Chapter 7 – The Fiancée
(Aria's POV)
The kitchen was enormous.
Not just big.
Grand.
I just noticed.
Polished white marble counters stretched endlessly beneath warm golden lights. Glass cabinets displayed crystal bowls and imported porcelain like museum pieces. Stainless steel appliances gleamed without a single fingerprint. Even the refrigerator looked expensive enough to have its own security detail.
I leaned against the counter, pouring cereal into a glass bowl.
Crunch.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
"Disgusting," I muttered under my breath.
Not the cereal.
Everything.
The mansion.
The tension.
The accusation.
Him.
I poured milk slowly, watching it flood the cereal. My reflection stared back at me from the glossy counter — calm on the outside.
Storming inside.
"I didn't move your stupid money," I murmured to myself. "And if I did, I'd at least do it smartly."
I took a spoonful, chewing lazily.
Outside the kitchen, faint whispers drifted through the open doorway.
Soft at first.
Then clearer.
"Did you see how she spoke to him?"
"She doesn't even look scared…"
"What kind of woman did the boss bring here?"
"She's too bold."
"No, I like her."
"She's disrespectful."
"She called the food bad!"
I paused mid-bite.
Oh.
So we're gossiping now?
I leaned slightly toward the doorway, listening more carefully.
"She acts like she owns the place."
"Maybe she thinks she does."
"She's bossy."
"Bossy? She's crazy."
My lips curved slowly.
Interesting.
I picked up my bowl and walked toward the doorway quietly, my steps light against the marble floor.
The moment I stepped out—
Silence.
Immediate.
Sharp.
Every maid froze.
Some were holding trays. One was dusting a railing. Another clutched folded napkins like she'd just been caught committing a crime.
Their eyes darted everywhere except at me.
I looked at them.
Then at the hallway.
Then back at them.
Calmly.
Carrying my cereal bowl like royalty holding a teacup.
I tilted my head slightly.
"No, no," I said casually. "You guys should continue."
Their eyes widened.
I took another spoonful.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
"Everything you said about your boss?" I continued smoothly. "Hundred percent correct."
A few of them gasped quietly.
I lowered my voice dramatically.
"Your boss is super crazy."
And then I walked past them.
Just like that.
Leaving the air thick with shock.
Behind me, I could feel their stares burning holes into my back.
They didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
It was almost funny.
I was halfway down the hall when I heard one whisper urgently, "What just happened?"
"She heard everything!"
"Why isn't she scared?"
"Is she trying to die?"
Then—
Footsteps.
Another maid approached them quickly.
"What did the boss's wife tell you guys?"
I stopped walking.
Wife?
I didn't turn.
I listened.
The entire corridor went dead silent.
"…Boss's wife?" one of them repeated faintly.
"Yes," the newcomer said confidently. "She's the boss's fiancée."
Silence.
Then—
Collective gasp.
"What?!"
"When?!"
"No way!"
"She can't be!"
"She just called him crazy!"
"That's exactly why," another whispered.
I stood there, frozen.
Fiancée?
Excuse me?
Since when?
My heart did something strange in my chest — not fear.
Not anger.
Something warmer.
Dangerous.
Possessive.
I slowly turned around.
All of them immediately straightened like soldiers caught off guard.
"Fiancée?" I asked lightly.
The maid who spoke earlier swallowed hard.
"Y-Yes, Miss. The boss announced it to the inner staff this morning."
This morning.
That explains the looks.
That explains the tension.
That explains why no one tried to drag me out after breakfast.
Lucien Moretti.
You insane, manipulative man.
You didn't just accuse me of stealing millions.
You branded me yours.
Publicly.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks, but I refused to let it show.
Instead, I smiled.
Soft.
Slow.
Terrifying.
"Well," I said calmly, lifting my bowl slightly. "Then I guess you all should be careful how you gossip about your future madam."
Their eyes widened again.
Future madam.
The words hung in the air like a crown being placed on my head.
I turned and walked away once more, slower this time.
Behind me—
Absolute chaos in whispers.
"She knows!"
"She's not denying it!"
"Oh my God—"
"She called herself madam!"
"I'm dead. We're all dead."
I bit back a laugh.
Inside, though?
My thoughts were racing.
Fiancée.
Why would he do that?
To control me?
To protect his image?
Or…
To protect me?
My chest tightened slightly.
No.
Don't be stupid, Aria.
He still thinks you moved his money.
He still doesn't trust you.
But he claimed you anyway.
And that thought?
That thought was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Because if there was one thing I understood about powerful men—
It was this:
They don't claim what they don't intend to keep.
And Lucien Moretti?
He never did anything without intention.