He dumped her on her birthday, then her dad’s billionaire best friend knelt to propose that night.
Part 1
The rain battered against the frosted windows of the penthouse, mirroring the tumultuous storm brewing inside Daphne Winslow’s chest. She stared at the sleek, unmoving face of her phone, her fingers trembling slightly against the cool glass. Today was her twenty-fourth birthday, a milestone that should have been filled with laughter, warmth, and the comforting presence of the man she loved. Instead, it was dripping with betrayal, shattered illusions, and a heavy, suffocating silence.
Only yesterday, Tristan Wilder had dropped to one knee in the center of a crowded park, presenting a heartfelt proposal that had swept her off her feet. She had said yes, blinding herself to the subtle cracks in his facade because she wanted to believe in a future. She wanted to believe that someone could truly cherish her. But the illusion had been violently shattered hours later when she discovered him entwined with another woman in the dimly lit corner of a downtown lounge. Tristan had tried to spin it, claiming he was drunk, claiming the woman had thrown herself at him. But the cruel words he spat out—accusing her of hypocrisy, claiming she had been secretly sleeping with her godfather, Richard Langum—cut deeper than any physical blow.
And now, Richard was here.
Standing in the doorway of her apartment, his tall frame cast a long shadow across the hardwood floor. He didn’t look like a man who had just rushed across city lines; his tailored suit was immaculate, his silver-threaded hair neatly styled, and his sharp, piercing gaze fixed entirely on her.
“You don’t seem too thrilled to see me on your birthday,” Richard said, his deep voice carrying a dry, amused cadence that failed to mask the intense scrutiny in his eyes.
Daphne forced a brittle smile, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold her fracturing composure together. “Of course I am, Richard. I just thought you were supposed to be on an extended business trip out of state.”
“Since when have I ever missed your birthday?” he asked, taking a slow step forward into the room.
“Not a single one,” she murmured, her throat tightening. “Not since I was eighteen.”
Richard stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the heavy, glittering diamond resting against her collarbone—a gift from him, meant to mark her entry into adulthood years ago. “Wow, Daphne, your sugar daddy spoils you rotten. That diamond must be worth a fortune.”
Before Daphne could react, the sharp, haughty voice of her best friend, Sloan, cut through the air from the entryway. “Stop it, Slo. He’s not my sugar daddy.” Daphne spun around to face Sloan, who was busy kicking off her designer heels. “Richard is just looking after me like he promised my father before he passed away.” Daphne turned back to the older man, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you for always being so kind to me, Richard.”
Sloan rolled her eyes, walking over to pour herself a glass of water from the kitchen counter. “Richard treats you way better than Tristan ever did. I mean, he didn’t even get you a birthday present. He didn’t even say happy birthday. You should dump him already.”
“Stop it, Sloan,” Daphne snapped, a defensive heat flushing her cheeks. “I’ve already said yes to Tristan’s proposal. Can you stop putting him down?”
Sloan choked on her water, spinning around with wide eyes. “You said yes to Tristan’s proposal? Are you out of your mind? Do you think it’s too soon?”
“A proposal without a ring,” Richard interjected smoothly, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at Daphne. “It didn’t seem serious to me. Besides, didn’t your late father arrange a marriage for you before he died? Aren’t you going to go through with it?”
Daphne shook her head vehemently, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “No, there’s no way. I have never even met the guy. I have no idea who he is, what he looks like, or what kind of monster my father tied my name to.”
Richard paused, a strange, unreadable shadow crossing his face. “What if that guy is me?”
Daphne blinked, stunned for a fraction of a second before letting out a nervous chuckle. “Richard, you and my father were tight, right? You must know who he was.”
“Yeah, I do,” Richard replied quietly, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Great,” Daphne breathed, exhaling a sigh of relief. “Then help me call it off. Help me break this ridiculous, archaic arrangement.”
Richard stared at her for a long, agonizing moment, the air between them growing thick with unspoken tension. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” Daphne said firmly. “Tristan is the only one I want to marry. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Richard’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He gave a single, slow nod. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
Without another word, Daphne grabbed her phone, her fingers shaking as she dialed Tristan’s number. She needed to hear his voice, needed some anchor of certainty in a world that was rapidly crumbling around her. She raised the phone to her ear, listening to the dial tone, unaware that the foundation of her entire reality was about to collapse.
Part 2
The phone rang three times before it clicked. But instead of Tristan’s familiar, smooth greeting, what came through the speaker felt like a physical blow to Daphne’s stomach.
“Oh, baby. Lean into me just like that…”
A woman’s sultry laugh bubbled up in the background, followed by the unmistakable rustle of sheets and a low, gravelly chuckle that belonged unquestionably to Tristan Wilder.
Daphne froze, the phone slipping slightly in her sweaty palm. The air left her lungs in a sharp rush.
“That sounds like Tristan,” Sloan whispered, her eyes widening in horror as she stepped closer to Daphne, trying to listen in.
“I wish you would just make up your mind and dump her already,” the unknown woman cooed through the speaker. “Can’t you see? I’m the one you want.”
Tristan’s voice answered, laced with a casual, cruel indifference. “I thought we were just having fun. Aren’t we?”
Daphne’s vision blurred. The room spun on its axis. With a trembling finger, she hit the red button, cutting off the audio stream, but the damage was already done. The echoes of Tristan’s voice reverberated in her mind like a curse. He hadn’t just cheated; he had broadcasted his betrayal right on her birthday.
“Tristan Wilder,” Daphne whispered, her voice cracking with a mix of fury and devastation. “You just proposed to me yesterday, and today you’re here with someone else.”
Before Sloan could offer a word of comfort, the front door swung open. Tristan strode into the apartment uninvited, looking flushed and disheveled, his tie loosened around his neck. He took one look at Daphne—pale, shaking, holding her phone like a weapon—and sneered.
“Daphne,” Tristan said dismissively, walking past her toward the kitchen as if he owned the place. “Boss, did you tell Daphne about her father’s last wish? She’s not marrying me.”
Daphne whipped around, staring at Tristan as if he were a ghost. “What are you talking about? Who are you calling ‘boss’?”
Tristan smirked, gesturing vaguely toward Richard, who stood silently in the corner, watching the unfolding chaos with a gaze as cold as winter ice. “Richard, of course. Why do you think I’ve been putting up with you for three months? But you’ve always had a soft spot for Daphne, haven’t you, Richard? Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”
Richard didn’t flinch. He kept his hands in his pockets, his voice dangerously low. “She’s getting married. To someone else.”
“Look,” Tristan continued, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the bar cart, “if the guy truly cares about her, I’ll let them be. But let’s be real—how could you betray me, Stephie?” He yelled back toward the hallway, where a woman was cautiously stepping into the living room.
It was Stephanie, one of Daphne’s own colleagues from the design firm. Stephanie looked terrified, her makeup slightly smeared, pulling her jacket tightly around her shoulders.
“How could you betray me?” Tristan repeated dramatically, glaring at Daphne.
“Betrayal?” Daphne finally found her voice, a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the room. “You’ve been seeing each other for three months, and you had the audacity to propose to me?”
“You won’t even let me touch you!” Tristan yelled back, slamming his glass down on the counter. “I thought that the proposal would change things, but then you said we had to wait until after marriage. Come on! You can’t blame me. I have been patient for long enough. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found fun outside the relationship.”
Stephanie stepped forward, her expression hardening into something venomous. “I know you’re just pretending to be nice, Daphne. You’re despicable.”
Daphne stared at her former friend, appalled. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Stop pretending, Daphne,” Stephanie spat, crossing her arms. “You’ve been secretly seeing your godfather, haven’t you? That’s why you won’t let Tristan touch you. That’s why you’re always running to Richard!”
Before Daphne could even process the insane accusation, a blur of motion swept across the room. Richard Langum moved with terrifying speed. In a fraction of a second, he closed the distance between himself and Tristan, grabbing the younger man by the collar of his shirt and slamming him against the wall with a force that rattled the picture frames.
The room went dead silent. Tristan choked, his eyes bulging as Richard stared down at him, his face a mask of absolute fury.
“If you mess with Daphne again,” Richard whispered, his voice dangerously soft, carrying a threat that chilled the air, “next time won’t be so pretty.”
Part 3
The aftermath of Tristan and Stephanie’s hasty retreat left the penthouse feeling hollow and heavy. Stephanie had vanished out the door first, muttering excuses under her breath, while Tristan had scrambled away like a whipped dog the moment Richard loosened his grip.
Sloan paced the length of the living room, occasionally letting out bursts of hysterical laughter mixed with gasps of disbelief. “I can’t believe this. That absolute scumbag! He proposed just so he could sleep with me—wait, no, so he could have an excuse to sleep around! Good God.” She stopped, turning to Daphne, who sat frozen on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly at the floor. “Stop crying, Daphne. Tristan’s a jerk and he already has someone new. Why waste tears on him?”
Daphne raised a hand, touching her dry, burning eyes. She wasn’t even crying anymore; she was numb. “You’re right. Tristan’s a scumbag. Not worth my tears. He even said I slept with Richard… the audacity of him.” She let out a humorless laugh. “I need to find someone who actually values me.”
Richard, who had been standing silently by the window watching the rain, turned around. His expression had softened, though the underlying gravity in his posture remained. “Look, head home, Sloan. I’ll take care of Daphne.”
Sloan hesitated, casting a protective glance at her friend. “Okay. But call me if you need anything. I’m not going anywhere.” With a final, sympathetic squeeze of Daphne’s shoulder, Sloan grabbed her coat and headed out into the night, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet apartment.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Daphne stood up, her legs feeling like lead. “Tristan dumped me,” she whispered aloud to the empty room, as if hearing it confirmed made it real.
“Okay,” Richard said gently, stepping closer to her. “Just forget about him. All right? You got me here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Daphne shook her head, a wave of dizziness washing over her. The alcohol she had consumed earlier, combined with the sheer emotional exhaustion of the day, was catching up to her fast. “I need another drink.”
“You are wasted, Daphne. Let’s get you to bed.”
“No,” she protested, swatting weakly at his arm as he tried to guide her toward the hallway. “No, I need a man. Stop it.”
Richard frowned, his jaw tightening. “Take her home, Oak Street—no, wait.” He caught her as she stumbled forward, her weight collapsing against his chest. “Now home is the last place I want to go.”
“Okay. My place first,” Richard muttered under his breath, lifting her effortlessly into his arms as she protested with sleepy, incoherent mumbles. “Okay, boss,” he whispered to himself, carrying her out to his waiting car.
Inside the quiet, dimly lit sanctuary of Richard’s estate, Daphne’s senses blurred. The ambient lighting cast a golden glow over the expensive furnishings. She blinked heavily, looking up at the man standing over her bed.
“How about you give me another birthday surprise?” she murmured, a reckless, wine-fueled courage taking over her inhibitions.
Richard froze, staring down at her with a mixture of shock and intense restraint. “What are you doing, Daphne?”
“I’m not drunk,” she lied brazenly, a lopsided smile playing on her lips as she reached up, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down toward her. “Look at me… I’m not Tristan.”
Richard let out a sharp, ragged breath, trying to pull back. “I know you are Richard. Stop it. You’re drunk.”
“You’re boring,” she whispered playfully, her hands sliding up to tangle in his silver-streaked hair.
The dam broke. The years of unspoken tension, the fierce protectiveness, the lingering ghost of her father’s final wish—all of it dissolved into a reckless, burning heat. Richard stopped fighting. His restraint shattered, and the night dissolved into a blur of whispered confessions, heavy breathing, and a passion that neither of them could deny any longer.
Part 4
Sunlight filtered through the heavy silk curtains of the master bedroom, casting warm, golden rays across the rumpled sheets. Daphne stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. For a second, a wave of peaceful disorientation washed over her. Then, reality hit.
She was in Richard’s bed.
Daphne gasped, bolting upright and pulling the sheet up to her chin. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar, luxurious room, and then landed on the empty space beside her. The indentation in the pillow was still warm, but Richard was gone.
Richard, my godfather. My father’s best friend. I can’t believe I slept with him, she panicked internally, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. I need to leave before he wakes up, or this will be super awkward.
Fumbling frantically, she grabbed her clothes from the floor, dressed in record time, and slipped out of the estate like a thief in the night.
By the time she arrived back at her family home later that morning, her mother was already bustling around the kitchen. Daphne tried to sneak past the hallway, but her mother’s sharp eyes caught her instantly.
“Today’s going to be the day I ask her,” her mother muttered happily, before turning her gaze to Daphne. “Where did you disappear last night? You look a mess.”
“I got too drunk and stayed at a friend’s house,” Daphne lied smoothly, touching her neck.
Her mother narrowed her eyes, stepping closer and peering at a faint, purplish mark just below Daphne’s jawline. “What is that? It’s a mosquito bite?” She snorted skeptically. “I don’t think so, young lady. Did you go on a secret date with your boyfriend last night?”
“No,” Daphne groaned, massaging her temples. “I really don’t think Tristan is the right choice for you—wait, I mean, we broke up.”
Her mother stopped bustling, her expression softening into a knowing smile. “You know what? Maybe this is the perfect time. Remember your father set you up with someone before he passed?”
Daphne groaned, rolling her eyes. “Mom, I thought that was off. I’ve never even met the guy. I can’t get married. That’s crazy.”
“Who said it was off?” her mother countered cheerfully. “He’s been waiting for you. Oh, don’t worry, you know him. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”
“But you’re not the one getting married!” Daphne argued, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “How can you make such a promise on my behalf?”
“No more excuses,” her mother said firmly, ignoring her protests. “He’s on his way over right now. So, get yourself together.”
Before Daphne could formulate another excuse, the doorbell chimed through the house.
“Oh, he’s here! Get the door,” her mother urged, shoving a small mirror into Daphne’s hands.
“There is no way I’m marrying someone I’ve never met before,” Daphne muttered under her breath, marching toward the front door with a scowl on her face. She yanked the door open, ready to chew out whoever her mother had dragged into this ridiculous arrangement.
The words died in her throat. Standing on the porch, holding a sleek leather briefcase and looking every bit the polished corporate titan, was Richard Langum.
Daphne’s jaw dropped. “Mr. Langum… what are you doing here?” She blinked, a terrifying realization dawning on her. “Wait… are you my fiancé?”
Richard raised an eyebrow, a slow, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “You knew?”
“No, I certainly did not!” she squeaked, stepping back in shock.
“Are you going to let me in, or are we going to chat on the porch for the neighbors to see?” he asked mildly, stepping past her into the foyer.
From the end of the hallway, her mother appeared, beaming with undisguised delight. “Honey, what’s wrong, sweetie? You were smitten with him at your eighteenth birthday! I thought it was love at first sight.”
Daphne turned to her mother, her face burning bright red. “Mom, I thought he was just Dad’s friend back then! I didn’t know he was my fiancé!”
“Well, now you do,” her mother replied breezily. “What? You don’t like him?”
“It’s not that I don’t like him, I just—”
“You’ll get to know him better,” her mother interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it and get back to my room.”
Part 5
The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind her mother, leaving Daphne and Richard standing alone in the quiet foyer. The air was thick with the residual shock of the revelation, charged with the intimate memory of the night before.
Richard closed the distance between them slowly, his dark eyes locking onto hers. He reached out, gently catching a lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. “Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”
Daphne swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. “I just… I didn’t expect you to be my fiancé.”
Richard let out a low chuckle, his hand brushing against her cheek. “Well, you didn’t seem too bothered by that last night when you were pushing me onto the bed.”
Daphne’s face burned hotter than a stove burner. She swatted his chest lightly, glancing around nervously. “Stop it! My mom doesn’t know anything about that.”
“She’s trying to get us hitched anyway,” Richard noted dryly, stepping a fraction closer. “She might not have a problem with it at all.”
“I just… why didn’t you ever tell me about the engagement?” she asked, her voice softening into a genuine, vulnerable inquiry.
Richard’s expression shifted, the playful glint fading into something deeply serious. “I’m thirteen years older than you, Daphne. I assumed that as you grew up, you might want better options. And you just broke up with Tristan yesterday… I thought it might be too much, too soon. But maybe we can give it a try. Does the age gap bother you?”
Before Daphne could answer, a loud, aggressive pounding echoed from the front door.
Frowning, Daphne walked over and pulled it open, only to recoil in disgust. Tristan stood on the porch, disheveled and frantic.
“Daphne, listen!” Tristan blurted out, trying to push his way past her. “I know I messed up—”
“No, I want you out of my life,” Daphne shouted, planting both hands firmly against his chest to block him.
“Look, last night… that woman, she came on to me!” Tristan pleaded desperately, his eyes wide. “I was wasted! I thought she was you!”
Daphne let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Tristan, I’m not an idiot! Don’t play me for a fool. I knew you were cheating on me. Stop lying, you’re such a jerk.”
“We have a booking with the caterer! Let’s go!” Tristan insisted, completely ignoring her rejection, grabbing her wrist. “How dare you get lost—”
Before Tristan could finish his sentence, a heavy hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. Richard stepped out onto the porch, his face carved from stone. With a swift, merciless motion, Richard delivered a sharp kick straight to Tristan’s stomach, sending the younger man sprawling backward down the porch steps.
Tristan hit the pavement with a heavy groan, clutching his midsection and gasping for air.
“You stay away from Daphne,” Richard warned, stepping down the porch steps to loom over him. “Or did you not learn from last time?”
“She’s… she’s my fiancée!” Tristan sputtered, coughing as he pointed a shaky finger at Daphne. “What business do you have interfering?”
“Ex-fiancée,” Daphne corrected sharply, stepping out beside Richard and wrapping a hand around his arm, solidifying her choice. “He’s my fiancé now.”
Tristan stared up at them in absolute disbelief, his face twisting with rage. “Oh, come on, Daphne! Stop pretending. When is this whole wedding thing happening, huh? You trying to make me jealous? It’s not working!”
“I mean it,” Daphne said coldly.
Tristan scrambled to his feet, dusting off his pants with a pathetic attempt at dignity. “How much did she pay you?” he sneered at Richard. “I’ll double it.”
“You can’t afford me,” Richard replied with chilling calm.
Tristan turned back to Daphne, his voice cracking with humiliation. “Really? You’re dumping me for him? Are you dumb?”
“Back off, Tristan,” Richard commanded, stepping forward. “You’ve got five seconds to get out of here, or I’m calling the police.”
Tristan glared at them with venom in his eyes, realizing he had lost completely. “Fine! Plenty of other women out there to have fun with anyway.” He turned on his heel and stormed off down the street.
Richard watched him go before turning back to Daphne, his expression softening as he looked down at her. “So, Daphne… about the marriage thing. Are you sure about it? Because there’s no turning back.”
Daphne looked up into the eyes of the man who had protected her, who had loved her from afar, and who had just claimed her future. A quiet, undeniable peace settled over her. “There’s no turning back.”
Part 6
The ink on the marriage certificate was barely dry, yet the whirlwind of reality was already spinning around them. Daphne sat at the kitchen counter of her apartment, twirling a pen between her fingers while Sloan paced back and forth behind her, staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes.
“What?” Sloan shrieked, stopping dead in her tracks. “You married Richard yesterday?!”
Daphne winced, covering her ears. “Keep your voice down! Nobody’s supposed to know yet.”
“Oh my gosh, this is insane!” Sloan flopped onto the chair opposite her. “Mhm. So… was he good last night?”
Daphne choked on her own saliva, her face flushing crimson. “Sloan! No, we didn’t sleep together—well, I mean, we did before, but—Sloan!”
“Does he have like erectile dysfunction, or—?”
“No!” Daphne interrupted, throwing her hands up in embarrassment. “We got the marriage certificate, and then he had to immediately fly out on an urgent business trip!”
Sloan let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. Well, Daphne, if he’s not treating you well, I will whip his butt no matter who he is. But congratulations! I’ve got to get you a belated wedding gift.”
“What is it?” Daphne asked warily.
Sloan grinned mischievously. “You’ll see soon enough. Surprise!”
Later that evening, a delivery package arrived at the door. Daphne unwrapped it to find a sleek, impossibly delicate piece of luxury silk lingerie sent by Sloan, accompanied by a teasing note. Daphne held it up against herself in front of the bedroom mirror, rolling her eyes with a smile. “Sloan is such a tease…”
Just then, the front door clicked open. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Daphne froze, dropping the lingerie onto the bed just as Richard walked into the bedroom. He looked tired, his tie undone, but his eyes lit up the moment they landed on her.
Richard stopped in his tracks, blinking at the delicate garment resting on the bed. “Why are you suddenly back?” Daphne stammered, pulling her cardigan tighter over her shoulders. “My work out of state wrapped up early, so I came straight home,” Richard said slowly, his gaze shifting from the bed back to her face. “Uh… what’s all this?”
Daphne blushed furiously. “It’s… a wedding present from Sloan. I’ll return it in the morning.”
Richard let out a low, gravelly chuckle, taking a slow step toward her. “Oh, I mean… you already have it on under there. Maybe you could wear it for me.”
Daphne’s breath hitched. “Sorry I missed you on my business trip, but I need to make it up to you,” Richard whispered, closing the distance between them.
“It’s fine,” she squeaked.
“Oh, really? Well, we should make good use of it,” he murmured, pulling her gently against his chest. “I’ll go change.”
As Richard stepped into the walk-in closet, Daphne let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to her racing heart. Okay, breathe. We’ve done this once before. It’s no big deal. She turned to the bed, noticing a stack of architectural and fashion design drafts resting on the mattress. She picked one up, studying the intricate lines. His designs? They’re just some drafts. Nothing special… let’s get some sleep.
By the time Richard stepped back out of the closet, dressed in comfortable loungewear, Daphne was already lying under the covers, her eyes heavy. Richard chuckled softly, crawling into bed beside her and wrapping a warm arm around her waist. Within seconds, his steady breathing slowed.
Daphne blinked in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. No way… he fell asleep just like that? Was he just teasing me? I thought he wanted me… Never mind. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep beside her new husband.
Part 7
The morning light broke sharply through the blinds, illuminating the bedroom. Daphne bolted awake to the sound of her phone ringing incessantly on the nightstand. She snatched it up, answering with a groggy voice.
“Yes, that’s me!” she gasped into the phone, her sleepiness vanishing instantly as the words registered. “I passed the preliminary interview for the Langden Group design department? Thank you so much!”
She hung up, her face beaming with uncontainable excitement. She spun around to find Richard sitting up in bed, watching her with a warm, amused smile.
“You interviewed at my company?” Richard asked, raising an eyebrow.
Daphne stopped, her smile faltering slightly. “Yes… why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to rely on myself,” she answered proudly. “Well, you’re fully capable,” Richard conceded, swinging his legs out of bed. “I saw your designs last night on the bed. Very creative. We need designers like you.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
Richard walked over, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Have complete confidence in yourself. Come meet the design director at three this afternoon. Okay?”
“Okay!” she breathed, her heart soaring.
Later that afternoon, standing outside the imposing glass doors of the Langden Group headquarters, Daphne took a deep breath. But her good mood evaporated the instant a familiar, sneering voice cut through the lobby.
“Daphne? What are you doing here?”
Daphne turned to see Tristan walking across the marble floor, looking disheveled and bitter.
“Personal business,” Daphne said coldly, trying to brush past him.
“Oh, you’re here to win me back?” Tristan laughed arrogantly. “Please leave me alone, I’m married,” she fired back, flashing her ring.
“Married? To who? Your sugar daddy?” Tristan scoffed.
Before Daphne could reply, the front desk receptionist called out, “Hello? Are you here for an interview?”
“Yes, I’m here for the 3:00 interview,” Daphne said politely, turning away from Tristan.
The receptionist frowned, looking down at her computer. “Do you have an appointment? Mr. Langum asked me to come—”
“Mr. Langum?” The receptionist scoffed loudly. “Ridiculous. You know, you’re a fresh graduate with no project experience. How could you possibly get an interview with the design director? I can’t find your appointment in the system.”
Tristan stepped up beside the desk, cackling maliciously. “See? I told you! She’s a total fraud!”
Daphne’s phone buzzed in her hand. It was a text from Richard: In a board meeting. Give me five minutes.
“Please, just give me one more second. I believe he’ll answer,” Daphne pleaded with the receptionist.
“Still pretending!” Tristan shouted, drawing the attention of passing employees. “Daphne, then tell us—how do you even know Mr. Langum?”
Better not reveal my relationship with Nicholas—I mean, Richard—in the company yet, Daphne thought anxiously. It’s not good for him if people think he’s playing favorites. She glared at Tristan. “It’s none of your business.”
“So you couldn’t satisfy your sugar daddy, and now you’re here to seduce the executives,” Tristan sneered loudly.
“Tristan Wilder, you are disgusting!” Daphne snapped, turning on her heel to walk toward the elevators to find Richard herself.
“You obviously don’t have an appointment here, so you have to leave!” the receptionist called out angrily, signaling security.
Two security guards stepped forward, blocking Daphne’s path. “Miss, please step outside.”
“Let go of me!” Daphne protested as one of the guards grabbed her arm roughly.
“Let go of my wife!”
The deep, commanding roar echoed through the grand lobby, freezing everyone in their tracks. The crowd parted instantly as Richard Langum strode out of the private elevator bank, his face dark with a terrifying, absolute fury.
The receptionist turned white as a sheet. The security guards dropped their hands instantly. And Tristan shrank back into the marble pillar, his face draining of all color.
Richard walked straight up to Daphne, gently pulling her behind him to shield her from the guards. He glared at the receptionist, then swept his gaze across the terrified onlookers.
“She is my wife,” Richard announced, his voice echoing off the glass walls with chilling authority. “And if anyone in this building ever disrespects her again, they won’t just be fired—they won’t ever work in this city again.”
He looked down at Daphne, the harsh lines of his face softening into warmth as he took her hand. “Come on. The design director is waiting for you in the interview room.”
Daphne smiled, squeezing his hand tightly as they walked past the stunned crowd together. The storm had finally cleared, leaving behind a future built on truth, protection, and a love that had defied every odd.
