Emily Carter‘s marriage

Alexander Grant

Alexander Grant, thirty-one and unmarried, was the eldest son groomed since childhood to inherit the family empire. A graduate from China’s top architectural engineering program, he began apprenticing in the family business during college. After completing an Ivy League management program abroad, he assumed leadership of Pinnacle Group under his father’s mentorship, securing absolute control three years ago.

His younger brother, Daniel Grant—a playboy who flunked college admissions—had his degree secured through a "donation" to his preferred university. Their father now trained him in managing Luxe Hospitality Group’s hotels and bars post-retirement.

The Grants harbored skeletons: Alexander’s half-sister Victoria, born to his father’s mistress and raised in the household, was currently burning through funds at a foreign university.

Alexander’s life had been pre-scripted—carry the family’s weight, ensure its dominance, and marry according to blueprint. His father’s demands left no room for rebellion.

Overseeing twelve active projects (residential complexes, factories), Alexander survived on 3-4 hours of sleep during crunch periods.

His secretary Emily Carter, recruited from Budget & Final Accounts, proved unexpectedly ideal: discreet, unflappable, and paradoxically wise beyond her 24 years. Though plain-faced and pleasantly plump, her virtues outweighed superficial flaws—she never gossiped, never pried, and maintained an iron curtain around his affairs.

Her sole defect? A baffling lack of career hunger. The moment clock-out arrived, she’d vanish “like a rabbit released from a trap,” resisting recall with polite obstinacy.

During midnight drives, Emily sipped stealthy coffee through headphones while Alexander slept. Delivering him to his penthouse in the Grant-developed elite complex, she’d hand over his briefcase.

“My compliments to your mother—her congee is exceptional,” he’d murmur, trudging inside.

“Of course, Mr. Grant. Rest well,” she’d reply, already mentally calculating triple overtime pay.

Emily harbored no illusions about her wealthy boss. She took pride in clean professionalism—no shortcuts, no scheming, just fair compensation for honest work.

Returning home at 3:30 AM, she’d find her parents asleep and a fridge note: Congee’s warm, sweetheart. After washing Alexander’s thermos and eating, she’d collapse into dreamless sleep, snoring softly by 3:45.

By 8:10 AM, she’d be at her desk on Pinnacle Tower’s 26th floor—the executive tier housing Alexander’s fortress-like office. Behind security doors lay a reception hub, staff stations, and a VIP chamber mimicking state banquet halls with silk-walled landscapes and hand-knotted wool carpets.

“Custom-made, identical to what you’ve seen on TV,” office manager Mrs. Li had whispered during Emily’s wide-eyed first tour.

Alexander’s arrival ritual never varied: review schedules with Mrs. Li, then bark, “Breakfast?”

“Ready, sir,” Emily would answer, sliding over oatmeal and fresh juice. Her organizational alchemy had even regularized his meals.

Her core duty? Orchestrating his warzone schedule—meetings, site inspections, investor pitches. Support staff handled tea service and guest logistics; Emily focused on ensuring Alexander’s day ran with Swiss precision.

Glancing at his post-travel agenda—back-to-back approvals and strategy sessions—she stifled a sigh: This man must’ve been a human gyroscope in a past life. He won’t even have bathroom breaks today.