My Rival is My CEO

Chapter 12: Housewarming From Hell

*ELENA'S POV*

The elevator dinged at 7:51 PM.

My father walked in first. Robert Evans, $2B net worth, never early for anything except ruining my life. Behind him Charles Knight, smiling like this was his favorite reality show. Behind them Zara, holding two bottles of champagne and mouthing "I'm sorry" at me.

And there I was. Barefoot. Black office dress riding up because I was sitting on the bed. Pink suitcase vomited all over the ONE bed. Damian holding my bra that had fallen out — he was holding it with two fingers like it was a bomb.

Silence.

My father looked at the bra. Looked at Damian. Looked at me.

"Elena," he said, voice too calm. "Is that how you unpack?"

Damian dropped the bra instantly. It landed on his shoe. Worse.

"Mr. Evans," Damian said, recovering fast, "We were just — synergy. The closet system —"

"Synergy," Charles repeated, loving this. "See, Robert? They are already sharing everything. Even undergarments."

Zara choked.

I stood up, grabbing the bra, shoving it into the suitcase. "Dad, we got the email at 7:15. We had 45 minutes. We have no food, no glasses, and 20 executives coming at 8 PM to judge whether our fake marriage is real enough for Wall Street Journal."

"So you decided to start with the bedroom?" my father asked, raising an eyebrow at the bounced sheets.

"We were deciding closet space," I said. "Left side mine, right side his. Like the desk."

"Like the desk," Charles echoed, walking to the massive windows. "Speaking of which, how is sharing one desk going, children?"

DAMIAN'S POV

How is sharing one desk going? I wanted to say: Your son is hard every time she reaches across for the stapler. But I didn't.

"It's... efficient," I said, instead. "We close deals 40% faster."

"Do you?" Robert Evans turned to me. "Because I heard you closed a deal today by putting your hand on my daughter's chair and calling it synergy."

He knew. Of course Cole told him. Cole tells everyone everything when Charles pays him $50.

Elena stepped in, barefoot but savage. "Dad, stop. This whole one desk, one key, one bed thing — it was you two. You planned this in 2019 when I was 16. You didn't ask me."

"We asked the lawyers," Charles said. "Same thing."

The intercom buzzed again. 7:58 PM.

"Mr. and Mrs. Knight, your senior staff has arrived. All 20. They are in the lobby with... catering they brought themselves because they heard you have no food."

Elena looked at me. Panic. Real panic. Not boardroom panic — hostess panic.

"We have 2 minutes," she whispered.

I grabbed her hand. Not tactical this time. Real. "We do what we did in the office. Same side. Same team. You smile like you love me, I smile like I don't want to fire everyone here."

"And the bed?" she whispered, eyes darting to the suitcase still open, bra still visible.

"Leave it," I said. "Let them think we were... unpacking. It's more believable than a perfectly made bed."

Her cheeks went red. "Damian!"

"You're the one who wore the black dress, Evans. You wanted this."

The elevator dinged again. Second load. Maya, Cole, Zara's boyfriend, and 10 Knight Corp VPs, all holding wine, flowers, and judgment.

Maya froze when she saw us — me in suit pants and white shirt sleeves rolled, Elena barefoot in black dress, hand in mine, bed behind us looking like a crime scene.

"Oh," Maya said. "Oh, you two actually —"

"We actually need champagne," Elena cut in, sweet, lethal. "Zara?"

Zara popped the first bottle like she'd been waiting for this moment her whole life. "To Mr. & Mrs. Knight! One desk, one key, one bed, one amazing lawsuit if this fails!"

Everyone laughed, uncomfortable.

My father clapped. "Speech! The happy couple should say something. How does it feel to live together after sharing a desk?"

20 people turned to us. 20 phones ready. The Wall Street Journal photographer was already in the corner — he was supposed to come at 8 AM tomorrow, but Charles had moved him to tonight. Of course.

Elena squeezed my hand so hard her nails dug in. Help me, her eyes said.

I squeezed back. And I did something I didn't plan.

I pulled her into me. One arm around her waist, her bare feet off the cold marble, her body flush against my suit. She gasped — small, real.

"How does it feel?" I said, loud enough for everyone, eyes on her, not them. "It feels like finally having someone who can keep up. At the desk and at home. My wife doesn't need her own desk. She needs my desk to be bigger."

Cheesy. Possessive. Exactly what the press wants.

Elena stared up at me, eyes wide, lips parted. For a second, she forgot the 20 people. For a second, it was just us and the one bed behind us.

Then she recovered. Savage Evans recovery.

She put her hand on my chest, over my heart, and smiled — that dangerous red-lip smile she used in finals to make me lose.

"It feels like finally having a husband who knows where my bras go," she said, sweet. "In his side of the closet. Because he likes it there."

Silence. Then everyone lost it. Laughter, cheers, Zara screaming "THAT'S MY GIRL."

My father laughed hardest. "Good! Good! That's the headline! _Knights Share Everything!_"

My arm was still around her waist. Her hand still on my chest. My heart was beating so loud I was sure the photographer could hear it.

Robert Evans wasn't laughing. He was watching us, watching my hand on his daughter's waist, watching her bare feet not touching the floor because I was still holding her up.

He walked forward, took the champagne from Zara, and said, cold:

"Beautiful speech. Now, Elena, can I speak to you alone in the kitchen? Without your... husband? And Damian, Charles wants you on the balcony. Now."

Separate rooms. Same trap as always.

Elena looked at me. I looked at her. The one bed was still unmade behind us, suitcase open, and now both fathers wanted us alone at 8:03 PM while 20 people watched to see if we would let go of each other.

I didn't want to let go.

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