My Burning Desire by RK

Chapter 5

Janelle’s pov

As the words finally leave his lips, my entire world grinds to a grinding, absolute halt.

I freeze. Did I actually just hear him correctly?

Wife?

My mind short-circuits. Panic, disbelief, and sheer vertigo collide behind my ribs. Convinced I'm trapped in some bizarre, stress-induced nightmare, I discreetly dig my fingernails into my palm, pinching hard to see if I'll wake up.

I don't.

Oliver looks down at me, a dangerous, victorious heat in his eyes, daring me to challenge him. But my throat is completely dry. I have zero words.

For three long, agonizing seconds, the silence in the ballroom is absolute. And then, the dam breaks.

The room instantly bursts into a deafening rush of applause, gasps, and chaotic congratulations. Someone from the senior board of directors pushes through the crowd, clapping Oliver heavily on the back.

"Well, I'll be damned. Never thought I'd see the day Oliver Reed actually decided to settle down," the board member laughs, shaking his head in sheer disbelief before turning his attention to me. "Congratulations, my dear—"

He leans in to offer a polite peck on the cheek or a handshake, but before he can even complete the motion, Oliver’s hand moves with lightning speed. He intercepts my hand, gently pulling it out of reach of the man's space, and lifts my fingers to his lips. He presses a slow, deliberate kiss to my knuckles, never breaking eye contact with the executive.

The gentleman pauses, a knowing, slightly awed smile stretching across his face as the message lands loud and clear. Oliver hasn't just made an announcement; he has laid absolute, unmistakable claim to me right in front of the entire company, and no one—not even the board—is going to cross that boundary.

As the night lingers on and the initial shockwaves settle, the ballroom settles into a steady, swirling rhythm of music, clinking glasses, and whispered gossip.

The congratulations roll in,in a steady stream. Colleagues, executives, and department heads file past our table to offer handshakes and smiles. Even Chris eventually walks up, his expression a mix of forced politeness and thinly veiled unease as he mutters an apology to Oliver, claiming he simply "didn't know." Oliver accepts it with a cold, unyielding nod that makes it entirely clear there will be no second chances.

Through it all, Oliver never leaves my side. Not for a single moment.

When it’s time for the formal proceedings, he doesn't take the podium across the room. Instead, he delivers his executive speech right from our table, one arm slung securely over the back of my chair, pulling me firmly into his orbit. He thanks the staff for their hard work, acknowledging the company's milestones, but his presence is entirely anchored to me.

I paste a polite, glowing smile onto my face for the benefit of the room, nodding when people look our way. But beneath the surface, my stomach is doing a slow, heavy freefall. I am still nowhere near confident enough to wear this new reality like a second skin. Every flash of a camera, every lingering sideways glance from the corporate ladder-climbers, leaves me wondering: Where is all of this actually leading?

At 11:00 PM, the ballroom slowly begins to empty as guests start making their way home, the chatter fading into the hum of departing cars outside.

Watching them leave sends a sudden, sharp shiver straight down my spine as my mind flashes back to last year. Exactly a year ago, Oliver had insisted we head back to the empty office after hours to "finalize an urgent report" for the investors. I remember the suffocating tension in the silent hallways, the way my heart had hammered against my ribs—and how one thing had abruptly, breathlessly led to another, changing the entire trajectory of my life.

A ghost of heat rushes through me at the memory of our first kiss that night. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a revelation. My very first kiss, and the quiet, irreversible beginning of my first of everything. To think that the man who had kept me in the shadows back then is the same man who just declared me his future wife in front of the entire company leaves me utterly breathless.

Oliver turns toward me, his movements deliberate and unhurried amidst the fading crowd. He brushes his knuckles against the back of my hand, a grounding, familiar touch that instantly cuts through the haze of my racing thoughts.

"Ready to leave?" he asks quietly, his dark eyes searching mine as if he can read every single tremor of doubt beneath my forced smile.

I nod, a tight, breathless movement, desperately wanting to get out from under the weight of a hundred staring eyes and clear everything away.