VALENTINA
Panic made my heels click against the tiled steps as I ran toward him, my hands trembling.
The bodyguards acted immediately. They heaped him onto their shoulders, and we all disappeared back into the restaurant.
"Calm down, ma'am," a voice—Hayes, his lawyer—said, trying to soothe me. "He's fine."
I froze, my eyes snapping toward him. "What do you mean he's fine? He was just shot by a literal bullet!"
Frederick chuckled softly, and I hated myself for noticing how calm he looked even now.
"I'm fine," he said casually, plopping down into a chair. He unbuttoned his shirt and knocked his knuckles against a bulletproof vest.
I couldn't help it—a nervous laugh escaped me, even as adrenaline still coursed through my veins.
"It's fine, you say?" I exclaimed, my hands flying to my waist. "What if I had been the target? Because unlike you, not all of us had a bulletproof vest!"
Hayes cleared his throat. "Actually, we all did."
I froze, panic and fear mixed with disbelief.
"Hey, look at me," Frederick said suddenly, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. "No one will hurt you."
I ignored him and turned toward Hayes. "How do you think that's supposed to make me feel, huh? Knowing that I am the only vulnerable person here?"
Hayes lowered his head, muttering an apology, and I flinched when he addressed me as "Mrs. Langston" and at the sight of him bowing.
Then I turned to Frederick. I couldn't help watching him, trying to understand how he could just carry himself like this. So calm. So fearless.
There was something about his boldness, his brutal honesty—something in my gut that told me he was dangerous. Unpredictable.
And yet, here I was.
"Hey!" He snapped his fingers in front of my face, and I blinked, breaking out of my thoughts.
"You didn't tell me I was signing up for a squid game when you asked me to marry you," I said.
His face wrinkled, a low laugh tearing through him, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You think this is funny?" I asked, crossing my arms.
"No, but you are kind of acting like my wife right now," he said casually.
My cheeks flamed, and I felt myself shrinking in embarrassment.
I cleared my throat, trying to regain some composure.
"Well, I am—technically," I began. "So do you mind telling me what kind of danger you are in? Why is a sniper after you?"
He glanced at Hayes, who shook his head subtly. I knew immediately—I wasn't supposed to know everything.
"You don't have to worry about that," he started. "I will make sure nothing happens to you during the operation, but for now, you need to keep a low profile until the smoke dies down," he said.
A cold ran through me. I knew what I was signing up for was dangerous, but nothing good came easy.
I shook my head instinctively. "Well, I have had my fair share of keeping a marriage private, and trust me—it didn't end well for me."
He stood up and stepped closer, his gaze steady and intense.
"I'm trying to keep our marriage private," he said. "I just don't want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess."
How ironic? I was already caught up in his mess the moment we met.
"We both need this marriage," he continued. "You wanted to teach your ex-husband a lesson and keep your brand afloat, and I need you to infiltrate my father's company's software."
I shifted on my feet, clutching my bag tighter. His gaze fell on my hands, then back to my eyes.
"Hey," he said gently. "I'm not going to use you if that's what you're thinking, but if you ever feel used, don't hesitate to walk away immediately."
I studied him for a moment, checking in with my instincts, and for some weird reason, I knew I could trust him. Or maybe not. But he was transparent, and that was enough.
I nodded and smiled. "It's a deal, then," I said, extending my hand.
His eyes lingered on my hand before he finally took it.
A few days later, I moved into his mansion.
He lectured me on the dos and don'ts of the company for two weeks. I took on a new identity as a newly graduated college student, and a new accent—one of my many talents.
According to him, I needed to get intel on his father, record every meeting he had, tell him the names of people he met with daily, hack into his laptop, and retrieve a file.
The lobby of Langs Empire swallowed me whole the moment I stepped in.
The space was cavernous, stretching up seven stories, walls of glass reflecting sunlight and the city skyline beyond.
At the far end of the lobby, a sleek reception desk stood like a sentinel. The receptionist looked up, her smile polite but professional.
I placed my CV neatly on the reception desk.
The receptionist gave me a quick, practiced glance, then offered a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. We're not hiring at the moment."
Just like that.
I didn't argue. I simply reached inside my bag, pulled out the recommendation letter, and slid it across the desk.
She picked it up casually.
Then she saw the signature.
Her breath hitched.
Her back straightened so fast it was almost comical. "Oh—" She blinked. "My apologies."
Frederick Langston's name sat boldly at the bottom of the page. His signature was unmistakable.
She turned to her computer and started typing again, this time with urgency. The air shifted. The dismissal was gone. Now there was caution and respect.
After a moment, she cleared her throat.
"You're applying for the position of the CEO's assistant right?"
"Yes."
"I'm afraid that position isn't currently available."
A flicker of irritation sparked in my chest. "Why?"
She hesitated, lowering her voice slightly. "Because the CEO position itself is vacant due to his ill health."
Vacant?
Frederick never mentioned anything about his father's illness.
I slowly reached for my letter. "Thank you."
I stepped away, already pulling out my phone. If the CEO's office was inactive, then our plan—to position me close to the top—was pointless.
I dialed Frederick. It rang only once, and he answered immediately.
"Hello?"
I turned slightly, scanning the lobby—and stopped.
Frederick stood a few feet behind me, phone to his ear, but something was off.
His presence felt sharper. Harder.
"Frederick?" I said into the phone, confused.
The man in front of me lowered his device slowly. A slow smirk curved his lips.
"Ah," he said smoothly, his voice deeper than I expected. "You seem to know my brother."
Brother?
My eyes flickered down instinctively. That was when I saw it. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned. Just enough.
And beneath the white fabric, ink stretched across his chest. A dark, deliberate tattoo peeking through.
This wasn't Frederick.
And suddenly, I realized—I might have been talking to the wrong Langston.
"I'm Kendrick," he smirked, his intense gaze fixed on me, studying me in a scrutinizing manner that made me feel somewhat hollow. "The hotter twin."