," Anne replied softly.
It felt strange saying those words. But she had to, even if they burned her throat.
Eleanor's lips curved slightly. Not into a smile—into something closer to amusement.
"Love?" she repeated. "That's quite a bold claim, Miss Dwasond. Especially when it comes to Rayden."
Anne blinked, trying not to show confusion.
Eleanor leaned forward, her voice almost conspiratorial. "My son doesn't believe in love. Surely he didn't tell you that part?"
Before Anne could answer, the door to the living room opened. One of the maids entered with fresh napkins, her eyes briefly meeting Anne's—was it pity? Judgment? Anne couldn't tell anymore.
______
Meanwhile, at Swiss & Wellington office Rayden leaned back in his chair, eyes trained on the ceiling as Brian flipped through the latest printed proposal draft.
"No word from Mr. Jun yet?" Rayden asked, voice flat.
Brian shook his head. "Still holding a grudge, apparently."
Rayden sighed. "A whole year's gone by. We already fired the entire project team who's responsible. What more does he want?"
"Well," Brian said carefully, "when your staff secretly used genetically treated leather instead of the promised organic hides... and he found out after a random third-party inspection... I'd say it's a bit more than a PR issue. It was betrayal, Rayden."
Rayden closed his eyes. The memory stung. They had tried to bury the news quietly—clean house internally, issue apologies privately, and hope the media didn't get wind of it. It had almost worked. Almost.
But Mr. Jun never forgave deception. And the man ran the best cattle farm in three countries. Losing him meant delaying the entire luxury line they'd planned for the fiscal year.
Rayden was about to respond when Brian's phone buzzed. He glanced down.
His expression shifted. "It's Anne. Eleanor's there. Now."
Rayden was already standing. "Let's go."
_______
Anne gripped her teacup, focusing on the steam swirling up from the rosella tea. She didn't want to meet Eleanor's eyes anymore. They were too sharp, too knowing.
"You said you love him," Eleanor said, resuming their quiet war of words. "But how could you, when you've barely known each other? Or are you saying this to gain... something?"
Anne raised her head.
"I have nothing to gain from Rayden that I couldn't try earning myself—eventually. This relationship wasn't about power. It was about connection."
A lie. A performance. But one I have to believe in, or I'll fall apart.
Eleanor studied her for a long, tense moment.
Then she chuckled softly. "I admire the confidence. But forgive me, dear—I know my son. He's never believed in love. Not after what happened."
Anne tilted her head. "What... happened?"
Eleanor paused, as if considering how much to say.
"Surely didn't he told you about the scandal?"
Anne blinked. Her heart skipped.
What scandal?
But before Eleanor could answer, the main door opened. The sound of polished leather shoes echoed through the entrance hall.
Rayden was home.
Anne rose to her feet, relief and anxiety flooding her chest.
Eleanor's eyes flicked to the entrance, calm and unbothered.
"You're just in time," she called out. "We were having a delightful chat."
Rayden strode in, Brian close behind, his gaze moving instantly to Anne. Her eyes met his, and he could read the discomfort there in an instant.
"Mother," he said, tone formal. "This visit wasn't scheduled."
Eleanor rose. "Spontaneity is a privilege of the retired. And I'm your mother for the love of god—I don't have visit schedule."
Anne's legs were still trembling. She managed to take a deep breath and sit back down as Rayden joined them.
"Brian," Eleanor said with a faint smirk, "I'm assuming you're the one managing this... arrangement?"
Brian cleared his throat. "I help where I'm needed."
Eleanor's attention returned to Anne. "Your fiancée was just telling me how deeply in love you both are."
Rayden didn't blink. "Yes. We are."
Anne almost flinched. He said it so smoothly, so convincingly.
Eleanor looked between them. "Very well. If this is truly the path you've chosen... I will respect it."
Anne nearly exhaled.
"But," Eleanor added, turning to Anne, "don't expect the rest of the family to be so... tolerant."
Her voice was like silk—beautiful, soft, and laced with a warning.
She turned on her heels and walked toward the exit, the maids rushing to gather her coat and bag.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Anne sank into the couch.
Rayden didn't say anything at first. He walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of water.
Then he asked quietly, "Are you alright?"
Anne nodded, though her insides still churned. "She... she asked me about the scandal."
Rayden's hand froze mid-air.
"What scandal?" Anne asked again, her voice shaking.
Rayden looked at her.
He didn't answer.