More emotional depth to make Jane's pain and determination pop.
Richer setting descriptions (luxury hotel, city atmosphere, Alexander's intimidating aura).
A longer, tense interaction between Jane and Alexander.
Paparazzi scene extended for chaos and tension.
An aftermath scene where Jane realizes the trouble she's in.
The CEO's Accidental Bride
Chapter 1 – The Wrong Room
The elevator's smooth hum did nothing to calm Jane Miller's racing pulse. Each floor she passed felt like it was bringing her closer to a bomb she was about to detonate.
She stared at the glowing numbers above the door—13… 14… 15—and clenched her phone tighter in her hand.
The message still glared up at her from the cracked screen:
Room 1503. He's here… with her.
It had been sent anonymously, just twenty minutes ago. She didn't need to guess who "he" was.
Ryan.
Her boyfriend of two years. The man who had sworn he was working late tonight. The same man she'd loaned her savings to when his business was drowning.
Jane's stomach churned. She had ignored the late-night calls he refused to explain, the scent of unfamiliar perfume clinging to his shirts, the way his eyes darted away whenever she asked direct questions. But this—this was undeniable.
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to a plush hallway that looked like it belonged in a movie. The carpet was so thick her heels sank into it with every step. Golden sconces bathed the corridor in a warm glow. The air was faintly perfumed with roses, the kind you could only find in boutique flower shops that charged by the stem.
Her heart pounded louder than her footsteps.
She stopped in front of 1503, the gold-plated numbers gleaming under the light.
No hesitation. No deep breath.
She swiped the spare keycard Ryan had left at her apartment weeks ago—claiming it was "for emergencies"—shoved it into the lock, and pushed the door open with a force that rattled the hinges.
"Ryan, you—"
The rest of her words died in her throat.
The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn back to reveal a breathtaking view of the city's night skyline. But Jane barely noticed any of it.
Because standing by the floor-to-ceiling window was not Ryan.
It was a man she'd never seen in person before, yet instantly recognized from news headlines and glossy magazine covers.
Alexander Kane.
The Alexander Kane—CEO of Kane International, self-made billionaire, and rumored to be the coldest man in the city. His name was synonymous with power. His net worth was the subject of endless speculation. And right now, those infamous dark eyes were locked on her with a sharp, assessing glare.
He was mid-conversation on his phone, but he ended the call without taking his gaze off her.
"You have five seconds," he said, his voice deep and smooth but edged with steel. "Explain why you're in my room."
Jane's breath caught.
"I—I thought this was someone else's room," she stammered, suddenly aware that her little black dress—chosen for a very different kind of confrontation—felt far too revealing under his scrutiny. "I must've made a mistake."
His brows drew together, and Jane had the ridiculous thought that he could probably shatter glass just by looking at it too hard.
Before he could respond, the sharp click of the door behind her made her turn.
And then—chaos.
A blinding storm of camera flashes exploded around her. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes, but the voices were already shouting over each other:
"Mr. Kane! Who's the woman?"
"Alexander, is this your mystery girlfriend?"
"Are you two living together?"
Girlfriend? Jane's brain scrambled to catch up.
Alexander Kane moved before she could take another breath. His arm slid around her waist, his palm firm and steady against her hip. The sudden contact sent a jolt up her spine—not because it was intimate, but because it felt like he'd just claimed ownership of her in front of the entire world.
"She's not a mystery," he said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to sound convincing. "She's my fiancée."
Jane's mouth fell open. "Your what—?!"
But he didn't even glance at her. Instead, he tightened his hold and guided her toward the door, maneuvering her like this was a perfectly ordinary evening stroll.
The paparazzi surged forward, their questions firing like bullets:
"When's the wedding?"
"Is this a love match or an arrangement?"
"Alexander, can you comment on the rumors about your board trying to force you to marry?"
That last one made Jane blink. Board? Marriage?
Alexander stopped just inside the doorway and turned back toward the cameras, giving them a practiced smile that didn't reach his eyes. "No comment," he said, his arm still locked firmly around Jane as he pulled her into the hall.
The moment the door closed behind them, the smile vanished.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice a notch lower, colder.
"Jane Miller," she said warily.
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. Instead, he pressed the elevator button, the faint tension in his posture making it clear he was deep in thought.
The ride down was silent, except for the faint hum of the elevator. Jane could feel the heat of his presence beside her, an intimidating wall of control and quiet calculation.
When they reached the lobby, he released her as suddenly as he'd taken hold.
"Go home, Miss Miller," he said, turning away without looking back.
The Next Morning
Jane woke with a headache, a pit in her stomach, and the sinking suspicion that she'd just made the worst mistake of her life.
Her phone was buzzing nonstop—texts, missed calls, and a dozen news alerts, all featuring grainy photos of her with Alexander Kane.
Her doorbell rang.
She shuffled to the door, still in her pajamas, and froze when she saw the man in a suit standing there. He carried a thick envelope in one hand.
"Miss Miller?" he asked politely.
"Yes?"
He handed her the envelope. "From Mr. Kane. Please read it carefully. We expect your response by noon."
She tore it open.
It was a marriage contract.
And her signature was already on the last page.