Arabella woke up early.
Not because she had a schedule.
But because she couldn't sleep in that empty, emotionless bed one more morning. She couldn't just sit in a penthouse like an expensive ornament while her husband went out and lived like she didn't exist.
No.
If Cassian wouldn't see her as a wife… she'd make him see her as something real.
And for the first time in her life, Arabella Quinn opened a laptop and typed in:
"Jobs at ValeCorp."
---
She created a fake name: Aria Bell.
Polished her resume (with help from YouTube).
And applied for an entry-level assistant role at one of the fashion subsidiaries under the ValeCorp umbrella.
No one would look at a pink-dressed socialite and think she'd blend in at work.
But she had more to offer than heels and lip gloss.
She just had to prove it.
---
Three days later, she got the job.
No one knew she was Mrs. Vale.
Not her manager. Not her co-workers. Not even Cassian.
The office was a sleek high-rise full of smart young women with quick eyes and louder ambition. The pace was insane, and the tasks were endless — organizing samples, running errands, taking notes, dealing with impossible clients.
Arabella had blisters on her feet by noon.
Her pink manicure chipped by five.
She almost cried twice.
But by the end of her first week, she knew one thing:
She was still standing.
And not because someone saved her.
Because she saved herself.
---
She ran into Cassian on a Friday.
Literally.
She turned a corner too fast, holding a tray of coffee orders, and collided straight into someone's chest. The tray flew. The cups exploded. Her skirt soaked. Her pride, obliterated.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry—" she looked up, and her breath stopped.
Cassian Vale.
Staring at her like she was a ghost.
She froze. He blinked.
"...Arabella?"
Her eyes widened. She clutched the tray. "Aria. I go by Aria here."
His brow twitched. "You're working here?"
"I'm trying," she muttered. "Clearly failing."
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, unexpectedly—
His lips curved. The tiniest smirk.
"You really came here to work."
"No one believes I can."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
A beat passed. The air between them shifted — no longer cold, but charged. Her hair stuck to her cheek, wet from coffee. His eyes lingered just a second too long.
"You're ruining your heels," he said quietly.
"I know."
"You could've just asked me for something to do."
"I don't want charity," she replied. "I want to earn it."
Cassian stared at her, and for once, she couldn't read him.
"You're late to your department," he finally said, turning away.
But before he disappeared, he looked back.
"Aria... keep going."
---
That night, Arabella lay in bed and replayed that look. That moment. That single flash of something in Cassian's usually frozen face.
Was it pride?
Was it interest?
Or was he just surprised that his doll-wife could survive without a display case?
Either way, she was one step closer.
And this time, she wasn't quitting.
---