Elliana descended the grand spiral staircase, her heels clicking softly against the marble steps.

Jovita was already seated at the massive dining table, sipping orange juice. When she saw Elliana, Jovita gave her a subtle, encouraging wink.

Elliana ignored her. She looked at the head of the table. The chair was empty. The silver cutlery was untouched. Damon was already gone.

A pang of genuine sadness hit her chest. In her past life, Damon had left early the morning after their wedding, too. He had known she hated him, and he had given her space, burying himself in his work rather than facing her hostility.

"See?" Jovita said, her voice dripping with fake pity. "He doesn't value you at all. Ellie, you can't put up with this."

Elliana didn't look at her stepsister. She turned her gaze to the woman standing rigidly near the kitchen entrance.

"Marge," Elliana said, her voice calm and clear. "What time did Mr. Stirling leave?"

Marge Kowalski, the head housekeeper in her stiff black uniform, stepped forward. Her face was a mask of professional indifference. "The mister left an hour ago, Mrs. Stirling." Marge's tone was entirely devoid of warmth, the title dropping from her lips with a subtle, dismissive edge that felt more like a chore than a sign of actual respect.

Elliana's eyes narrowed slightly. The mister. And the cold, forced 'Mrs. Stirling'.

In her past life, she hadn't cared. She had hated the Stirling name. But now, the blatant disrespect in the housekeeper's attitude grated against her nerves. It was a glaring symbol of how little genuine authority she held in this house, despite her legal title.

"You go ahead and eat," Elliana said to Jovita, her tone dismissive. "I don't have much of an appetite."

Jovita panicked. She jumped up and grabbed Elliana's wrist. "You're going to go find him on an empty stomach? How are you going to have the energy to fight with him if you don't eat?"

Elliana looked down at Jovita's hand clutching her wrist. She yanked her arm back with a sharp, violent motion.

"Who told you I was going to fight with him?" Elliana's voice was like cracked ice.

Jovita froze. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She stared at Elliana, a flicker of genuine fear crossing her wide eyes. This wasn't the impulsive, easily manipulated girl she knew.

Elliana turned back to the housekeeper. "Marge, prepare a breakfast to go. Pack it well. And have the driver bring the car around. I'm going to the Stirling Group."

Jovita's jaw dropped. The script in her head was entirely ruined. "Ellie, are you crazy? You're not going to demand a divorce? You're bringing him breakfast?"

Elliana stopped walking. She slowly turned around and locked eyes with her stepsister. A mocking smile curled the corners of her lips.

"Jovita," Elliana said softly, the threat in her voice unmistakable. "This is between my husband and me. Since when is it your place to tell me how to handle my marriage?"

Jovita's face drained of all color. She took a step back, physically intimidated by the sheer, crushing weight of Elliana's aura.

Without waiting for a response, Elliana walked straight into the kitchen. She bypassed Marge and stood over the prep counter, pointing at the ingredients.

"No pastries," Elliana instructed the stunned kitchen staff. "Make a simple club sandwich. And black coffee. No sugar, no cream."

She remembered exactly how Damon liked his breakfast.

Jovita stood paralyzed in the dining room. Her heart hammered with anxiety. Something was horribly wrong. Elliana was acting like a completely different person. Jovita quickly pulled her phone from her purse and typed a frantic text to her mother: Mom, the plan is messed up. Elliana is acting weird.

Ten minutes later, Marge walked out of the kitchen carrying an insulated paper bag. She handed it to Elliana, her expression still guarded.

Elliana took the bag by the handles. She didn't walk away immediately. She stood perfectly still, forcing Marge to maintain eye contact.

"From today onward, while you are inside this estate," Elliana said, her voice dropping an octave, "you will address me with the genuine respect due to Damon's wife, not as some temporary guest you can look down upon. Do you understand?"

Marge blinked, startled. She looked at the young woman standing before her. The rebellious teenager was gone, replaced by a woman radiating absolute authority.

Marge swallowed hard and bowed her head, the previous indifference completely wiped from her demeanor. "Yes, ma'am. I understand, Mrs. Stirling."

"Good." Elliana turned on her heel and walked toward the front doors.

Jovita, desperate to regain control, scrambled after her. "Sister, let me go with you! What if he treats you badly? I can protect you..."

Elliana stopped at the threshold. She didn't even look back.

"No need," Elliana said coldly. "Didn't you say Mom was worried about me? You should stay here. Give her a full report on exactly what I'm doing."

She hit the word report heavily.

Jovita gasped, her feet rooting to the marble floor. She didn't dare take another step.

Elliana walked out into the crisp morning air and slid into the back of the waiting town car. As the vehicle pulled away from the estate, she watched the scenery blur past the tinted windows. "Traffic is a bit heavy today, Mrs. Stirling," the driver remarked casually, glancing at the rearview mirror. "There's been a lot of chaos over by the East District intersections lately. Several major accidents just this week involving delivery trucks running red lights. We'll take the slightly longer route to be safe."

"That's fine," Elliana murmured, her mind entirely focused on her destination. Her chest felt tight, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

She was going to see him. And this time, she was going to do it right.

The black town car glided to a halt in front of the towering glass-and-steel monolith of the Stirling Group headquarters.

Before the driver could even open her door, a swarm of reporters descended on the vehicle like vultures. Camera flashes exploded against the tinted glass.

Elliana took a deep breath, grabbed the insulated breakfast bag, and pushed the door open.

Microphones were immediately shoved into her face. The noise was deafening.

"Miss Lewis! Is it true your marriage to Damon Stirling is already over?" a reporter named Grant Fletcher shouted over the din, practically shoving his recorder against her chin. "Rumor has it you were discussing divorce terms on your wedding night!"

In her past life, the flashing lights and aggressive questions had triggered her anxiety. She had screamed at them, swatted the cameras away, and stormed into the building looking like a deranged, spoiled brat-giving them exactly the headline they wanted.

This time, Elliana stopped. She stood tall, her posture impeccable in her beige dress. A polite, radiant smile bloomed on her face.

She gently pushed Grant Fletcher's microphone down with two manicured fingers.

"I'm sorry," Elliana said, her voice smooth and carrying perfectly over the crowd. "My husband is waiting for me to join him for breakfast. I really can't keep him waiting."

She emphasized the words my husband and breakfast.

The reporters fell dead silent. The aggressive shouting died in their throats. They stared at her, completely thrown off balance. This wasn't the hostile, Damon-hating heiress they had been told to expect. She looked like a woman deeply in love.

Taking advantage of their shock, Elliana slipped past them, flanked by the building's security guards, and walked through the revolving glass doors.

The lobby of the Stirling Group was a cavernous expanse of white marble and chrome. Elliana walked straight to the massive front reception desk.

The receptionist looked up. Recognition flashed in her eyes, followed instantly by a wall of professional caution. "Mrs. Stirling," the receptionist said, though her eyes held a guarded, almost wary glint, clearly anticipating a tantrum. "How can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Damon," Elliana said, keeping her smile in place.

The receptionist shifted uncomfortably. "I apologize, but Mr. Stirling is in a crucial board meeting. He left strict instructions not to be disturbed by anyone."

It was exactly what Elliana expected. Damon was actively avoiding her, assuming she was coming to cause a scene.

Instead of slamming her hands on the desk and screaming, Elliana simply nodded. "That's perfectly fine. I'll just wait for him here."

She pointed to the sleek leather sofas in the waiting area. "I won't be in the way."

The receptionist blinked, clearly not knowing how to handle this calm, compliant version of Elliana. "Uh... alright."

Elliana walked over to the sofa, sat down, and placed the breakfast bag neatly on the glass coffee table. She crossed her legs and waited.

Her quiet presence sent ripples of whispered gossip throughout the lobby. Employees walked by, casting covert glances at the CEO's notorious new wife, who was sitting as still and patient as a statue.

An hour ticked by. Elliana's back ached slightly, but she didn't move.

Finally, the chime of the private VIP elevator echoed through the lobby. The polished steel doors slid open.

Damon Stirling stepped out.

He was surrounded by a phalanx of nervous-looking executives, but he eclipsed them all. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit that hugged his broad shoulders perfectly. His face was a masterpiece of sharp angles and cold, ruthless authority. The sheer power rolling off him made the air in the lobby feel thin.

His executive assistant, Campbell Gibson, walked closely beside him, leaning in to whisper something in Damon's ear.

Damon's dark eyes instantly snapped toward the waiting area.

When his gaze locked onto Elliana sitting on the sofa, a microscopic flicker of shock broke through his icy facade. He had expected her to be screaming at the front desk. He had expected shattered glass and a PR nightmare. He hadn't expected her to be sitting there quietly, holding a paper bag.

But the shock vanished in a millisecond. His jaw clenched tight. His footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second, a complex, turbulent emotion flashing through the deep, dark depths of his eyes. But he quickly forced it down, his expression hardening back into an impenetrable mask. He finally tore his gaze away, deciding it was safer to keep walking straight toward the exit rather than risk falling into whatever trap she had set.

The executives noticed Elliana, their eyes darting nervously between her and their boss, but no one dared to speak.

As Damon reached the doors, Elliana stood up. She didn't run, but she walked with urgent purpose.

Just as Campbell reached out to push the glass door open for his boss, Elliana stepped directly into Damon's path.

Campbell froze. The executives stopped breathing.

Damon looked down at her. His eyes were like chips of black ice. There was no warmth, no affection-only a deep, guarded distance.

Elliana felt a sharp pain in her chest at that look, but she forced her brightest smile. She held the insulated bag up toward his chest.

"Damon," she said, her voice sweet and entirely natural, as if they did this every day. "I knew you didn't eat this morning. I brought you breakfast."

The silence in the lobby was so absolute that Elliana could hear the hum of the air conditioning.

Damon stared down at the paper bag, then slowly lifted his gaze to her face. He didn't reach for it. His hands remained firmly at his sides.

"What game are you playing, Elliana?" Damon's voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in her chest. The distrust in his tone was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Campbell Gibson stood awkwardly to the side, his eyes glued to the marble floor, wishing he could evaporate.

Elliana's smile didn't waver. She took a half-step closer, invading his personal space. "What game could I be playing? I just couldn't stand the thought of my husband working on an empty stomach."

She pushed the bag an inch closer, until the paper brushed against the fine wool of his suit jacket. "Or what? Do you think I poisoned your coffee?"

Damon's jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek.

She had hit the nail on the head. Given her explosive hatred for him over the past few months, poison wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility in his mind.

Campbell internally groaned. She's daring him, he thought. She's actually daring the boss.

Damon didn't answer her. He simply turned his body, intending to walk around her and out the door.

Elliana wasn't going to let him escape. Without thinking, she dropped the bag to her side and reached out with her free hand, wrapping her fingers firmly around his bicep.

Damon's entire body went rigid the second her hand touched him. He stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at her small, pale hand gripping his dark sleeve. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in the black depths.

He tried to pull his arm away, a subtle but firm movement.

Elliana held on tighter. Her grip wasn't strong enough to physically restrain him, but the sheer audacity of her touch anchored him to the spot.

"Let go," Damon ordered. His voice was freezing.

Instead of letting go, Elliana took another step forward, closing the remaining distance between them. She leaned her weight against his side, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.

"I won't," she murmured, her voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. "It's cold out here, Damon. Take me up to your office."

Campbell's eyes practically bugged out of his head. The executives behind them collectively inhaled. The Elliana Lewis they knew treated Damon like a disease. This woman clinging to his arm was an alien.

Damon stared down at the top of her head. His breathing hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible break in his rhythm. He stood frozen for three agonizing seconds.

Then, without a word, he turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the private VIP elevator.

He didn't shake her off.

Elliana had to practically jog to keep up with his long strides, but she kept her hand firmly wrapped around his arm. Campbell scrambled to press the elevator button, staying outside as the steel doors slid shut, sealing the husband and wife inside.

The ride to the top floor was suffocatingly silent. Damon stared straight ahead at the metal doors, his body as tense as a coiled spring. Elliana stood beside him, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened.

Damon finally ripped his arm away from her grasp and walked out, his long legs eating up the distance down the hallway. He pushed open the heavy double doors to his CEO office and walked straight to his massive desk, sitting down in his leather chair.

He opened a file folder, completely ignoring her presence.

Elliana followed him inside. The office was a stark reflection of the man: minimalist, cold, decorated entirely in shades of black, white, and slate gray.

She walked over to the glass coffee table in the center of the room. She opened the insulated bag and carefully laid out the club sandwich and the black coffee.

"You need to eat something," Elliana said softly. "It's bad for your stomach to drink coffee on an empty stomach."

Damon didn't look up from his paperwork. "I have no appetite."

Elliana sighed. She walked around the coffee table and approached his desk. She didn't stop until she was standing right in front of him. She placed both hands flat on the polished mahogany surface and leaned over, bringing her face level with his.

The subtle, sweet scent of her shampoo drifted across the desk, invading Damon's senses. His pen stopped moving.

She lowered her voice, injecting a hint of husky warmth into it. "Damon... how about I cook for you tonight? What do you want to eat?"

The words cook for you finally made Damon lift his head.

He looked at her. He looked at this pampered heiress who had never lifted a finger in her life, who had screamed that she would rather die than be his wife.

A harsh, cynical smirk twisted his lips. "What exactly can you cook? Are you planning to burn the kitchen down?"

Elliana wasn't offended. She leaned in even closer, her face mere inches from his. Her gaze dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes again.

"For you," she whispered, "I'm willing to learn anything. So... come home for dinner tonight. Please?"