When Eren was finally discharged from the hospital, the relief of stepping outside was short-lived. His chest tightened as Adriel laid down his decision: the main office, no arguments. No matter how many times Eren tried to persuade him otherwise, the Alpha's tone had left no room for debate. After the accident, Adriel's protectiveness had turned unyielding, and Eren couldn't bring himself to defy it.
The announcement shocked the company. James would oversee the jewelry competition at the branch, while Adriel himself returned to the main headquarters. What turned the most heads, though, was the declaration that Eren would be accompanying him—not as a patient to keep an eye on, but as the president's personal secretary. Whispers of favoritism flared like wildfire.
Now, standing on the top floor of Ulrick Jewels' imposing main branch, Eren gazed out at the city sprawling below. His palms pressed against the cool glass as if he could draw strength from it. Every time he had begged Adriel to reconsider, that same frown of quiet determination had silenced him. The Alpha would not bend, and Eren had been forced to yield.
A sigh slipped from his lips as he turned toward the lobby, waiting for the elevator. That was when the sharp buzz of conversation pricked his ears.
"Wait—did you hear? The president's wife is coming to work here?" one woman whispered, her tone laced with disbelief.
"No way. He's married? Since when?" another hissed, voice rising before she caught herself.
"I don't buy it. A secret marriage? And he didn't even bring her to the anniversary event? Something's not adding up."
The women fell into a hush, their curiosity curdling into speculation. Their words echoed in Eren's chest, each one colder than the last.
Wife.
His stomach dropped, and instinctively he curled an arm around himself, protective. Anxiety churned in his scent, sharp and sour. They weren't supposed to know. Adriel had been meticulous, keeping their bond sealed from public eyes. Only a handful of people were privy to the truth.
And yet here the rumors were, slipping through cracks he hadn't seen, wrapping around him like chains.
The thought of people discovering he was the president's spouse left Eren's stomach hollow. Vulnerable. Exposed.
"Wait—what if it's Kairen?" one woman whispered, her tone edged with excitement. "He was invited to Ulrick Anniversart, didn't he? And everyone's been whispering he and the president are… close."
"You think they're secretly married?" another breathed. "Wouldn't surprise me. Stars, public figures do it all the time—quiet weddings, no announcements. Maybe the gala wasn't for the company at all, but for them."
Eren froze where he stood. Their voices weren't loud, but every word slid under his skin like a blade.
"Now that you mention it…" a third chimed in. "That young man with the Crimson Fate—I'd never seen him before. But that brooch fit him like it was meant for him. It almost felt like… a signal."
Heat prickled at the back of Eren's neck. He bit down on his lip hard enough to taste copper, praying they wouldn't glance his way. His hair—distinctive, unmistakable—would betray him in an instant. His scent curled, tight with unease, betraying the anxiety he struggled to suppress.
Behind him, the elevator chimed. The doors parted, and Eren slipped inside, pressing himself against the far wall as though distance alone could smother the weight of their words. The doors slid shut, but their muffled whispers clung to him, ghosting in his ears.
His pulse wouldn't slow. How? How had gossip crawled so close to the truth? Adriel had been meticulous—locking their bond behind silence, known only to a select few. Yet already, the cracks were showing.
The elevator eased to a stop, and the executive floor opened before him. Eren stepped out with quick strides, forcing his expression into calm even as his heart hammered.
Inside his office, the sharp tang of flowers hit him first—fresh lilies on his desk, their pale petals catching the light. Beside them sat a small box of strawberries, dew still clinging to their skin. A note, penned in Adriel's hand, rested against the bouquet.
Eren—this transition hasn't been easy. You've carried it with strength. I see you. I value you. Always. —Adriel
Eren's breath caught. His hand lingered on the note longer than he meant to, the faint trace of Adriel's scent clinging to the paper. His chest tightened, caught between dread and the ache of something warmer.
He folded the note carefully, tucking it into his drawer as though hiding a secret too fragile to leave exposed. Then, with a steadying breath, he sat down at his desk. The city hummed beyond the glass, but Eren's mind echoed only with two truths: the whispers growing louder outside these walls, and Adriel's quiet claim, written only for him.
Eren hesitated over the lunch invitation, weighing the risk of gossip against the need to build connections. Adriel's presence loomed in his mind—his office, his rules, his watchful eyes. But shutting himself away would only breed more suspicion. With a steadying breath, he accepted.
To his relief, the meal wasn't as daunting as he feared. The group's chatter was easy, full of light stories about Ulrick Jewels and harmless complaints about workload. Slowly, Eren's shoulders eased, his polite smile softening into genuine laughter. His humility and quiet warmth drew them in, surprising even himself.
When the group dispersed, a woman lingered at his side. Clara—bright-eyed, friendly, with the kind of energy that made her hard to refuse.
"Eren," she said, lowering her voice. "I know it can't be easy… being so close to the president. People talk. But I just want you to know—we've got your back. If you need anything, you can come to me."
Her kindness caught him off guard. The words warmed something deep inside, but they also sharpened his fear. People talk. They already suspected. His desk inside Adriel's office—an arrangement impossible to ignore. His chest tightened, his scent curling with unease.
"Thank you, Clara," he managed, his voice quieter than he intended. "That… means a lot."
Clara tilted her head, studying him. A crease formed between her brows. "You know," she murmured, "you remind me of someone."
Eren's pulse stumbled. "Remind you?" he echoed, his throat tight.
Her eyes widened as the thought clicked. "The anniversary gala," she whispered. "The Crimson Fate. That was you, wasn't it? I remember that hair."
His breath caught. The world seemed to narrow to the sound of her voice.
"I knew it," she said, excitement brightening her face. "That brooch—everyone was watching you. You stole the room that night. Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd have thought you were the president's—"
Eren stiffened. "Clara," he cut in quickly, his tone firmer than he meant. His hand clenched against his thigh, nails biting his palm. "It was just work. Nothing more."
She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden edge in his voice. For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them.
Then Clara offered a small smile, backing off. "Of course. Just saying—you made quite an impression."
But as she walked away, Eren's heart wouldn't steady. The words still hung between them, unspoken yet perilous. The president's…
If Clara could see it, how long before the others did too?