The moment Jeremy disappeared from my office, I let out a slow breath, my hands still gripping the file as if my body was only just catching up to the weight of what had happened.
I pulled my seat closer to access a few documents, trying to refocus, to pretend that today was just another normal day. But the truth was, nothing about my life was normal anymore.
Then my phone chimed. I almost ignored it, but something—some instinct—made me glance at the screen and I Saw a message from Derek Callahan pop on my screen, I unlockedmy phone to read his messages
Derek Sinclair:
"What time will you be ready tonight? The driver will pick you up. You're moving in."
I stared at the words with, my fingers curling around the edge of the file.
Another message followed.
"We're visiting my parents tomorrow. Don't be late."
For a moment, I just sat there, reading and rereading those cold, clinical texts.
I had expected this. No, I had walked up to a random stranger in a fit of annoyance, barely thinking, and asked him to be my groom.
I hadn't known then that the stranger I had recklessly dragged into my chaos was Derek Callahan —the big boss, the CEO, the man who now carried my last name as his own.
What were the odds?
I let my phone fall onto the desk as I stared at the ceiling, processing everything.
I had married him.
It had happened so fast that my mind was still catching up.
I had done it to prove a point—to Jeremy, to myself and my family especially, to everyone who thought I needed to wait for love, for the right man, for some perfect moment that would never come. I shook my head. No time for doubts. No time for overthinking.
I had played my cards. Now, I had to follow through. I picked up my phone and typed back.
"7 PM."
Short,Direct and No room for emotions.
I set the phone down, exhaled, and leaned back.
I had chosen this path.
Now, I had to walk it.
But then, i quickly forcused on the matter at hand, Work. Ella's work.
I straightened in my chair as i tapped into my system.....
First, I accessed the system, checking the confirmed reservations for the VIP lounge. It took only a few clicks to see which guests were expected and who had priority seating. A quick adjustment here, a minor reshuffle there, and suddenly, the most demanding, high-profile guests were either double-booked or conveniently left without proper reservations.
Then, I moved to the catering. A few messages later, the chef was under the impression that Ella had requested a last-minute change—one that completely disregarded the dietary preferences of some of the most influential guests.
I smiled. This was too easy.
The final touch? A simple email to the event coordinator, subtly changing Ella's arrival time. She'd walked in late, completely unaware that chaos was about to unfold around her.
I shut the file and leaned back in my chair with a smirk, Tomorrow, Ella's reputation would take a hit. And this was only the beginning.
....
The hours blurred.
Between finalizing reports and ensuring Ella's downfall was set in motion, time slipped away. Before I knew it, the clock read 6:30 PM.
I shut my laptop, grabbed my bag, and headed out. My apartment wasn't far, just a short drive through the city. By the time I stepped inside, the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla greeted me—comforting, yet temporary.
I moved quickly, pulling out a suitcase and tossing in the essentials. Clothes, toiletries, a few pairs of shoes. My fingers hesitated over my favorite silk robe before shoving it in.
This wasn't just an overnight stay.
This was me moving in.
The thought settled heavily on my chest, but I ignored it. No room for hesitation.
At 6:55 PM, my phone vibrated.
Derek Sinclair: "Be ready."
I zipped up my suitcase and took one last look around. This was my space. My sanctuary. And now, I was leaving it behind for a mansion I had never stepped foot in.
With a steady breath, I rolled my suitcase to the door.
At exactly 7 PM, a sleek black car pulled up outside.
The driver stepped out, nodding. "Mrs. Sinclair."
I swallowed hard at the name but said nothing as I slid inside.
The door shut, locking me into this new reality.
A second later, my phone buzzed again.
Derek Sinclair: "Don't overthink it. Just get here."
I exhaled sharply, gripping the suitcase handle tighter.
Too late for overthinking.
The car pulled into motion, carrying me forward.
Straight to him.
---
This keeps the pacing tight while showing her transition from work to home, and then finally heading to Derek's place. Let me know if you'd like any tweaks!
es! That would add depth to their dynamic. It would also set the tone for their arrangement—professional yet intimate in an unspoken way. It makes sense for Derek, who is structured and in control, to want to establish some ground rules before taking Bianca to meet his parents.
Here's how the scene could play out:
---
The ride was silent, aside from the hum of the city passing by. My mind was a tangled mess, running through everything that had led me here.
By the time the car slowed in front of a massive iron gate, my fingers curled around the handle of my suitcase. The gates parted, revealing a sprawling estate bathed in soft golden lights.
The mansion loomed ahead, pristine and intimidating.
The driver parked, stepped out, and opened the door for me.
"Mrs. Sinclair."
I ignored the tightening in my chest at the name and stepped out, my heels clicking against the smooth pavement.
Before I could take in the full grandeur of my new home, the front doors swung open.
Derek stood in the doorway. Sharp. Imposing. Unreadable.
"Right on time," he noted, glancing at his watch.
I met his gaze, lifting a brow. "I do try."
Without another word, he turned and strode inside. I followed, my suitcase rolling behind me. The interior was sleek and modern, yet somehow warm. A grand staircase curved to the second floor, and expensive art lined the walls.
I barely had a moment to process before Derek gestured toward the dining room.
"Dinner is ready."
I paused. "You had the maids prepare dinner for me?"
He shot me a look, the kind that said don't overthink it. "You're moving in. It makes sense to discuss a few things over dinner."
I hesitated, then followed him inside.
The dining table was long, but only two places were set. The warm aroma of roasted chicken, sautéed vegetables, and wine filled the air.
Derek pulled out a chair and waited.
I sighed and sat. "Well, this is… unexpected."
He took the seat across from me. "Tomorrow, you'll meet my parents. We're going in as a united front."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, no surprises," he said smoothly, pouring us both a glass of wine. "No unnecessary details. If they ask how we met, we keep it simple. We met at an event, hit it off, and got married. No reckless decisions, no impulsive proposals." His gaze pinned me. "Understood?"
I smirked. "Are you asking me to lie?"
"I'm asking you to be smart."
I lifted my glass, meeting his eyes. "Fine. What else?"
His jaw tensed slightly. "My mother is observant. My father, even more so. Don't fidget. Don't look away when they speak to you. And whatever you do, don't mention the company."
That piqued my interest. "Why not?"
Derek took a slow sip of wine before answering. "Because they'll assume you married me for status."
I set my glass down, folding my arms. "And did you tell them otherwise?"
A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
Then, smoothly, "That's not their business."
I studied him for a beat. He was good at this—keeping everything in control, making sure the narrative fit perfectly.
But he had chosen to marry me.
And tomorrow, his parents would meet exactly who I was.
I picked up my fork. "Noted."
For a moment, silence settled between us. Then, Derek leaned back.
"Good. Now eat."
So I did.
---
This setup makes the dinner feel more like a quiet power play, with Derek maintaining control and Bianca subtly pushing back. It also establishes tension for tomorrow's meeting with his parents.
What do you think? Should their conversation get more personal, or is this level of restraint good for now?
ot it! Here's a smoother, more natural version with some inner thoughts to deepen Bianca's perspective.
---
The ride to Derek's house was silent.
Not awkward. Not tense. Just… silent.
I wasn't sure what I expected—small talk? A lecture? Maybe even a welcome to your new life speech? But the driver focused on the road, and I stared out the window, watching as the city melted away into something quieter, more refined.
When the car finally slowed in front of a towering iron gate, my grip on my suitcase tightened. The gates parted, revealing a sprawling estate bathed in golden light.
Okay. This was… a lot.
I barely had time to process before the driver pulled up to the entrance. The doors swung open just as I stepped out, and there he was.
Derek Sinclair. My husband.
Tall. Sharp. Completely unreadable.
He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching me like I was something he had ordered and was now inspecting for quality.
"Right on time," he said, glancing at his watch.
I rolled my eyes. "Wouldn't want to disappoint."
He said nothing, just turned and walked inside. I followed, pulling my suitcase behind me.
The inside was just as I'd expected—sleek, modern, expensive. The kind of place that screamed money but didn't quite feel like a home.
I barely had time to take it all in before Derek gestured toward the dining room.
"Dinner is ready."
I blinked. "You had the maids make dinner for me?"
He gave me a look. "You're moving in. We need to talk."
Right. Of course. Nothing kind about it. Just business.
Still, my stomach grumbled at the scent of roasted chicken and warm bread. I followed him into the dining room, where only two places were set at a long, polished table. The lighting was soft, intimate—probably not intentional, but it felt… different.
Derek pulled out a chair and waited.
For me.
For some reason, that small act unsettled me more than anything.
I sat, and he took the seat across from me.
"So," I said, picking up my glass of water. "What's the agenda?"
His gaze was steady, focused. "Tomorrow, you meet my parents."
I took a sip. "Sounds fun."
"It's not," he said flatly. "They'll have questions. We keep it simple. We met at an event, we hit it off, we got married."
I raised a brow. "That's it?"
"That's it."
I smirked. "So, lie?"
His jaw tightened slightly. "Call it… necessary editing."
Right. Editing. Because the truth—that I walked up to him in a fit of annoyance and practically dared him to marry me—wasn't exactly dinner conversation material.
He poured us both a glass of wine. "My mother is observant. My father, even more so. Don't fidget. Don't look away when they speak to you. And whatever you do, don't mention the company."
I frowned. "Why not?"
A pause. Just a flicker of something in his expression before he answered.
"They'll assume you married me for status."
I set my glass down. "And did you tell them otherwise?"
His fingers tapped lightly against the table. Then, smoothly, "That's not their business."
I studied him for a beat. Derek Sinclair, master of control. Every move, every word, calculated.
But he had married me.
And tomorrow, his parents were going to meet exactly who I was.
I picked up my fork. "Noted."
Silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was something else.
Then, Derek leaned back in his chair, watching me with that cool, unreadable