The CEO's Revenge Marriage

Chapter 3 Lina Regrets a Little

Lina couldn't stop herself from choking on her tears. In this cutthroat job market, where even entry-level positions require three years of experience, a position at a conglomerate like Gu's Group had always been her golden ticket. Now, it was slipping through her shaking fingers.

"Mrs. Vanlare," she pleaded, her nails digging crescents into her palms, "I will improve. Give me one more chance."

The CEO's pen kept scratching across the vellum. "Convince me."

Her mind went blank, and panic set in. Her desperate gaze found Assistant Xu, the only ally in this glass and steel arena.

"Mrs." Lina said, glancing at her platinum watch, "We're flying to JFK in ninety-three minutes. Considering midtown traffic and TSA pre-check, you only have four minutes to wrap this up."

Christal Vanlare finally looked up, her obsidian eyes sweeping over the junior marketer clutching the torn presentation notes. "This discussion is not over yet." He snapped his briefcase shut. "Bring the third quarter forecast to the flight for review. Let's go." ”

Back in her cubicle, Lina’s trembling exhalations blurred the monitor screen. Maybe the Ice Emperor would forget about it during the Tokyo negotiations. Maybe the Airbus A380 would crash into the Pacific. Both seemed equally likely.

Her shaking fingers navigated to John Wilson’s contact. Three rings disappeared into voicemail. The hollow tone echoed her shaky composure. John would answer immediately before the argument, his warm baritone melting her anxiety like sugar in tea.

[John, pick me up after get off work? Bring your jasmine milk tea.] She stared at the sent message, her stomach churning. Had she just given up on their cold war? Now he expected her to give in at every argument, like some docile Stepford girlfriend.

Fine. Let him be the driver today. But tonight… tonight he would remember every clause of the Relationship Agreement they had drawn up last Valentine’s Day—probably while handcuffed to the bed frame.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, John Wilson paced the server room of his startup. The LEDs on his smartwatch The counter flashes relentlessly: [8 DAYS REMAINING].

His mother’s ultimatum echoes through the buzzing shelves—find a fiancée by Sunday brunch or his trust fund will be confiscated. Every contact on his iPhone taunts him: the ex-girlfriend (disastrous), the programming partner (male), the barista who spelled his name as “about” for two years (probably illiterate).

WeChat notifications illuminate his face in the dark. Lina’s message gleams like a digital olive branch. His thumb hovers over the keyboard. This complicates everything.

apter 6 Lina Wants to Be a Rich Wife

578 words

John’s thumb rested on the send button for a moment before issuing a stern electronic command:

[We’re done. Ask your lovely driver.]

He drove the Audi toward his childhood home, the leather seats absorbing his wry smile. The oak door of the Tudor mansion opened, and his father clutched a platinum credit card in his hand, like a relic.

“Son,” John’s father pressed the cold metal against his palm, “this is a down payment on your first house—your mom has maxed out her 401(k).”

John’s throat became choked with guilt. How to explain squandering his grandfather’s inheritance on cryptocurrency? The Rolex Daytona on his wrist suddenly weighed 40 pounds.

“Keep it,” he pushed the card back. “Retire to Napa Valley. Drink that bottle of ’82 Lafite Rothschild.”

His mother came out wearing the Talbots slacks he’d bought during his internship at sss. The sight broke his defenses. He pocketed the damn card.

Dinner was spent with clanking casseroles and unspoken truths. Later, in his childhood bedroom, still plastered with MIT posters, John stared at the Tiffany blue wedding invitation that mocked him on his dresser. Eight days. He needed a wife-shaped placeholder. Quick.

Across town, Lena pounded in her Louboutin heels outside the Art Deco building of Vanlare & Co. Thirty-seven minutes. No John. Her reflection in the brass turnstile showed smudged Charlotte Tilbury lipstick—applied three times for protection.

Text notifications rang like air raid sirens.

[Ethan. Subway. Now. ]

Her Valentino handbag became a marker for 5 p.m. The battering ram of the subway crowd. The bellies of Wall Street bigwigs pressed against her back, and sweat soaked her silk blouse. Ever since Mr. John had driven her in his Model S, she had forgotten the existence of this urban purgatory.

Two transfers later, Lena emerged from the 86th Street station, her face full of despair and bad breath. Mr. Shaw's Maserati was idling illegally on the side of the road.

"Honey!" He kissed her cheek, ignoring her stiff posture. "Wait until you see our love nest."

Last month, the penthouse overlooking Central Park West might have dazzled her. Now, its cold marble responded to the emptiness in her chest. During the "visit", Ethan's hand moved south.

"Are you hungry?" His breath hit her neck.

"Eat," Lena emphasized, shrugging and taking off her Armani suit jacket.

Ethan blinked. "There's stock in the kitchen."

Her laughter got sharper, "You still expect me to cook?"

Before the impasse was resolved, the elevator rang, and a woman covered in Van Cleef & Arpels rushed in, waving a platinum bag like a medieval flail.

"Throw it away!" The hostess slapped Lin in the face, leaving four diamond-studded scars. "Do you think our rich family needs a materialistic rock climber?"

Ethan adjusted his Piaget watch and said nothing.

His mother continued to scream: "If the eldest lady knew, she would definitely not fall for it and would not get engaged to you!"

Lin's scream shattered the French windows. "You're getting engaged to someone else!"

The heir shrugged. "Mom likes rich blood, you're so... interesting."

She stared at E with red eyes. What made her more unbearable than that slap was Ethan's attitude. He watched her mother beat her, neither stopping nor showing any expression, as if she deserved to be beaten. What’s even more abominable is that he was going to get engaged, but he tricked her into going home!