Chapter 6 #2
“It’s gone viral,” Barb informed him. “The internet is having a field day.”
The noise level outside his office rose significantly. Through the glass wall, he could see the excitement rippling through his staff as someone called out, “Oh my God, they’re making memes already! Look at this one—Rich People Problems: When the wine thrown at you costs more than your rent.”
“This one’s better,” another voice chimed in. “What happens when a bouncer inherits a socialite’s body?”
Barb straightened, her professional mask slipping back into place.
“If you’ll excuse me, sir.” She stepped out into the chaos, her voice carrying through the office with practiced authority.
“If you all have time to analyze viral videos, I’m sure we can find some extra filing to keep you occupied.
” The threat sent people scurrying back to their desks with poorly hidden smiles.
Once alone, Jason pulled out his own phone. The video had millions of views already, with comments pouring in by the second.
“Someone get this woman a bouncer uniform and a reality show.”??
“The way she caught that wine to the face and didn’t even smudge her makeup? Queen behavior.”??
“‘I’ve kicked better guys out of bars at 2 a.m.’ - I need this on a t-shirt.”
“Can we talk about how she just ended Bradley Thompson’s whole career in passing?”??
“Rich people fights are wild but that mediator though.”??
He chuckled at the comments, then stopped abruptly. When was the last time Victoria had made him laugh?
A recommended video caught his eye: Socialite Schools Trust Fund Babies on Green Energy? The thumbnail showed Victoria at the same luncheon, but now she was… discussing industrial sustainability? He pressed play.
“Actually,” Victoria’s voice rang clear and confident, “it’s not just about solar panels and wind turbines. The real innovation is in energy storage solutions and smart grid technology. Imagine reducing power wastage while making clean energy more accessible and affordable.”
She leaned forward, gesturing animatedly. “And combining that with manufacturing expertise? We could revolutionize how we produce sustainable materials. The potential for reducing industrial carbon footprints while maintaining productivity is incredible.”
Her eyes lit up as she continued. “Plus, it’s just smart business. The market for green tech is exploding, and getting ahead of environmental regulations? That’s just good strategy.”
Jason sat back in his chair, mind reeling.
First the morning’s endearingly awkward kitchen encounter, then handling a social disaster like a pro, and now this?
The Victoria he knew thought “going green” meant buying emeralds.
This woman was discussing energy storage solutions with the enthusiasm of a grad student defending their thesis.
Something was definitely different about Victoria. The strange part wasn’t just the change—it was how it made him feel. That spark of attraction he’d thought long dead was stirring, along with something else he couldn’t quite name.
He reached for his phone again, intent on watching both videos one more time. For research purposes, of course. Purely professional curiosity. After the fifth viewing, he caught himself downloading both videos. Just in case they got taken down. For the legal team, obviously.
The office gradually emptied as five o’clock approached. Through his glass wall, he watched the usual exodus—computers powering down, bags being packed. The energy of the workday dissolved into the quiet anticipation of evening freedom.
Barb appeared in his doorway one last time, coat draped over her arm. “Will you be working late again, sir? I can order dinner before I leave.”
“Go home, Barb. I’m fine.”
She gave him a look that suggested she didn’t quite believe him but nodded anyway. “Try not to stay too late. Even empires need sleep.”
The office felt different after hours. Emptier, but somehow more his.
No phones ringing, no hurried footsteps, no constant hum of voices and keyboards.
Just the soft whir of his computer and the city lights gradually coming alive outside his window.
He worked through contract revisions and quarterly projections until even his legendary focus began to waver.
At eight, he finally powered down his computer and gathered his things.
The elevator ride to the parking garage was silent, his footsteps echoing in the empty space.
His Aston Martin waited in its usual spot—a car Victoria had once dismissed as “trying too hard to be James Bond” when he’d first bought it.
She’d suggested something more “appropriately luxurious” for someone of their status.
During the drive home, his thoughts drifted to Victoria again.
By now she’d usually be in her private sitting room, planning her next charity gala with military precision or updating her meticulously categorized closet—organized by designer, color, and social occasion—or perhaps having her nightly skincare routine—seventeen steps, precisely timed, no interruptions allowed under penalty of death.
He wasn’t prepared for what greeted him when he entered their penthouse.
The sound of rapid-fire Korean dialogue filled the air, punctuated by dramatic music.
Following the noise to the living room, Jason stopped dead in his tracks.
Victoria—his Victoria, who once fired a maid for watching television during work hours—was sprawled on the couch in sweatpants and what appeared to be an oversized t-shirt.
Not her usual silky pink negligee and matching designer robe but actual, comfortable-looking clothes.
She was curled up with her feet tucked under her, savoring what appeared to be chocolate soufflé.
Around her, the household staff—Gregory still in his chef whites, Maria and Elena perched on the edge of their seats, and Mrs. Martinez settled into an armchair—were all completely engrossed in whatever was playing on the massive screen.
Empty plates that had once held Gregory’s duck confit littered the coffee table, and the rich aroma of chocolate and coffee filled the air.
The formal living room, usually as welcoming as a museum exhibit, looked… lived in.
“No, no, no!” Victoria exclaimed, waving her dessert spoon emphatically at the screen. “Don’t trust him! Can’t you see he’s clearly working with the evil stepmother? Look at that suspicious eyebrow raise!”
Maria and Elena nodded vigorously in agreement, while Mrs. Martinez muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “telenovelas are more subtle than this.”
Jason remained rooted to the spot, transfixed by the scene before him.
Victoria—his perfectly poised, perpetually controlled wife—was completely transformed.
Her hair, free from its usual severe styling, tumbled in soft waves around her shoulders.
The oversized shirt had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a tantalizing expanse of smooth skin.
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her gray eyes sparkling with genuine emotion instead of their usual calculated coolness.
She looked… beautiful. Not in her usual untouchable, ice queen way, but in a warm, alive, achingly real way that made his mouth go dry.
The way she curled her bare feet under her, the way she gestured animatedly at the screen, the way her t-shirt draped over her curves—it was all so effortlessly sensual that he felt his blood heating despite himself.
Mrs. Martinez was the first to notice him, shooting to her feet with a startled “Dios mío!” that nearly sent her dessert spoon flying. She attempted to subtly signal the maids—emphasis on attempted, as her frantic hand gestures would have made an air traffic controller proud.
Maria and Elena, thoroughly invested in the unfolding drama on-screen, remained oblivious to their housekeeper’s increasingly desperate semaphore signals.
Finally, Mrs. Martinez resorted to a throat-clearing that sounded like a small locomotive coming to an emergency stop, punctuated by a head jerk in Jason’s direction that probably gave her whiplash.
Maria glanced up in confusion, probably wondering if Mrs. Martinez was having some sort of sophisticated seizure, then followed her gaze. The color drained from her face faster than wine from a tipped glass when she spotted Jason. Her elbow found Elena’s ribs with surgical precision.
Both maids leaped to their feet as though their couch had suddenly been electrified, hands frantically smoothing uniforms that had relaxed along with their professional boundaries. They wore identical expressions of guilt that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a lineup of cookie-jar raiders.
Gregory, master of the kitchen but apparently not of subtle social cues, finally noticed the mass exodus of his audience.
He turned, spotted Jason, and nearly dropped the soufflé dish he was holding.
The usually unflappable chef managed to recover with remarkable grace, suddenly developing the ability to carry what appeared to be every dish in the tri-state area at once.
“These should, ah, probably go to the kitchen,” he mumbled, executing a retreat so strategic it deserved its own chapter in military history books.
“Wait, where is everyone going?” Victoria protested, still focused on the screen. “Fine! Run away, but I’m telling you all what happens tomorrow! Every. Single. Plot. Twist!” Her playful threat echoed down the hallway after the retreating staff.
She leaned forward, completely absorbed in the drama unfolding on-screen. The hero, Hyun-woo, had the heroine cornered in his office, one hand braced against the wall beside her head. The sexual tension crackled between them like lightning in a summer storm.