"Stuff about problems need to go away now, I'll be writing and publishing under my own pen name from now on Dave. Be my Agent."
Dave on the other side doesn't know how to bring justice to Sienna, so he could only walk to ease the tension and anger builded on his veins.
"I'll arrange the advance for you, but you want to keep this a secret, what if your husband finds out?"
"I'll handle things here, don't worry about them." I said thinking about how he said he won't betray let's see what happens I thought.
"I understand, give me the necessary details. But if Vanes find out this?"
"They never knew anything about me Dave. All they needed was profit, nothing else."
"How about I too resign from here?"
"Stay there enjoy the double salary they provide Dave. Be my support from there."
"Hahaha. Sure that works well. You are terrifying, ghat's why i like your way of work."
I looked from the camara attached to the door to see who came.
Standing in the hall was a woman. Tall. Ash-blonde hair pulled back so tight it looked painful. She wore a tailored white suit that cost more than a Honda Civic, holding a slim, silver clipboard. Her stiletto heel tapped impatiently.
She didn't look like an assassin. She looked like a corporate lawyer. Or a shark smelling blood in the water.
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the intercom button.
Ignore her.
"Mr. Cross? I'm Veronica, I know you are here, I searched especially for you, we are all going crazy there, open the door Sebastian."
The woman before me is talking about the kind of business mechanics won't have.
So husband you had secrets, huh.
I looked at myself, I'm in a perfect shape to call poor, since she doesn't know me, let her do her think to fuel my intel, I thought before opening.
Hearing my voice, seeing the look I have her face immediately filled with disgust, and I know this is my time to take the acting to the peak.
"Who are you?" she demanded. Her voice really was like breaking glass. Cold, brittle, and dangerous. "Where is Mr. Cross?"
"Mr. Cross?" I tilted my head, blinking rapidly like a confused owl. "You mean... the owner? He's not here. I'm just... uh... helping Sebastian."
"Helping him?" She raised a perfectly sculpted, tattooed eyebrow. "With what?"
I blushed. A fake, masterful, deeply embarrassed blush. "You know. House-sitting stuff. He told me the owner was in Europe."
Veronica's lip curled into a sneer. She bought it hook, line, and sinker. She thought I was exactly what I appeared to be: some cheap.
People talk freely when they think the person opposite them is weak.
"I don't have time for this," she snapped, checking a diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist. "Listen to me, you little... whatever you are. Tell Sebastian that the Board is furious. The acquisition of the Tokyo Tech firm is dead in the water until he signs the final authorizations."
Acquisition. Tokyo Tech. Final authorizations.
I filed the data away in my mental hard drive, analyzing her body language. She was stressed. The vein in her neck throbbed. This wasn't just a routine check-in, finding solution for a crisis.
"Like the board of directors of a company?" I asked, widening my eyes even more, acting clumsy, like a person who knows nothing better. "Is that... like... a surfing in the ocean or sea thing?
Veronica looked like she wanted to reach through the crack in the door and strangle me. "Are you stupid? The Board of Directors! Cross Industries!"
She tossed the envelope to me with force.
"Just give him this," she hissed, leaning in close. I could smell her perfume—something sharp, floral, and aggressively expensive. "And tell him if he doesn't show up to the gala tonight, his grandmother will cut him off completely. Do you understand? No more funding. No more games."
"Gala tonight," I repeated slowly, clutching the packet against my chest. "Grandma is mad. Got it. I'll tell him."
"Ugh." She rolled her eyes, turning on her heel. The red soles of her designer heels clacked sharply against the marble hallway. "Wow, so the company is about hands up, but Sebastian is here on a vacation?."
I watched her go through the crack in the door. Just as she vanished, my innocent mask vanished from my face.
I slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt. Click. Clack.
I looked down at the envelope in my hands. It was thick. Heavy cardstock. Stamped in stark red ink across the seal: CONFIDENTIAL: EYES ONLY.
I walked back into the living room, the silence of the penthouse feeling entirely different now. It didn't feel like a sanctuary anymore. It felt like a stage.
"So," I whispered to the empty, sunlit air. "My husband isn't a mechanic."
I tossed the heavy envelope onto the glass coffee table. It landed with a satisfying thud.
"He's the missing CEO of Cross Industries. He's dodging a multi-billion dollar tech acquisition. And he's in deep trouble with his terrifying grandmother."
A slow, wicked smile spread across my face.
I had married a ghost. A phantom billionaire who was running from his own empire, just like I was running from mine.
"Well, Mr. Cross," I said, walking back into the study and dropping into the massive leather chair. I opened my laptop, pulling the document back onto the center screen. "Looks like I'm not the only one wearing a mask."
I highlighted the title I had typed just an hour ago: THE MECHANIC'S WIFE.
I hit delete.
I typed a new one, the keys clacking like a drumbeat.
THE BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET.
And then, I started to write. I let the adrenaline of the encounter bleed directly through my fingertips. I wrote about a man hiding in plain sight, and the woman who saw right through his grease-stained camouflage. Because if there was one thing I knew after surviving the Vane family, it was that the truth was always stranger—and vastly more profitable—than fiction.