Madison stepped into the project department, pushing open the glass door.

The instant she entered, conversations paused, and every pair of eyes in the room shifted toward her.

A woman wearing black-rimmed glasses walked over, her expression distant. "You must be the new recruit, Madison?" she asked flatly.

Madison gave a small nod.

"Come with me." The woman led her to a workstation by the window and gestured toward it. "This will be your desk. I'm Raelyn Reid, the lead of Project Team One. If you run into any issues, report to me."

With that, Raelyn offered a sarcastic smile before turning on her heel and leaving.

Madison found the interaction slightly strange, but she didn't dwell on it. She took her seat and prepared to start her work.

Yet the entire morning passed without her touching anything related to actual projects. Instead, she was constantly being sent off to handle trivial tasks—printing documents, picking up deliveries, even cleaning the office coffee machine.

She endured it without complaint.

After all, she was new. It wasn't unusual to start off with errands while settling into a new workplace.

When the lunch hour rolled around, Raelyn strolled over and rapped her knuckles lightly against Madison's desk. "Head to the cafeteria and pick up our orders. I'll take the steak set with sauce on the side. Go ask around and make sure you note everyone else's choices too. And also—"

"Hold on," Madison cut in, her patience finally snapping. "Are you guys disabled or something?"

The room went dead quiet. Every head turned toward them in shock.

Raelyn stood frozen, clearly not expecting such a response. "What did you just say?" she demanded.

Madison rose to her feet, standing slightly taller than her. She met Raelyn's gaze directly. "You seem perfectly capable of walking to me. And I'm sure you know where the cafeteria is. So why exactly can't you go and pick up your lunch yourself?"

A flush spread rapidly across Raelyn's face. "Madison, you're just a newcomer!" she snapped. "What's wrong with asking you to handle a few small tasks? Everyone goes through this when they first join!"

"I've already done the errands," Madison responded, her voice steady and deliberate. "Printing, deliveries, all of it. But picking up your lunch? That's personal. I was hired to do my job, not to act as your errand runner."

"You—"

"What's going on here?"

A low, commanding voice cut through the tension from the doorway.

Madison turned and saw a tall man step inside.

Dressed in a sleek black suit, his figure was lean and composed, his features sharp, but his expression carried a chilling detachment.

It was Colten Wallace. Her half-brother.

Raelyn's anger vanished instantly. She hurried toward him, her tone turning respectful. "Mr. Wallace, what brings you here?"

Colten didn't even spare her a glance. His attention went straight to Madison, his eyes sharp and searching.

"You're new here?" he asked.

Madison almost laughed. So he was pretending not to recognize her.

She lifted her chin slightly. "Yes, I am."

Colten shifted his gaze to Raelyn, his voice dropping several degrees. "Is the project department so overstaffed that new hires are being assigned menial tasks?"

Raelyn's complexion drained. "Mr. Wallace, I was just trying to help her get familiar with how things work here..."

"And exactly how do things work here?" His tone was cutting. "Since when do lunch runs fall under departmental responsibilities?"

Raelyn fell silent, too intimidated to respond.

Colten shifted his attention back to Madison.

"The Radiance Media project," he said. "You'll take over starting now."

The assistant behind him hesitated before speaking up. "Mr. Wallace, that project is one of the company's key priorities this year. Ms. Reid has been leading it—"

"She isn't anymore." Colten's voice was absolute. His eyes remained fixed on Madison as he added, "You have forty-eight hours to secure the deal. Fail, and you can clear out your desk."

After throwing her one last meaningful look, he turned on his heel and walked out of the office.

The office remained in stunned silence long after he left.

Even Madison stood there, momentarily stunned.

She couldn't make sense of Colten's intentions. Was this his way of pushing her out—handing her a task no one could realistically complete?

The moment he was gone, the quiet shattered into hushed chatter.

Raelyn's expression twisted into something complicated—part disbelief, part resentment, and unmistakably laced with gloating.

She let out a cold laugh. "Well, you heard him. Forty-eight hours to lock in the Radiance Media deal. Fail, and you're out."

Nearby, a few coworkers leaned in, their voices low but eager. "That client? Mr. Palmer? He's infamous."

"Didn't someone say the last woman who negotiated with him got forced to drink until she landed in the hospital?"

"Closing that deal in just two days? That's not happening."

Madison didn't respond. She simply lowered her gaze and flipped open the file the assistant had placed in her hands.

Across the top, it read "Radiance Media." Client Representative: Roderick Palmer, 52. Profile: Known alcoholic, notorious womanizer, with a questionable reputation throughout the industry.

A cold smile tugged at her lips. So this was the game. Colten hadn't just assigned her a project—he had set a trap.

Still, Madison needed an opportunity to prove herself. And this so-called "Mission Impossible" was exactly that.

......

At seven in the evening, Madison arrived at the restaurant as scheduled.

An attendant guided her into an upscale private dining room, where Roderick was already seated at the head of the table.

She was dressed in a crisp white blouse paired with a fitted skirt that outlined her figure. Combined with her naturally delicate features, she looked striking.

"Well, well. Since when did your company start sending someone like you?" Roderick's eyes lit up with interest. He stretched out his hand, gesturing invitingly. "Come, sit closer."

Madison avoided his hand without hesitation and took the seat beside him on her own terms.

Roderick didn't seem bothered. Instead, he chuckled and poured her a glass of wine. "So you're Madison, right? Young and promising, I see. Let's have a drink first to set the mood."

Madison lifted the glass and took a small, symbolic sip.

Immediately, his expression shifted. "That won't do," he said, frowning. "You have to finish it. That's how things work on my side."

The two male colleagues accompanying her quickly chimed in. "Come on, Madison. Mr. Palmer's just asking for a drink. Don't spoil the atmosphere."

Madison's lips curved slightly. She set the glass back down. "Mr. Palmer, perhaps we should talk about the project first?"

He waved dismissively. "Business can wait. At the table, we drink first. Here, let me pour you another."

He reached for the bottle again.

Madison gently stopped him, her expression calm. "I don't handle alcohol well. If I drink too much, I won't be able to discuss the project properly."

Roderick laughed, leaning back in his chair. "I've already looked over your proposal—it's not bad. But there are details we still need to go through."

As he spoke, his arm came to rest along the back of her chair.

"You should understand," he continued, his tone lowering, "this project has plenty of people competing for it. But for me..."

His hand slid down to her shoulder. "If I take a liking to someone, things become much easier."

His touch lingered. "You're both capable and attractive. I appreciate that. If you're willing—"

Before he could finish, Madison's hand moved and she slapped him hard across the face.

The sound rang sharply through the room.

Roderick staggered, clutching his face in disbelief before fury exploded across his features. "You—" he bellowed. "How dare you lay a hand on me?"

He slammed the table and lunged forward, reaching for her.

But at that exact moment, the door was kicked open with force.

Before Roderick could react, a powerful kick sent him crashing backward into the wall. He collapsed awkwardly onto the table.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Madison lifted her gaze. Standing at the doorway was a tall figure in a long black coat. His posture was relaxed, but there was something sharp and dangerous in his eyes.

Jeremy lowered his leg as if nothing unusual had happened, adjusting his cuff with casual precision. Then he glanced down at Roderick, sprawled across the table, and spoke in a lazy, almost indifferent tone. "Mr. Palmer, what exactly were you planning to do to my wife?"

The moment Jeremy appeared, all the drunken arrogance drained from Roderick's face.

He shot to his feet, panic flashing across his features before he quickly forced a servile smile. "Mr. Yates, this is just a misunderstanding. I had no idea this lady was your..."

"And now you're aware?" Jeremy's voice was low, carrying an unmistakable chill as he looked down at him.

"Yes, yes, of course! I understand now." Roderick nodded repeatedly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Please, Mr. Yates, take a seat. I'll have the staff bring fresh dishes immediately. Dinner is on me tonight!"

Jeremy didn't spare him another glance. His attention remained entirely on Madison.

Madison steadied herself, drawing in a quiet breath before turning back to Roderick. "Mr. Palmer, regarding the project—"

"Miss Wallace—oh, no, I should say Mrs. Yates now."

Roderick's tone shifted dramatically, all arrogance gone, replaced with careful politeness. "It's not that I'm unwilling to proceed," he continued hastily. "But the project has already been reassigned. Our Vice President, Mr. Leandro Swain, will be handling it. He'll leave town tomorrow at three in the afternoon."

Madison's expression tightened. "And you couldn't have told me that earlier?"

Jeremy watched the flash of irritation on her face, a faint, almost amused smile touching his lips. He slid an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go."

They were nearly at the door when Jeremy stopped and glanced back. "Mr. Palmer, if you encounter my wife again in a professional setting, I expect you to treat her appropriately." He paused, his tone turning colder. "My patience is limited."

Roderick bobbed his head repeatedly, his smile stiff and ingratiating.

Only then did Jeremy turn away, guiding Madison out.

Once they reached the parking lot, Madison had just settled into the passenger seat when Jeremy leaned closer.

She stiffened immediately.

Instead of anything unexpected, he pulled a pack of wet wipes from the glove compartment. Taking her hand, he began to clean it carefully.

His movements were unhurried, almost methodical.

Under the soft glow inside the car, his gaze remained lowered, lashes casting faint shadows across his face. His expression was focused, almost meticulous.

He wiped her palm, and then the back of her hand, before moving on to each finger individually.

When he finished one hand, he moved on to the other.

Madison felt a flicker of unease and tried to withdraw, but his grip held firm.

Without looking up, he asked, "Aside from your hand, where else did he touch you?"

She hesitated briefly before answering, "My shoulder."

A darker look settled in Jeremy's eyes; he clearly regretted not dealing with Roderick more harshly.

He took another wipe, continuing the same careful motions, though his hold tightened slightly.

The atmosphere in the car shifted, growing subtly tense. Just as she was about to speak, something caught her attention—a small marking visible beneath his collar, near his collarbone.

It looked like part of a tattoo... letters, perhaps.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned in slightly, trying to make it out more clearly.

But Jeremy reacted instantly. His hand came up, adjusting his collar with deliberate ease, concealing the mark entirely.

"What are you staring at?" he asked, his tone relaxed, almost languid.

Madison quickly looked away. "Uh... nothing."

Her expression remained as distant as ever, but her thoughts were anything but calm.

The way he had hidden the tattoo so quickly, it was obvious he didn't want it seen.

Could it be someone's initials? Someone important?

The thought lingered for a moment before she pushed it aside. It wasn't her concern.

Their marriage was nothing more than an arrangement. Whatever past he carried had nothing to do with her.

The car cut through the quiet night streets, and about thirty minutes later, it stopped in front of her apartment building.

After saying a brief goodbye, Madison stepped out and headed toward the entrance. Before she could reach it, someone suddenly stepped into her path and snapped at her, "Madison, who was that guy who dropped you off?"

It was Kieran.

Her brows knit together slightly. She pulled her arm free from his grasp and glanced over her shoulder.

The black sedan remained parked nearby, its tinted windows revealing nothing of the person inside.

She turned back, her expression calm and indifferent.

"My husband," she said calmly.

Kieran blinked, and then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Maddie, seriously? You expect me to believe that? What, did you hire someone to put on a show for me?"

Madison didn't bother answering. She simply moved past him toward the entrance.

Kieran stepped in front of her again, blocking the way.

His voice softened, almost coaxing. "Maddie, I know you're upset, but haven't you dragged this out long enough? Apologize now, and maybe I'll forgive you. What happened with Kristina... it was all just a misunderstanding."

Madison stopped. A quiet, cold laugh slipped from her lips.

"Kieran," she said, her voice sharp with disdain, "who do you think you are? And why would I be the one apologizing?"

The color drained from Kieran's face.

"Take that act of yours back to Kristina," she added coolly. "It doesn't work on me."

Without another glance, she pushed open the door and walked inside.

Kieran remained where he stood, his expression darkening.

For a moment, anger flickered across his face, but it quickly gave way to a smug smile.

To him, this was nothing new. He assumed she was just playing hard to get, something he'd seen countless times before.

Eventually, she'd calm down. She'd realize her mistake.

After all, he had supported her for five years. Where else could she go?

He was certain she'd come back. He'd just wait and see how long she could keep up the act.

But then, his gaze drifted back to the black sedan as it slowly pulled away.

A crease formed between his brows. That license plate... why did it seem so familiar?