Violette had always known she’d married a titan, but she hadn’t quite grasped that a titan’s orbit is filled entirely with other titans.

The higher you climb, the smaller the world becomes. It seemed like everyone here was an acquaintance of someone else.

By the time they sat down for lunch, Emma Fox felt slightly less paralyzed by nerves, though her feet remained glued together beneath the table. Her confidence came from being Violette Ellis’s protégé; her unease came from the sheer weight of the heavy hitters filling the room.

Martin Ruiz had just finished the introductions.

Secretary-generals of various councils, board supervisors, executives of massive conglomerates—the titles alone were enough to make one’s head spin.

The table was set, but no one dared to pick up their chopsticks. Their frequent glances toward the door suggested they were still waiting for the true guest of honor.

Emma leaned in, whispering, "Mentor, who are we waiting for?"

Who else could it be? Roman Griffin, obviously. Why else would Martin Ruiz go out of his way to invite Violette to this lunch?

As if on cue, the double doors were pulled open by a waiter. Roman strode in with effortless composure. He was wearing the same double-breasted suit he’d left in that morning, the top button fastened, accentuating his lean, powerful frame.

He apologized for the delay with a mild, modest tone, yet every movement carried the unhurried authority of a man who owned the room.

His eyes swept the table, coming to rest on Violette. He walked straight toward her.

Some of the guests, unaware of their relationship, scrambled to offer him the head of the table.

Roman waved a hand. "Not necessary."

He sat down next to Violette, undoing his jacket button as he did. He didn't even look at the others, instead leaning in toward her. "Not too busy today? No rush to get back to the station?"

Those in the dark finally had their lightbulb moment. They’d heard rumors that the CEO’s wife was the lead anchor at the local news station.

"I can spare the time for a meal," Violette said with a faint smile. "Otherwise, if I went back now, I’d just be dragging Emma to the cafeteria for leftovers."

Only then did Roman glance toward her protégé, offering a polite, distant nod. "Ms. Fox, a pleasure."

"Nice to meet you, sir—er, wait, I mean, Mr. Griffin, hello!"

His entire world was concentrated on Violette. Everyone else in the room was merely a background blur—a "Oh, I suppose there’s another person sitting there" sort of afterthought.

Emma, watching from the sidelines, kept her mouth shut after that.

Every business lunch is a vortex. Regardless of the seating chart or the reason for the gathering, the conversation inevitably drifts toward the center of power. And yet, these "big shots" didn’t look so different from regular people. Perhaps they were just more willing to trade their dignity for a slice of the profit.

Even with her connection to Violette, Emma was already being showered with empty flattery—"bold as a lioness," "the rising star." It was absurd. A few months ago, she was still arguing with the cafeteria lady over a scoop of rice; a few days ago, she was just an errand girl at the stadium; and just this morning, she’d been stammering through an interview.

Emma sipped her juice, bored, her eyes darting toward the couple next to her. It was better than any fan fiction.

From the moment Roman entered, his focus remained tethered to Violette. He listened to the business talk with half an ear, yet he managed to deposit the exact side dish she wanted onto her plate the moment she moved her wrist.

When someone tried to toast Violette, he intercepted before she could even open her mouth. "She has to head back to the station this afternoon."

He took the glass from her hand, offered a subtle, dismissive nod to the guest, and drained it himself.

Having the CEO do the drinking for her was an honor, but after the second time, nobody dared to push their luck.

Violette leaned in, whispering, "Aren't you heading back to the office?"

"I am. I carved out some time to have lunch with you."

Violette cast a sideways glance at him. "Then why drink so much?"

"Don't you know my tolerance?" Roman’s eyelids drooped slightly, a faint flush rising against his pale, cold skin. Whether it was the alcohol or a calculated decision to let a bit of truth slip, he added, "Or did you mistake me for someone else?"

Violette wasn’t sure what his tolerance was. All she knew was that at their wedding reception, he’d faced a gauntlet of drinkers and never once wavered. She’d expected to go home and nurse a drunkard, only to find that once the lights were out, she could still feel his sharp, hungry gaze in the darkness—a predator stalking the plains, and she was the catch.

His tolerance was clearly fine.

Not fully grasping the implication of his last comment, she defaulted to a safe, neutral response. "Drinking like that… it’s hard on your health."

"Duly noted," Roman said. "Besides, they won't dare toast again."

The conversation might have ended there, but this was a dinner party, and there were always opportunists. Halfway through the meal, someone mentioned a friend in the adjacent room wanted to stop by and offer a toast.

Everyone turned to Roman.

"It’s your party, Martin," Roman said, glancing at Ruiz. "You decide."

Businessmen rarely turn away networking opportunities. Moments later, the neighbor entered. The man leading the group had a diamond brooch pinned to his lapel, catching the light in a vulgar way.

Violette looked over, and a spark of recognition flickered.

The man with the brooch locked eyes with Roman, offering a sycophantic, overly respectful smile.

"This is Roland Hayes from SkySea Cosmetics," someone introduced. "And this is Mr. Griffin from V-Oasis."

Roman raised his glass in a perfunctory gesture. "Mr. Hayes."

"Please, please," Hayes said, lowering his stance, his glass hovering near his waist. "Just call me Roland."

Violette remembered now.

This was the guy she’d doused in spicy hot-pot broth years ago. Deepwater was a massive city; she hadn’t run into him for years. Yet here they were, trapped in the same room.

She watched as his eyes shifted toward her, lingering for a second. *Surely he doesn't have that good of a memory?* she thought.

The others might have missed the shift in Violette’s demeanor, but Roman caught it instantly. He moved his chair, subtly shielding her from view.

He set his glass down with a cold click. "I’ve reached my limit. I hope you understand."

Hayes didn’t dare argue. He’d only come to rub elbows with V-Oasis. Feeling the need to fill the silence, he pointed to Violette. "And this lady is...?"

"My wife," Roman said.

"Mrs. Griffin is breathtaking," Hayes gushed, clutching at straws. "I must have been mistaken, but you look so familiar. Have we met?"

The person who had introduced him tried to smooth it over. "That’s a tired line, Roland. How many pretty girls have you told that to?"

"I wouldn't dare!" Hayes laughed nervously. "I’d never joke like that with Mrs. Griffin. I truly feel like I’ve seen her somewhere."

"Must be on the news," a guest chimed in. "Mrs. Griffin is one of the top anchors at our local station."

Hayes froze. The blurred, messy image from years ago suddenly sharpened in his mind.

Violette offered a polite, distant smile. "I’m working behind the scenes now. You’re too kind."

She didn’t use her professional broadcast voice, but her tone was crisp and melodic—the kind of voice that stuck in a person's head. Hayes felt a prickle of recognition. He stared at her features, and the more he looked, the more certain he became. Why had he dismissed his own suspicion back at the station all those years ago?

And now, considering her status...

Hayes fumbled with his tie. "Must have been the news, then. A pleasure to meet you."

As he stepped out of the room, Hayes unbuttoned his collar, his pace jagged and restless. A bitter, festering resentment from years ago began to bubble up. He grit his teeth, feeling both a lingering, frustrated itch and a deep, burning indignation.

Why, of all the women in the world, did she have to be Roman Griffin’s wife?