William Knight walked toward Diana Bell, his fingers working the buttons of his shirt collar.
By the time he reached the bedside, his collar was flared open, revealing a broad, firm chest with skin as pale and cool as white jade. On the bed, the girl was fast asleep, her breathing as light as falling snow—soft, steady, and delicate.
William's gaze drifted from her cheek, down her slender neck, tracing the delicate curve of her collarbone, over the rising "snowy peaks," past her narrow waist, and finally settling on her parted legs. He leaned in close, their warm breaths mingling in the air. He didn't make a move, though; he simply hooked the silk duvet that had slipped to the edge of the bed and, with agonizing slowness, draped it over her exposed legs.
His movements were tender; he didn't wake her. He had only stopped by today to grab a few changes of clothes.
Opening the wardrobe, William's brow furrowed into a deep knot once again. Those bright, soft, sweet-scented "little obstacles" had reclaimed his territory.
Her bras.
Was this woman doing it on purpose, or was she just born without an organizational bone in her body? Just last week, he had patiently taken these lace and silk concoctions, folded them neatly, and filed them away like precision engine parts in the white oak drawers below.
Now, they were brazenly hanging among his row of somber, custom-made black suits. One bright purple piece, lacking a hanger, was draped over his tie rack like a provocative flag.
As a hardcore perfectionist, William took a deep breath but ultimately couldn't help himself. He reached out with the hands that usually signed billion-dollar contracts and expertly gathered all of Diana's bras. He folded them into perfect little squares, color-coded them from light to dark, and refilled the lower drawer.
Finished, he changed into a charcoal grey shirt, grabbed his suit, and prepared to leave. As he passed the blooming blue hydrangeas in the living room, his eyes caught the desk.
The laptop was on standby, the screen flickering with an open webpage. The search bar clearly read: "Interviewed at Knight Group Education; if they didn't sign me on the spot, am I screwed?"
A faint, indiscernible smile touched William's lips. So, the company with the "scary interviewer" she mentioned yesterday was actually his own.
One hour later, 38th floor, Knight Group Headquarters, CEO's Office.
William had just sat down when his assistant knocked nervously. "Lord Knight, Violet Cole from the 8th-floor Education division is outside. She wants to report on the new faculty hires."
William opened a file without looking up. "Let her in."
The assistant hesitated. "Is this about Stella's 'Special Tutoring Plan'?"
The mere mention of the seventeen-year-old "ancestor" of the Knight family gave the entire group a collective headache. Knight Group had founded this elite education firm specifically to save that genetic anomaly who consistently ranked dead last in her class. Stella had the face of an angel but the heart of a demon—the kind that could give a master teacher a heart attack on the spot.
William gave a curt, two-word reply: "It's not."
The confused assistant retreated and showed Violet Cole in. Violet, in her designer heels and perfectly styled waves, entered with practiced confidence. "Lord Knight, regarding the trial lessons for Stella, we've shortlisted three senior—"
"Why isn't Diana Bell on the hiring list from yesterday's interviews?" William interrupted the corporate small talk, his voice like cracking ice.
Violet's heart skipped a beat. She never imagined that the high-and-mighty "Lord Knight" would personally inquire about a teaching interview. She had intentionally snubbed Diana out of sheer jealousy over a face that belonged on a movie screen.
"Lord Knight... Miss Bell... while her credentials are fine, her style is a bit traditional. Our company focuses on AI-driven live-streaming, and she didn't seem to fit," Violet explained, trying to stay composed.
"Really?" William slammed a stack of resumes onto the desk, his finger tapping twice on the photo of Diana. "Looking at her track record, she's the only 'S-rank' candidate among the lot. And you're telling me a top-tier lecturer can't handle a live stream?"
Violet started to sweat. "But she lacks historical data for online platforms..."
"The fact that she was a top performer without data proves her conversion rate is staggering," William's eyes were lethal. "When did your judgment become so narrow, Violet? Or are you afraid of something?"
Turning pale, Violet stammered, "It was an oversight! I'll call Miss Bell personally right now to confirm her start date!"
"I don't want to see a bush-league mistake like this again," William replied coldly. "Otherwise, don't worry about teaching Stella—start worrying about writing your resignation."
When Diana woke up, she stretched and noticed the bruise on her ankle felt better. She saw the duvet covering her and felt a pang of doubt.
She remembered falling asleep directly on the bed. Did William come back? She hopped over to the wardrobe to change, reaching for her usual rack.
It was empty. She pulled open the bottom drawer and froze.
Ten bras were lined up like obedient little tofu blocks, sorted by the colors of the rainbow. "...He's sick in the head!" Diana muttered.
She called over Luna, who was cleaning. "Luna, in the future... you really don't have to fold my underwear into 'tofu blocks.' It's a waste of time."
Luna looked baffled. "Miss Bell, I never touch your personal laundry. Mr. Knight gave strict orders that your things are for you alone to handle."
Diana went rigid. If it wasn't the housekeeper, it could only be... William.
That man—the ruthless, cold-blooded shark of the business world—had been hiding in the bedroom, expressionlessly folding her bras? And with such professional precision? Thinking about her lace and sheer intimates being turned and folded by his long, elegant fingers made her cheeks burn.
Just then, a call from an unknown number broke the silence. It was Violet Cole, her voice uncharacteristically sweet. "Miss Bell, after a second review, we find your qualifications exceptional. Welcome to Knight Group. Regarding the salary, we've decided to bump the original offer by 20%..."
Hanging up, Diana let out a long breath. Even though the "Husband-as-Boss" situation was stressful, for that kind of money, she decided she'd have a real talk with William tonight.
That evening, Knight Group's underground garage.
William was about to drive to a quiet apartment to dodge a family dinner when a familiar figure blocked his path. William's grandmother, leaning on her dragon-head cane and flanked by bodyguards, smiled like a sly old fox.
"Grandmother? What are you doing here?"
"If I didn't come, were you planning to live in this office until New Year's?" The old lady glared. "I heard you're 'traveling' for business again tonight? William, do you even care about your wife?"
William rubbed his temples. "Grandmother, I really have a project..."
"Don't give me that! I don't care if it's a billion-dollar project. Tonight, you must take Diana back to the manor," she insisted. "Your grandfather has ordered a feast, and the house is decorated like we're hosting a second wedding. If you don't bring her, I'm moving into your office!"
William knew his grandmother's temper; there was no talking his way out of this. "Fine. I'll take her back tonight."
The old lady retracted her cane, satisfied. Then, her expression turned urgent. She leaned in and whispered in William's ear, "And don't think I don't know you two have been sleeping in separate rooms since you got the license. Let me tell you, tonight is an auspicious night."
William's grandmother was blunt: "Consummate the marriage. You two must get it done tonight!"