COLD HUSBAND AND BOSSY WIFE
Adrian escorted his new wife Janis into their house, then left her to wander around with the servants. He had no intention of entertaining her, so he retreated to his study and locked the door. The servants were disappointed—marriage hadn't changed him. He still wouldn't keep her company, not even on their honeymoon.
"Is he always like this?" Janis asked the servants. They hesitated: answer honestly and risk censure, lie and risk her anger.
"I expected him to be like this," she said, not waiting for a reply, and moved upstairs with a maid.
The servant gestured toward Adrian's room. "Mistress?"
Janis shook her head.
"Is something wrong?"
"I can't sleep in the same room as him."
"But why?" the maid asked, stunned.
"Do I have to?" Janis asked coldly. The maid recoiled.
Janis was escorted to the room opposite Adrian's and her belongings were moved in. Gray Manor—once cold and lonely—felt even colder now. The servants worried she might've been forced into this marriage.
Once settled, Janis opened her laptop and began researching Adrian Pedro. Among the clickbait and whispers, one article stood out—as dramatic as fan fiction:
> Adrian Pedro made silence feel louder than words. Tall, sharp-jawed, wrapped in cold mystery… the CEO everyone feared. His voice didn't raise rooms—it lowered them.
She rolled her eyes at the theatrical spin, though the facts aligned. Billionaire at 20. Founded Dynamic Motors at 19. Turned Tybis into a global presence.
She learned about his siblings: an addict sister—"served the family right," Janis thought darkly.
A headline caught her eye: Adrian Pedro married Janis Wyatt weeks after his girlfriend Vivian Lawrence left the country to study. "Girlfriend?" Janis murmured. "Too bad for her."
Her phone buzzed; she answered.
"Any news?"
"Grand Aura was handed over to Robert Pedro, then later given to Adrian."
"What about Evelyn?" Janis pressed.
"Autopsy shows heavy abuse. We don't know if that caused her suicide."
Janis sighed. "Keep digging into the Jackson family and Royal Empire." She ended the call.
Pain. Janis had been dragged into this family's nightmare—and she planned to hand them their reckoning.
---
FLASHBACK
A tall Black woman with a charming smile and long hair sat by a window reading as a little girl burst in.
"Evelyn! Is it true you're taking over the company?"
"Not yet. I'm not of age."
"Why wait?"
"There are rules."
"Rules suck. I want to be smart like you."
"Just be yourself."
Years later: Evelyn's suicide changed everything. Janis knew it wasn't simple. Someone had pulled the trigger—figuratively speaking.
---
Back in the present, Adrian sat in his study trying to work. He replayed yesterdays—dropping off Vivian at the airport, then hearing the news of his marriage.
He hadn't wanted this. He barely knew Janis. She embarrassed him. He was furious.
"Master, dinner is ready," a servant said. No reply. They left.
Eventually hunger prevailed. He headed down, plate in hand.
Janis was already seated. She devoured her meal without waiting for him. He sat, silent, stealing glances. Despite himself, he admitted: she was beautiful. Without makeup, innocent. And still, wearing a zebra-patterned onesie. Not childish—brazen.
The servants giggled. She looked ten years younger.
"Next time I cook," she said, dropping her fork.
The chef tensed.
"Was the food made angrily or sadly?" she taunted. The chef stuttered. Adrian interjected: "It's just a meal—no need to make it dramatic." Relief washed the chef's face.
Janis glared. "Was I talking to you?" Silence followed. Nobody had ever snapped at Adrian—especially not his new wife.
Her coldness surprised her. She'd planned to seem sweet, but she hated chit-chat.
"Look, chef—next time I cook this, I want you to watch me put love into it."
She rose. "Good night." The room chilled. Servants felt Adrian's fury.
---
The next morning Janis awoke to find Adrian gone. Perfect, she thought as she dressed: sleek bun, dark red lipstick, fluffy jacket, red heels—all boss babe vibes.
As she descended, servants gaped. Yesterday's grace had been replaced by fire.
"Ma'am, your husband arranged a bodyguard," Anita said.
"A bodyguard? Why?"
"With your safety in mind."
Janis scoffed. "He just wants to monitor me." She agreed to meet him.
Hermes arrived: young, Black, serious. "Name?"
"Age?"
"Licensed."
But Janis didn't trust him—she'd been betrayed before. "Because Adrian hired you."
---
Janis headed to the garage. The cars there were beyond anything she'd imagined. She hopped into the 3 million tybs H Furnace(a car)
Hermes tried to halt her; she insisted on driving. "To my husband's office," she ordered.
The H Furnace parked at Dynamic Motors. Workers snapped photos. Janis—dark glasses, aura of ice—walked in like she owned the place.
"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked.
"I'm Mrs. Pedro—I don't need one."
The receptionist sneered. "You need one, ma'am."
Janis frowned. "Rude."
Lilian, the receptionist, stiffened—she hadn't recognized her.
"Mrs. Pedro," said a man—tall, average height—stepping forward. "I'm Williams Wort, Adrian's secretary."
"Yes, and?" Janis asked.
"He didn't know you're here."
"Good. Surprise him." Williams guided her through.
They toured the facilities: R&D lab, car prototypes, the whole empire—built by Adrian in just a decade. She was impressed.
They entered the Grand Aura meeting room.
"What happened to Grand Aura?" she asked.
The manager, flustered, replied, "We sold 100 million barrels last week. This week only 50 million due to a collapsed rig."
Janis snatched the chart. "That shift left? You're hiding the truth from the boss."
He panicked. "We could lose our jobs."
She sneered. "Then let me help—promise you won't tell Adrian."
He laughed. "A pretty woman helping with oil exports?"
She cut through his smirk. "I could kill you right now—and no one would stop me." He went silent.
Mistress Janis. Not Mrs. Janis. She corrected them. She took the files. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"You're lying," she declared. "The supply curve is normal. You're covering up."
He protested: "But we saw the numbers—50 million barrels."
"That's impossible. The boss was briefed with full numbers, and the foreign reserves haven't dipped." She stared down the room. "Someone's lying."