Chapter 36
MYA
It’s been a month since Worth and I got married in Paris.
And the tabloids have still not had enough of the news.
Every few days, there’s a new headline waiting for me before I’ve even had my first cup of coffee: SEATTLE’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR FINALLY OFF THE MARKET; MYSTERY brIDE CAPTURES BILLIONAIRE’S HEART; FROM OFFICE TO ALTAR: THE MILLER MARRIAGE NO ONE SAW COMING.
Some articles are flattering, spinning our story into a modern-day fairytale. Others aren’t as kind. The gossip blogs love to remind the world that I used to serve coffee at Willow’s, that I’m “the ordinary girl who caught the boss’s eye.”
I told myself I wouldn’t look. That what people say doesn’t matter. But before I know it, I’m scrolling through comment sections like I’m searching for a reason to hate myself.
Worth says to ignore it. He doesn’t even blink when he’s asked about us. He’s calm, composed, and effortlessly convincing. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m living someone else’s life.
For the first few days after we came back, Worth was in full helicopter-dad mode, hovering, calling, checking in with Bri every hour like he could somehow make up for not being there when his ex-wife showed up. Brianna kept insisting she was fine, but I could tell he didn’t believe her.
Vanessa hasn’t come by again, thankfully. Worth mentioned it to his lawyer, who made it crystal clear to hers that if she tried pulling a stunt like that again, they’d file for a restraining order. The whole thing seemed to put her in her place—for now, at least.
Still, it’s strange, sharing a home with my husband.
And even stranger knowing that, on paper, I’m someone’s stepmom.
Brianna has handled everything surprisingly well.
We’ve found a small routine. Every evening, we spend an hour together sketching at the kitchen table.
I can’t draw to save my life, but Brianna doesn’t seem to mind.
It’s when she’s most relaxed, when she actually talks.
That’s when I hear about her friends, her classes, the things she won’t tell Worth because she thinks he worries too much.
And maybe he does. But in those quiet moments, I catch glimpses of Brianna’s vulnerability.
This strange, new version of my life is starting to feel… not normal exactly, but something close to it.
By midafternoon, I’m at the office, buried in my submission proposal for the creative division.
It’s my dream project. The one that’s been sitting in the back of my mind since college.
Project Rebuild: a mixed-use community initiative that combines affordable housing with creative public spaces.
My concept sketches show old industrial lots transformed into modern live-work studios, gardens built from reclaimed steel, and open plazas lined with art installations made by local youth programs. It’s ambitious and bold, and it’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve been dying to pitch to Worth’s board, whether they think it’s profitable or not.
Seraya sits across from me in the glass meeting room, her messy bun half-collapsing while she glances at her phone for the tenth time in five minutes.
“You’re gonna burn a hole in the screen if you keep glaring at it like that.”
She groans, setting her phone face down on the table. “Sorry. My new landlord is driving me insane.”
I arch a brow. “Again?”
“Yes,” she says, exasperated. “The man texts me about everything. Everything. This morning he messaged me to ask if I’d noticed the new mulch he put by the building entrance. Who texts about mulch?”
I laugh. “Maybe he’s just… being neighborly?”
“He’s being weirdly attentive,” she mutters, rubbing her temples. “Ever since I moved in, he’s been popping up for the most random reasons. I swear, if he ‘accidentally’ locks himself out again and asks me to let him in, I might commit arson.”
“Please don’t,” I say, smiling. “You just got that apartment.”
“Yeah, well. I’m one text away from throwing my phone into the river.”
My chest tugs. Seraya has been holding it together, but I can tell she’s tired. Juggling a full-time job and a toddler is no small feat. I reach across the table and nudge her notebook. “Okay, no more landlord drama for ten minutes. We’re finishing our presentations today, yeah?”
“Yeah.” She nods, exhaling hard.
I catch a glimpse of a few coworkers passing by the glass wall, whispering to each other. One throws a glance my way before turning back around.
Ever since I came back as Mrs. Miller, the atmosphere around here has shifted. I knew it would, but knowing doesn’t make it easier. Ethan barely looks at me now. He keeps a ten-foot pole between us at all times, which I’m sure makes Worth happy.
Others haven’t been as subtle. I’ve caught whispers in the hallway, and conversations die when I walk into a room. Last week, I overheard two people from my department saying I’d probably get “preferential treatment” now that I’m married to the CEO.
When Worth found out, he offered—no, threatened—to handle it. But the idea of him scolding people on my behalf like some corporate knight in shining armor? Yeah, no thanks.
I told him I’d rather eat nails.
He didn’t think that was funny.
Seraya notices my silence. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just thinking about the presentation.”
She hums, unconvinced, and opens her laptop again. “You’ll nail it, Mrs. CEO.”
I groan. “Don’t start.”
She smirks. “What? It’s true. You’re practically the office legend now.”
“More like the office cautionary tale.”
Deep down, I can’t help the fear that runs through me if Project Rebuild actually gets approved. I don’t want it to be because of my new last name. I want it to be because of me.
I need that win for myself, and not for the man whose ring I wear.
When Seraya steps out to take a call, I head back to my desk to grab my sketch pad. I’m halfway down the hallway when a voice stops me cold.
Shaina is leaning against the copy room doorway, one manicured hand on her hip, talking to one of the HR clerks from the tenth floor. I wouldn’t have paid her any attention until I heard Worth’s name.
“So I was in Worth’s office earlier,” she says, lowering her voice just enough to make it sound scandalous. “And he asked me to get on my knees, for old time’s sake. If you know what I me”
The clerk gasps. “You’re kidding.”
Shaina smirks, flipping her hair. “Please. Like he’d ever forget me. Men like Worth don’t settle for… boring. And trust me, what he has now?” She lets out a pitying laugh. “Temporary.”
The clerk glances around nervously. “You really think so?”
“Oh, honey.” Shaina leans in conspiratorially.
“This little ‘marriage’ of his has to be strategic. He must be getting something out of it. And Mya is definitely getting a bigger pay check.” She shrugs.
“He’ll soon remember he prefers women who can actually keep up with him—in and out of the office. ”
My blood pressure spikes so fast I feel it in my ears. I can practically taste my irritation.
“And the way she walks around like she owns the place now?” Shaina adds. “It’s so embarrassing. Poor girl doesn’t realize she’s just a placeholder.”
That’s it.
I stride straight toward them before my brain can talk me out of it.
I have no idea why I’m this angry. It’s not like Worth and I are a real couple. I’m the one who insists this whole thing is just business, but hearing someone talk about our relationship like that does something sharp and ugly to me.
“Wow, Shaina,” I say, my voice too calm to be anything but dangerous. “You sure you want to be spreading rumors like that in a building full of your colleagues and superiors?”
Both women stiffen. Shaina turns, startled for half a second before she recovers with a smirk. “Relax, Mrs. Miller. We were just talking.”
“Right,” I say flatly. “Because every innocent conversation ends with a comment about your boss’s and my husband’s anatomy.”
The HR clerk flushes scarlet and mumbles something about having to get back downstairs before basically sprinting away.
Shaina crosses her arms. “Don’t take it personally, Mya. You’re new at this whole wife thing. But some of us have history with Worth.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it almost hurts. “Funny. He didn’t mention you in any of his stories.”
Shaina’s chin lifts. “Believe me, he wouldn’t have had to. I was just in his office, remember?”
Something inside me snaps.
“Were you? Let’s go confirm that, then.”
Before she can respond, I turn on my heel and march toward Worth’s office.
I don’t knock and just push the door open, hard, only to find him mid-meeting with Henson and two suited clients.
Every head turns in my direction.
Worth blinks. “Mya?”
The silence stretches. My pulse thunders in my ears.
I glance back at Shaina, who’s frozen in the doorway, eyes wide as saucers.
Perfect. Let her squirm.
Worth’s jaw tightens, his authoritative tone sliding back into place. “Is there something you need, Mrs. Miller?”
The clients glance at each other, clearly entertained by the sudden domestic drama unfolding in real time.
I swallow hard, realizing just how bad this looks, but pride won’t let me back down. “We need to talk.”
I’m still standing at the door, heat rushing up my neck. Worth’s brows lift, but the moment his gaze takes in my expression, that surprise twists into amusement.
Oh, he’s enjoying this.
“Gentlemen,” he says smoothly, “please give me and my wife a moment.”
I want the floor to open up and swallow me.
Henson glances between us, clearly fighting back a grin. “Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “Let’s continue this in the boardroom.”
The clients gather their notes, shaking Worth’s hand before exiting. Shaina is still frozen outside, as if watching a train wreck she caused. Worth shuts the door behind them.
The amused look hasn’t left his face.
And I’m about two seconds away from throwing something at it.
“Are you still fooling around with Shaina?” I demand, crossing my arms so tight it hurts.
He leans on his desk, calm as ever, one brow arched. “Why would you think that, Kitten?”
“Don’t call me Kitten right now,” I snap. “This is serious. Do you have any idea what’ll happen if anyone finds out you’re cheating on your new wife?”
“No one will find out anything.”
“She’s going around telling people she was in your office, on her knees, Worth.” The words feel vile coming out of my mouth, and my voice rises before I can stop it.
Worth chuckles. Chuckles.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says simply, like this is a scheduling issue and not a full-blown PR nightmare.
“Why aren’t you more upset? This could ruin your entire plan, your reputation, the company, everything! I’ll have married you for nothing!”
That gets his attention. He straightens, amusement morphing into something darker for a heartbeat, but then it’s gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk that makes me want to both slap and kiss him senseless.
I scowl. “Are you still fucking her, Worth?”
He studies me, like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or drag me closer. Part of me wants him to do the latter.
Nothing has happened since our wedding night in Paris, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or if I want to break the sexual tension between us once and for all—even if it might be the worst idea.
“Are you jealous, Mrs. Miller?”
“Absolutely not. I’m concerned.”
“Right,” he says, the ghost of a grin still on his lips. “Because that sounded a lot like jealousy to me.”
“I’m not,” I bite out. “I couldn’t care less who you sleep with.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” The word comes out weaker than I mean it to.
“I think you’re lying, Mrs. Miller.” He tilts his head. “You’re jealous of Shaina, and you don’t want to admit it.”
“Fuck off, Worth. I don’t care.”
He moves toward me, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.
My breath stutters when he slides his hand up my nape and grabs hold of my hair in a fist.
His voice drops to a whisper, right against my ear. “Then what’s this attitude about, Mya?”