Shirley had never hated the sound of a camera before.
Now, every click from outside the hotel felt like another nail sealing the coffin of her ordinary life.
She stood behind the thick curtains, carefully lifting the edge just enough to peek outside.
It was worse than she imagined.
Television vans lined the entrance.
Journalists crowded behind security barriers, microphones raised toward every moving vehicle. Camera flashes lit up the driveway even in broad daylight.
They weren't leaving.
They were waiting.
Waiting for her.
"Oh, my God…"
Her knees weakened.
"This can't be happening."
The hotel suite door opened once again.
The same middle-aged man who had accompanied Darell earlier stepped inside, this time alone.
He gave Shirley an apologetic smile.
"Miss…?"
"Shirley."
"Shirley Evans"
"Miss Shirley." He extended a hand. "My name is Gregory Foster. I'm Mr. Duane's chief executive assistant."
She ignored the handshake.
"Did he send you?"
Gregory lowered his hand awkwardly.
"Yes."
"I don't want anything from him."
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
Her voice cracked despite her efforts to stay composed.
"I have a job. I have neighbors. Friends. My parents live in this city." She gestured toward the window. "Do you know what happens if those people get my picture?"
Gregory remained silent.
She answered her own question.
"My life is over."
A long sigh escaped him.
"I sincerely apologize."
"You should tell your boss that."
"He wouldn't listen."
That answer surprised her.
"You've worked for him a long time?"
"Almost ten years."
"And he's always…"
She searched for the right word.
"…heartless?"
Gregory hesitated.
"No."
"Then what?"
"He simply doesn't let people matter."
The words lingered in the air.
Before Shirley could respond, Gregory's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression immediately changed.
"…Yes?"
Silence.
"I understand."
Another pause.
"I'll tell her."
He ended the call slowly.
"What now?"
Gregory looked genuinely uncomfortable.
"Mr. Duane would like to see you."
Shirley laughed.
It wasn't a happy laugh.
"It seems Mr. Duane has forgotten he walked out on me twenty minutes ago."
"He has not forgotten."
"Then tell him I'm not interested."
"I'm afraid…"
Gregory hesitated.
"…it's important."
⸻
The presidential office at Duane Group occupied the entire top floor of the company's headquarters.
Everything about it screamed power.
Italian marble.
Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city.
Original artwork worth more than Shirley's lifetime salary.
Employees moved quietly through the corridors, greeting Gregory with respectful nods.
No one smiled.
No one spoke above a whisper.
As they approached the massive office doors, Gregory stopped.
"I'll give you one piece of advice."
Shirley folded her arms.
"I'm listening."
"When Mr. Duane has already made a decision…"
He gave a weary smile.
"…arguing rarely changes it."
The doors opened.
Darell Duane didn't look up.
He was seated behind a sleek black desk, signing documents while two executives stood across from him.
"…Delay the Singapore acquisition."
"Sir?"
"I said delay it."
"But the investors—"
"They'll wait."
"Yes, Mr. Duane."
The two executives hurried out.
Only then did Darell acknowledge Shirley's existence.
He leaned back in his chair.
"You made it."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"You summoned me."
"I did."
"You left me stranded in a hotel surrounded by reporters."
"You weren't stranded."
"I couldn't leave."
"You eventually did."
Her jaw tightened.
Every sentence from him felt like talking to a wall.
"What exactly do you want?"
Instead of answering, Darell slid a tablet across the desk.
She picked it up.
The screen displayed dozens of headlines.
MYSTERY WOMAN LEAVES HOTEL.
WHO STOLE THE BACHELOR BILLIONAIRE'S HEART?
CEO'S SECRET LOVER EXPOSED?
One article even included a blurred photograph of her entering the hotel the previous night.
Her stomach twisted.
"No…"
Darell watched her calmly.
"The internet works quickly."
"My face…"
"Hasn't been clearly identified."
"Yet."
Silence.
He continued.
"It will."
She looked up.
"And?"
"And once someone identifies you…"
He folded his hands.
"…the media will follow you."
She said nothing.
"They'll photograph your workplace."
"Your apartment."
"Your family."
"Anyone associated with you."
Each sentence landed heavier than the last.
"I can stop it."
Hope flickered in her eyes.
"How?"
He stood.
Walked toward the window.
"The public has a short attention span."
She waited.
"They lose interest when a story becomes… ordinary."
She frowned.
"I don't understand."
He turned to face her.
"If people believe you're simply my fiancée…"
She blinked.
"…then there is no scandal."
The room became deathly quiet.
"What?"
"A fake engagement."
Shirley laughed again.
This time louder.
"You've lost your mind."
"It would last only a few months."
"No."
"You'd be compensated."
"I said no."
"The press would stop chasing you."
"No."
"My legal team would protect your privacy."
She slammed the tablet onto his desk.
"I am not pretending to marry a man I met less than twenty-four hours ago."
His expression remained unchanged.
"You don't have to like me."
"I don't."
"You simply have to pretend."
"I'd rather face the reporters."
"You won't just face reporters."
His voice lowered.
"You'll face strangers digging into every part of your life."
She froze.
He continued.
"They'll invent stories."
"They'll follow your family."
"They'll question your employer."
"They'll make sure you never have a normal day again."
Every word sounded less like a threat…
…and more like a prediction.
Gregory quietly entered the office carrying another tablet.
"Sir…"
He swallowed nervously.
"I think she should see this."
He handed it to Shirley.
It was a live television broadcast.
The reporter stood outside a modest apartment building.
Shirley's apartment building.
A microphone was shoved toward one of her elderly neighbors.
"Can you tell us anything about Shirley?"
Her blood ran cold.
"They already found my address…"
Gregory nodded solemnly.
"It happened fifteen minutes ago."
For the first time since she'd met him, Darell saw genuine fear in Shirley's eyes.
He reached into a drawer and placed a neatly prepared contract on the desk between them.
His voice was calm.
Almost businesslike.
"Miss Shirley…"
He tapped the final page.
"…shall we discuss the terms of our engagement?"