The next day, Sarah woke up with a groan, her entire body aching from last night's self-defense training with Mark. Every muscle complained the moment she shifted under the covers. She really didn't want to get up, but her alarm had no mercy. Its loud buzz echoed through the room, snapping her back to reality.
With a sigh, she dragged herself out of bed, stretching stiffly before walking into the bathroom. A hot shower helped soothe some of the soreness, steam filling the space as she stood under the water, letting it wash the tension from her limbs.
Afterward, she returned to her room and changed into her office outfit: a soft cream blouse tucked into a high-waisted navy skirt that hugged her curves just right. She wore a tailored blazer in a matching tone, a pair of nude heels, and delicate gold jewelry that added a touch of elegance. Her hair, still slightly damp, was neatly brushed and tied in a loose low ponytail.
Just as she stepped out of the room, the smell of food greeted her nose—warm, savory, and inviting.
To her surprise, Mark was already in the dining room, setting down two plates on the table.
"I thought we were going to eat out this morning," Sarah said, blinking.
Mark looked up and smiled. "Come have something before you go to work."
"Oh! Okay," Sarah replied, walking over to join him. She took a seat, the warmth of the food comforting against the ache in her limbs.
As she picked up her fork and took the first bite, she looked at him with a mix of gratitude and guilt. "Now you make me feel bad. Even though I enjoy your cooking, I still feel guilty if you'll always cook while I just show up to eat."
"You don't have to feel bad," Mark said with a calm expression. "You earn the money and I take care of the house. If anyone should feel bad, it should be me."
Sarah shook her head quickly. "No, no. You can't say that. I was the one who asked you to marry me for my own selfish purpose. So you don't have to feel bad about anything."
Mark gave a small laugh. "Okay. But I don't have anything else to do anyway—and I actually enjoy cooking."
"Okay then," Sarah said with a smile. "When I come back from work, we'll start my cooking lessons."
Then suddenly, something crossed her mind. "Oh! I remembered—there's an auction tomorrow evening at the mayor's house. Since you'll be bored staying home by yourself, would you like to come with me?"
Mark gave her a soft look. "If you want me to come with you, then I will. That's my purpose."
Sarah looked at him for a few seconds, her eyes studying his face.
"What is it?" Mark asked, noticing the way she stared.
Sarah hesitated, a little embarrassed. But she said it anyway.
"Aanh… don't you think you need to shave?"
Mark touched his beard, running his fingers slowly through it, then scratched his jaw as he thought about it. "I'll only cut my beard and mustache. But not my hair."
"That'll do," Sarah said, visibly pleased. Truth was, she had been thinking the same. Mark's hair—long, thick, and wild—only made him look more sexy and manly. It suited him perfectly.
"Then we'll go to the salon when I come back from work," she added.
Mark nodded.
After finishing her breakfast, Sarah stood, grabbed her handbag, and headed to the door.
"I'll see you later," she said.
She smiled, then stepped out and closed the door behind her.
****
Sarah entered the building of TrueMotion Logistics—her company, her vision, her hard work turned into structure and staff. It wasn't one of those big names plastered across magazines, but it was hers, and that mattered more than popularity.
She had built it from scratch, with nothing but the inheritance her mother left behind and a determination sharper than any business degree. It started as a humble office with barely enough clients to keep going, but now it had grown enough to stand among competitors, to fight for projects that once seemed unreachable.
TrueMotion was a multitasking logistics company, adapting to whatever the market demanded—whether it was freight, cargo, warehousing, or something in between. Sarah made sure the company could bend without breaking.
As she walked through the modern lobby, people greeted her with respect.
"Good morning, Ms. Whitmore."
She nodded in reply without breaking her stride. Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she headed for her office on the top floor.
But as she approached, she noticed her secretary, Meryem, already standing by her office door. Her expression was tight, and something about the way she clutched her tablet hinted at trouble.
"Morning, Meryem," Sarah said, unlocking the door.
"Good morning, Ms. Whitmore," Meryem greeted, stepping inside behind her.
Sarah placed her bag on the desk and turned toward her, noticing the hesitation in her posture. "What is it, Meryem?"
Meryem didn't waste time. "It's the Eastbridge logistics project. The one we've been preparing a proposal for."
Sarah's eyes sharpened. "What about it?"
"They changed the deadline. They want all final proposals submitted by tomorrow. If we don't submit it by then, we're out."
Sarah stared for a second, stunned. "Tomorrow? That's insane. We were supposed to have until next month. What happened?"
Meryem shook her head. "Up until yesterday, it was still next month. But this morning they released a statement saying the timeline was 'updated for strategic reasons.'"
Sarah scoffed bitterly, her tone turning cold. "Strategic, my ass. They've already promised the project to someone else. They just want us to back off voluntarily so it doesn't look bad."
Meryem nodded. "What should we do?"
"There's nothing we can do," Sarah said, jaw clenched. "This was never going to be a fair fight. They've made up their minds. We're just being played."
Meryem lowered her eyes, clearly disappointed. Sarah waved a hand slightly, signaling her to go.
Meryem turned and left the office quietly, closing the door behind her.
Once alone, Sarah slumped slightly in her chair. Her fingers tapped irritably against the desk. Deep down, she wasn't just angry—she was furious. This project was supposed to be her company's next big step, the one that would finally put TrueMotion on the map. It could've pushed her out of the shadows and into recognition.
Now, all of that was gone.
She spent the rest of her day in silence, reading emails, reviewing files, and responding to questions—but her mood was completely ruined. She didn't smile. She didn't joke. She barely even spoke unless she had to.
All because a rigged system stole her chance.
****
In a dimly lit lounge that smelled faintly of cigar smoke and expensive cologne, Mr. Ashford sat back comfortably in his leather chair, a thick cigar resting between his fingers. His expression was calm, almost bored—until one of his men entered the room.
"Mr. Ashford, we did as you instructed," the man reported. "They've accepted the change. The proposal deadline has officially been moved from next month to tomorrow."
Ashford took a long drag from his cigar, exhaled the smoke slowly, then gave a twisted smile.
"Good, good… now let's see what the little lamb would do," he said, his voice cold and deliberate. Then he let out a dry, chilling laugh—the kind that echoed madness and arrogance. "Hahaha… I'll use this project to make her divorce that stinking beggar she dares to call a husband."
He spat the last word with disgust, his lips curling like he'd tasted something foul.
The man cleared his throat before continuing. "Also, sir, we've confirmed she'll be attending the auction at the mayor's house tomorrow. Her name is on the guest list. And... Ursula—the mayor's daughter—is her best friend, so she won't miss it."
Ashford's eyes narrowed with a glint of wicked pleasure. "Then it's settled," he said, standing slowly and adjusting his cufflinks. "We'll attend that boring little gathering too."
He grinned, revealing all his yellow-stained teeth, the result of too many cigars and too much arrogance.
"Let's pay our dear Sarah a visit," he muttered darkly. "Let's see how far she's willing to go to protect that filthy stray she dragged into her house."
He let the cigar fall into the ashtray and crushed it with his ringed fingers like it was nothing.