Dave exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple. "I see you have lots of time on your hands, but I don't. So please, leave," he said dryly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts wander.
For a moment, he had allowed himself to imagine her lips on his again, to believe that her words would carry the confession he secretly longed to hear. But instead, she had hit him with that.
A fake boyfriend?
He lowered his gaze to the stack of files on his desk, pretending to be engrossed in work.
"Oh, come on, what do you have to lose?" June whined like a child denied candy.
"Peace of mind," he muttered, flicking a glance at her pouted lips and wide, pleading eyes.
June clutched her hands together. "Please, please, please, please! I'll even stop calling you 'madman' and give you a more appropriate title. Like… uncle!"
Dave's fingers stilled over his papers, his jaw tightening. His knuckles hardened as he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
"Do I look like your uncle?" His tone was sharp, his irritation barely contained.
June blinked innocently. "No. But I am sure you're old enough to be one."
A scoff escaped him. He leaned back in his chair, studying her. Old? He wasn't that old. He was in his thirties, for God's sake! How did she even come to that conclusion? Was there something wrong with her eyes?
"If I'm the same age as your uncle, why not find some young blood to be your fake boyfriend?" he bit out, his voice laced with bitterness.
She had kissed him. She had moaned against his lips. And now she was labeling him as some aging relic? He didn't know which was worse—her words or the fact that she had so easily dismissed the moment they had shared.
"I can't," she said simply.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't have an uncle. Also…" She tilted her head slightly, her gaze dipping over his face before locking onto his eyes. "I don't like young boys. I prefer men. They know how to love."
Dave's breath hitched.
He tried to ignore the way his pulse reacted to her words, the way his body instinctively eased at the subtle compliment. But his mind screamed at him, warning him once again—she's dangerous.
"Ms. June, please leave my office. I have actual patients to attend to," he gestured toward the door.
"C'mon, help me out here," she insisted, leaning onto his desk. "I am your patient, after all. So, technically, you have to help me."
Dave dragged a hand over his face, muttering under his breath, "God give me strength."
….
Dora sat stiffly at the café table, her fingers curled tightly around the rim of her coffee cup. She had expected this moment—had dreaded it, even—but now that it was happening, she found herself holding her breath.
Across from her, poised with the effortless elegance of someone born into wealth, was her mother, Mrs. Genevieve Coker. The woman exuded power in every gesture, from the way she lifted her teacup with precision to the way her diamond rings caught the sunlight, scattering sharp reflections across the table.
"Just accept your defeat and come home," Mrs. Coker said smoothly, her voice carrying the kind of authority that left little room for argument.
Dora forced a smile, though her jaw clenched. "The bet isn't over yet, Mother. I still have six months."
Mrs. Coker let out a soft, amused sigh, shaking her head as if her daughter were a foolish child refusing to acknowledge reality. "Six months to do what, exactly? You've spent two and a half years chasing a dream that has led you nowhere. No publishing house has picked up your so-called books. Your self-published work is a failure. The numbers don't lie."
Dora's hands balled into fists beneath the table. She had known her mother would come armed with facts, with statistics that would serve as weapons to tear her down. That was how Genevieve Coker operated—everything calculated, everything controlled.
But Dora wasn't a child anymore.
She met her mother's gaze, unflinching. "I told you, I'll win the challenge."
Mrs. Coker took a slow sip of her tea, her lips curving slightly in amusement. "Win? Tell me, how do you intend to do that? You have no resources, no influence, no connections. You refuse to use the family name, which, might I add, is the only reason anyone would give you the time of day. Do you think some fairy godmother will appear and make you a literary sensation?"
Dora's spine stiffened. "I want to succeed on my terms, not yours. I won't use your name, and I won't let you dictate my life."
Mrs. Coker's smile faltered for just a moment before she set down her cup with a soft clink. The light in her eyes cooled, turning sharp and assessing. "You have always been so stubborn," she mused, as if speaking to herself. "That's your father's blood in you, no doubt. But unlike him, you won't have the luxury of failure."
Dora's stomach twisted at the mention of her father. He had never been strong enough to stand against her mother, never been able to break free of the world she had built for them. And now, he was just another ornament in her mother's life—a wealthy, silent figurehead with no real say in anything.
And Mrs. Coker intended for Dora to follow the same path.
"I won't fail," Dora said, her voice steady.
Her mother leaned forward slightly, her perfectly manicured fingers resting on the table. "You already have, darling," she said gently, as if speaking to a naive child. "You just refuse to admit it. No one will recognize you. Your books will never see the light of day. The industry is brutal, and without power, without connections, you are nothing."
Dora swallowed against the tightness in her throat. She had worked tirelessly, sacrificed so much. And yet, her mother's words clawed at the deepest parts of her insecurities, digging into wounds she thought had healed.
But she couldn't afford to waver.
Taking a deep breath, she sat back in her chair, mirroring her mother's composed posture. "Like I said, I still have time," she repeated. "And until then, I own my life."
Mrs. Coker studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, graceful motion, she reached into her designer purse and retrieved a sleek, black envelope. She slid it across the table.
Dora hesitated before picking it up. The weight of it felt ominous.
"An invitation," her mother said casually. "To your engagement party."
Dora's breath caught in her throat. "Engagement party?" she echoed, her fingers tightening around the envelope.
Mrs. Coker smiled. "You didn't think I'd let you waste your life forever, did you?" she said, tilting her head slightly. "It's time to return to reality. You've lost, darling. It's time to stop pretending otherwise."
Dora's pulse pounded in her ears as she slowly opened the envelope. Inside was a pristine, ivory invitation embossed with gold lettering.
Miss Dora Coker & Mr. Lawrence Montgomery
Cordially invite you to their engagement celebration…
Her vision blurred.
"Mother, I never agreed to this," she said, her voice dangerously low.
Mrs. Coker sipped her tea again, unbothered. "You knew the consequences when you made the bet," she said simply. "If you failed, we would choose your husband. And I have. Lawrence is a fine man—wealthy, well-bred, a perfect match."
Dora's chest tightened. Lawrence Montgomery. A man she barely knew but had met at countless social gatherings. A man her mother approved of, which meant he was exactly the kind of person Dora didn't want.
"This is ridiculous," she said, shaking her head. "I still have six months."
Her mother sighed, setting her cup down once more. "Dora, be reasonable. What do you think you'll accomplish in six months that you couldn't in two and a half years?"
Dora was silent.
Mrs. Coker reached across the table, her fingers brushing against Dora's hand. For a brief moment, there was something almost… gentle in her touch. "Come home," she said, her voice softer now. "You don't have to struggle like this. Your father and I have built a future for you—one where you don't have to fight so hard to survive. Just come home, marry Lawrence, and let us take care of you."
Dora's throat tightened.
The part of her that had grown up under her mother's control, the part of her that had once wanted nothing more than to be the perfect daughter, wavered for a split second.
But then, she remembered every sleepless night spent writing. Every rejection she had faced. Every moment she had fought to build her own path, away from her mother's shadow.
She lifted her chin. "I'll come home only if I fail to achieve my goals," she said firmly. "Until then, my life is mine."
Mrs. Coker's expression didn't change, but something darkened in her eyes.
She picked up her purse, stood with effortless grace, and gave her daughter one final look.
"Suit yourself," she said. "I know you'll be home soon, where you truly belong."
With that, she turned and strode away, leaving Dora gripping the invitation, her heart pounding.
She had six months.
Six months to win.
Or lose everything.
As her mother stepped into the sleek black car waiting for her, Dora exhaled slowly.
"Who was that?"
She flinched at the voice behind her, then turned to meet Edward's curious stare.
"That was my mother," she muttered.
Edward's eyes widened. "That was your mom?" His brows furrowed. "Then that means…"
"I'm a spoiled rich heiress?" she finished, smirking bitterly. "No. But yes, I come from a wealthy family."
Edward folded his arms. "So let me get this straight—you're from a rich family, yet you live a simple life?"
"Because this is the life I want," Dora said simply. "Not the one my parents carved out for me."
Edward studied her, then nodded in understanding. "That's admirable."
Dora smiled slightly. "Yet, soon, that won't matter."
His brows furrowed. "Why?"
"Because I made a deal with my parents. Three years to prove myself. If I fail, I lose my freedom and get married."
Edward's expression shifted.
Then, suddenly, he stepped in front of her, snapping his fingers near her face.
"What are you doing?" she asked, baffled.
"Making sure you're listening," he said, pressing a finger to his lips and then pointing at her. "Smile."
Dora huffed.
"I can help you," he said.
She scoffed. "How?"
"I have ideas. I won't guarantee success, but I can guarantee it'll give you a fighting chance."
Her eyes searched his face.
"Okay," she said finally. "I'll take it."
….
June stepped through the glass doors of the company, her heels clicking against the polished floor. The atmosphere was tense, charged with an unspoken curiosity that sent hushed whispers rippling through the office. Heads turned in her direction, some filled with intrigue, others with judgment. The viral video had made its rounds, and she could feel the weight of every unspoken word pressing against her.
She didn't slow her pace. If there was one thing she had mastered, it was the art of keeping her composure.
"June," a familiar voice called out.
She turned to see Jane hurrying toward her, gripping a folder so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. "You won't believe this," Jane said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was May. She's the one who leaked the video."
June's steps faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly. "May?" she repeated, eyebrows drawing together.
"Yes," Jane insisted. "Linda called you in because they found proof. The video was on her computer, and her email was used to send it out. It's all in here." She shoved the folder toward June, who hesitated before taking it.
She flipped through the pages, scanning the information. Everything pointed to May as the culprit. The evidence was solid—too solid.
"It's good you're here," Linda's voice interrupted. She approached with an air of authority, her expression unreadable. "Now that we have confirmation, we can move forward with disciplinary action. May will be terminated immediately and blacklisted from working at any company affiliated with us."
June lifted her gaze from the documents and looked at May, who stood off to the side, her face pale, her lips slightly parted as if trying to find the right words.
"I didn't do this," May finally said, her voice weak but steady. "Yes, I saved the video, but I swear I didn't send it out."
No one seemed to believe her. The evidence spoke louder than her words.
But June wasn't convinced.
She closed the folder and met Linda's gaze. "I don't think she did it."
A stunned silence followed.
"What?" Jane blurted out. "Are you serious? The proof is right there!"
"Yes, and that's exactly why it feels off." June's voice was calm, measured. "It's too perfect. Everything points to her without question, which makes me question it. If May really wanted to leak the video, why would she use her own email? Why would she leave the evidence sitting on her work computer?"
Linda frowned. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting we take a second look before making any decisions," June said firmly. "Someone wanted her to take the fall, and we're playing right into it."
The room remained silent for a moment before Linda sighed. "Fine. But if we find out you're wrong, this will be on you."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take," June replied, glancing once more at May, whose expression shifted from shock to something unreadable.
"Come to my office," Linda ordered, turning sharply on her heels. June followed, knowing this was far from over.