As soon as Roman Griffin stepped into the study, he felt the heavy, stifling silence in the air.

Emerson Griffin sat in his oversized leather cigar chair, scanning the morning paper. It was New Year’s Day, and the front page was dominated by the spectacular fireworks display at South Lake from the night before. The vivid, high-contrast photos looked like an oil painting splashed across the page.

Emerson didn’t speak, so Roman simply picked up a cigar cutter, trimmed the tip, and lit it with a steady hand. He flicked his fingers, releasing a plume of smoke, and the faint, earthy aroma of tobacco began to drift through the room.

He held the cigar out. Finally, Emerson set the newspaper aside.

"Sit."

Roman pulled up a chair across from him.

"Care for one?" Emerson asked.

"No, thanks," Roman replied. "We’re trying for a baby."

Emerson raised an eyebrow in surprise. After a long beat, his expression softened slightly. "I suppose that makes sense. By the time I was your age, I already had two children."

He hadn’t summoned Roman to talk shop—V-Oasis was doing perfectly well on its own. Initially, the family hadn't wanted Roman to venture out into his own industry, preferring he take the reins of the family group directly. But looking at the results, his success was, in its own way, a masterstroke of control. V-Oasis had woven its influence into every facet of the market. Anywhere there was a need for visual technology, they had an opening.

Emerson put the business talk aside and went straight to the point. "I heard someone made a very loud, very public romantic gesture at the skyscraper in the Financial District, right across from the Deepwater Spire."

Roman’s pulse quickened.

"Was that your doing?" Emerson asked.

If he’d used the nickname "Violette," it wouldn't have been hard for the Griffin family to figure out. But he had used two completely anonymous characters for the display. It was frustrating to be clocked so quickly.

Roman’s surprise lasted only a few seconds before he looked his father in the eye. "It was me."

"Hmph." Emerson let out a cold, sharp laugh.

"Is that why you called me here? To ask about that?"

If this were a typical father, he would have spent the time lecturing his son for being distracted by a woman instead of focusing on his work. But that didn't apply to Roman. He hadn’t missed a single beat at the office; just today, only two hours after the V-Oasis conference concluded, their new machinery had already smashed sales records, and the new competitive software was receiving rave reviews.

As for chasing women? Violette Ellis was his wife. Calling it "chasing" was a stretch; it was simply doting on her.

Aside from that dry chuckle, Emerson didn't really know what to say.

"Mind your public image," Emerson finally managed.

Roman was about to agree when his father added, "And do the same at home."

...

While father and son discussed business in the study, Violette was in the living room, gritting her teeth and trying to maintain her composure while dealing with Roman’s mother, Margaret Lewis.

She could count the number of times she’d met her mother-in-law on one hand: once before the wedding, once at the ceremony, and this was the third. Even though Margaret’s presence was gentle and far from intimidating, Violette still felt like she was sitting on pins and needles.

The gifts they had brought today were all curated by Roman. Margaret was currently trying on a pair of pearl earrings with genuine delight. Violette recognized the brand—it was understated, high-end, and elegant.

Roman truly knew how to pick a gift. If he had just grabbed a generic piece of haute couture, Margaret would have known instantly that it was a hollow gesture. Given Violette’s salary, she couldn't afford a random piece of high-luxury jewelry, so these earrings were the perfect choice—they clearly signaled that she had put real thought into the selection.

Margaret didn’t take them off. The pearls caught the light against her skin, making her look both graceful and radiant.

"I heard from the staff this morning that someone rented the screens on the financial skyscraper for a midnight proposal," Margaret said with a smile. "I went to bed early, so I missed the real thing. Violette, you were at the Deepwater Spire—did you see it?"

Violette, who had been mid-sip of water to ease her awkwardness, nearly choked. She set her cup down, forcing a mask of calm onto her face. "Yes… I saw it."

"Was it pretty?"

"…It was."

"I wonder who loves his wife that much," Margaret mused. "Young people are so romantic these days."

Had her brain been operating at its usual professional speed, Violette would have noticed the contradiction in that statement: if Margaret truly didn’t know who it was, why was she so certain it was a man doting on his wife? A normal reaction would have been the same gossip going around the city—that some young heir was chasing a girl.

Violette was so nervous and embarrassed that she was terrified of accidentally revealing that she and Roman were the ones behind it, fearing Margaret would get the wrong impression of her.

Seeing her squirm, Margaret chuckled. "When your father-in-law was young, he chased me the same way. He wanted the whole world to see, just so he could scare off any potential rivals."

"Father-in-law?" Violette asked, genuinely stunned. He looked like the last man on earth to do something like that.

"Was it a digital billboard too?"

"We didn’t have such high-tech ways back then," Margaret said. "He held dozens of charity galas and auctions in my name. Once he put the Griffin name behind it, who didn’t know that I was going to be his wife?"

Margaret leaned in, lowering her voice. "To be honest, I didn't really have a choice back then. Every other eligible man in town knew Emerson was after me, so they just backed off."

Violette couldn’t help but ask, "Did you love him back then?"

"I only learned to love him after we married," Margaret said, perfectly poised. "Before that, we weren't even close."

It was a real-life version of "marry first, fall in love later," Violette realized.

Margaret’s well-manicured hand touched her lips with a playful 'shush.' "Don't be fooled by how serious he looks. He’s actually quite easy to get along with."

"He does seem..." Violette started, but the words died in her throat.

Then, Margaret dropped a piece of news that made Violette want to bolt.

"Since work has been quieter lately, he just sits in the living room watching television. Sometimes I sit with him. A while back, he started playing your old news broadcasts. He finished all of those, so now he’s watching your older interviews."

Violette’s internal alarms began to blare. She started frantically trying to remember if she had ever had any embarrassing moments or scandals on air.

Her internal panic was cut short by the sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps descending the stairs. She turned to see Emerson’s stern, unsmiling face.

He didn't look like he was "easy to get along with" at all.

Fortunately, Roman followed closely behind. He looked entirely indifferent, hands in his pockets, and glanced at Margaret with a smirk. "Do you like the gift?"

"Of course I do. Violette has excellent taste."

Violette felt her face flush with a mix of shame and nerves. Catching Emerson’s dark, brooding gaze, she blurted out, "Father, the gift for you is in the tea room."

Emerson’s lips moved slightly. "Good."

He paused after a few steps. "That was unnecessary."