Hot Topic Fiancée

Word was spreading fast through high society that Howard Hargrove's long-rumored overseas fiancee was finally back in the country. That exact same afternoon, a video of me slapping his face right outside the Hargrove Group headquarters went viral online. In the clip, he stood drenched in the rain, wearing a tailored three-piece suit. My palm hit his cheek with a crisp crack, snapping his head to the side, yet he didn't utter a single word of protest. The internet tore me apart within minutes. Who does this gold digger think she is? Does she actually think she's Mrs. Hargrove? Howard's patience is terrifying. Security should've dragged her off the property. By evening, heiress Dianne Crawford posted a photo from a lavish gala. In the picture, Howard's designer suit jacket was draped over her shoulders. Her caption read: After all these years, right back where I belong. Within ten minutes, the hashtag #FutureMrsHargrove hit the top of the trending page. I tossed my phone onto the mattress, looking down at the man beside me. "Well, Mr. Hargrove," I murmured, "your fiancee certainly knows how to curate a scene." He took my hand, resting my palm flat against his jawline. "Babe," he whispered, "did hitting me hurt your hand?" 1 I looked down at him. Howard was kneeling by the edge of the bed, his crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his silk tie half-loosened. One of his hands gently held my wrist while the other carefully smoothed soothing ointment over my palm. His dark brows were tightly knit. If a passerby walked in right now, they would assume I was the one who had been struck. I tried to pull my hand back, but his grip remained firm yet tender. He lowered his head, continuing to rub the ointment into my skin. "It's red right here," he muttered. "That's from slapping your face." "Which is why it hurts," he replied without missing a beat. He looked up, his eyes dead serious. "Next time, don't do it yourself." "Who should do it then?" "I'll do it." I stared at him for two full seconds. Fearing I hadn't grasped his meaning, he added quietly, "Tell me where you want it to hit, and I'll smack myself in front of the mirror." A sharp laugh escaped my throat despite myself. "Howard Hargrove, do you honestly think you're being funny right now?" He shut his mouth instantly. My phone was still buzzing relentlessly on the sheets. I didn't even need to look to know that social media was exploding. Dianne's photo was a masterclass in subtle manipulation. Under the gala's golden chandeliers and beside a champagne tower, she sat with Howard's dark suit jacket draped over her shoulders, her face half-hidden in the lapel. Howard stood beside her, looking down at a stack of documents. From that angle, it looked like he was shielding her from the draft. Her caption was just as clever: After all these years, right back where I belong. Neither confirming nor denying anything, leaving the rest to the internet's imagination. I casually tapped into the comment section. I knew Mr. Hargrove had a fiancee. High society guys never marry random influencers. Dianne's elegance screams primary wife energy. Was that girl who slapped him outside the building yesterday just an angry side chick losing her mind? He didn't even fight back. He probably just gave her a graceful exit out of pity for their past. As I read the last comment out loud, Howard's thumb froze against my palm. His expression hardened, temperature dropping instantly. "Stop reading it." "I'm not finished." "There's nothing good about watching people trash you." "I find it entertaining." Howard pressed his lips into a tight line. I knew him well enough to know he was already itching to scrub the trending topics and file lawsuits against every single commenter. In the three years we had been married, the one thing he could never tolerate was anyone speaking ill of me. He hated it even more than I did. I used my free hand to poke his forehead gently. "Alright, big boss, hold off on the lawyer letters for a second. Explain to me first, how did your suit jacket end up on Dianne's shoulders?" Howard sat up straight immediately. "I didn't put it on her." "It's your jacket in the picture." "It is mine, but I didn't give it to her." "So it grew legs and walked over to her on its own?" Howard's throat bobbed. Knowing the explanation sounded thin, he lowered his eyes, carefully capped the ointment tube, and wrapped my hand in a warm, damp towel. He was dragging out the process to buy time. I smiled warmly at him. "Mr. Hargrove, I'll give you three seconds." "Three." He blurted it out instantly. "Reporters blocked me at the gala entrance, so I took off my jacket and handed it to Garrett so he could block the camera lenses." "Dianne spilled red wine on her dress during a toast. Garrett assumed she was an important guest that the hosts needed catered to, so he handed her the jacket. I had already gone upstairs to the second-floor conference room and didn't see any of it." I raised an eyebrow. "Garrett certainly knows how to be helpful." A faint cough sounded from the bedroom doorway. Garrett stood outside, his face as pale as a man who had just received a life sentence. "Ma'am, I was wrong." I turned my head. Garrett was Howard's head assistant, having served him for seven full years. Today was indeed a massive blunder on his part. Glancing nervously at Howard, Garrett forced himself to continue. "The lighting was dim, and Miss Crawford's assistant mentioned she was cold. I didn't think much of it. Right after I handed it over, Mr. Hargrove went upstairs. The photo must have been snapped during that window." Howard's voice was crisp. "Year-end bonus gone." "Deserved," Garrett whispered. I nearly broke out laughing. "You can go, Garrett." Garrett turned to leave, but at the doorway, he quickly added, "Ma'am, the PR department has a statement ready, and Mr. Hargrove already instructed the legal team to document all libelous posts." Howard frowned. "I told you to leave." Fearing further wrath, Garrett vanished in seconds, shutting the door tightly behind him. Silence washed over the bedroom. Howard turned back to me. The man who had just coldly berated his assistant now spoke in a voice lowered by several octaves. "Babe, do you believe me?" I looked into his eyes. Dark circles shadowed his skin. This morning, outside the corporate building, he had stood in the pouring rain while I slapped his cheek. He hadn't explained, hadn't dodged, and hadn't gotten angry. Every camera caught his head turning from the strike. Yet no camera captured the fact that before the slap, his stomach spasms were so severe his hands were trembling. I had told him to go to the hospital. He said he had to wait until the board meeting ended. I told him it was raining outside, and he said it didn't matter. He had always been like this. Business, the Hargrove empire, my needs, he put everything first. The only thing he relegated to the very back was himself. So I couldn't stop myself from raising my hand. I wasn't angry at Dianne Crawford. I was furious at him for treating his own body like trash. I let out a soft sigh. "I believe you." "You can hit me again if you want." "Get lost." "Can't," he muttered, pulling me closer. "I just got official status. I can't get lost." "Where did you get official status?" "From our marriage license." 2 Howard and I had been secretly married for three years. Very few people knew about it. So few that high society genuinely assumed Howard was keeping a mysterious fiancee overseas for years. The rumor wasn't entirely wrong. I had indeed spent a long time abroad, and I had indeed spent a massive amount of his money. However, I wasn't being kept like a pet. I was managing overseas mergers and acquisitions on his behalf. The green energy sector, which was currently the Hargrove Group's most lucrative asset, was almost poached by foreign venture capital three years ago. Howard had just taken over the conglomerate back then. Internal chaos and external threats plagued him, with half the board plotting to oust him. He couldn't leave the country, so I went in his place. We had been married for less than three months at the time. Stepping out of the registry office, Howard held my hand tightly by the car, asking softly, "Can we go public tonight?" "No." His brows knitted instantly. "Why not?" "I fly to Zurich tomorrow morning." "And?" "I don't want to negotiate a multibillion-dollar acquisition under the title of Mrs. Hargrove." "You are Mrs. Hargrove." "Still no." Howard stayed silent the entire ride home. Once inside, he locked both copies of our marriage license into his office safe. That night, he pulled me into his arms from behind. "Nora." "Yeah?" "Are you trying to hide me forever?" I turned around in his embrace and kissed his jawline gently. "Wait until the acquisition closes." "How long?" "Six months max." Howard believed me. Six months later, the acquisition remained locked in intense negotiations. I stayed in Europe, grinding through endless meetings with ruthless investors. A year passed before the clean energy deal finally settled. Then Howard's scheming uncle targeted me. His uncle believed I was merely a pawn Howard placed overseas. If he discovered we were legally wed, he would use me as leverage to cripple Howard. So I kept our marriage under wraps. Howard endured it, month after month. During the second winter, he flew to London to spend Christmas with me. Snow fell heavily outside the apartment while I prepped a hotpot in the kitchen. Howard sat on the couch watching a live business interview on his phone. On screen, the host asked him with a smile if good news was on the horizon regarding his personal life. Howard looked straight into the camera. "Yes." I poked my head out from the kitchen. "Howard Hargrove!" "I didn't say who," he replied innocently. "How is that any different from telling them?" "I'm almost thirty." "And?" "I'm married, but nobody knows." I stuffed a pair of chopsticks into his hand. "Just wait a little longer." "You said that last time." "This time it's for real." Howard stared at me intently. "Nora, you better not be playing me." As it turned out, I played him again. In the third year, the Hargrove Group completely stabilized, and I finally returned home for good. Howard had been organizing public announcement ideas for a month prior to my arrival. Every night, he would slide his phone over to me. "How about this picture?" "Too goofy." The next day he would swap it out. "This one?" "You look like a sappy groom." "I am a sappy groom." Before we could finalize an announcement strategy, Dianne Crawford returned to the country. She was the eldest daughter of the Crawford family, Howard's childhood neighbor, and the exact type of childhood sweetheart the public loved to romanticize. High society quickly matched her with the rumored overseas fiancee. When Howard learned about the gossip, his immediate reaction was to release a formal denial. I stopped him. The Crawfords had recently partnered with the Hargrove Group on a major commercial venture. Dianne's sudden return and her deliberate fueling of rumors weren't out of nostalgia. She wanted the leverage and status that came with being viewed as the future Mrs. Hargrove. Since she wanted to put on a show, I wanted to see just how far she could perform. Turns out, by afternoon, her performance had catapulted her straight to number one on the trending topics. 3 The next morning, Howard was kicked awake by me. He had insisted on sleeping in my bed last night, claiming he was being cyberbullied online and needed comfort from his lawful wife. Finding him annoying, I ignored him, so he sat at the foot of the bed wrapped in a blanket, staring at me silently. Eventually, his puppy-dog eyes gave me a headache, and I gave in, letting him slide under the duvet. The result was a night of utter restlessness on his part. One moment he was touching my palm to check if it still hurt, and the next he was wrapping his arms around my waist to ask if I was still mad. At three in the morning, he even snuck out of bed to draft a public statement on his laptop. Exhausted, I grabbed his phone and shut it down. "Go to sleep." He lay back down, but two minutes later he whispered, "Nora." "Say one more word and you're sleeping in the guest room." "I had a dream you didn't want me anymore." With my eyes closed, I reached out and patted his hair. "I want you." He finally settled down. Now, as dawn broke, his phone was buzzing incessantly again. I nudged his leg with my foot. "Answer the phone." Howard opened his eyes with a heavy frown. His first instinct wasn't to grab the phone, but to reach out and check my wrist. "Does it still hurt?" "No." He checked my palm carefully, making sure there was no swelling before picking up the call. The moment he answered, Garrett's panicked voice echoed through the speaker. "Mr. Hargrove, Miss Crawford posted again." Howard's face darkened instantly. I sat up and grabbed my own phone. In the early hours of the morning, Dianne had shared a throwback photo. In the picture, a teenage Howard in a high school uniform stood beneath a sprawling oak tree, his profile cold and distant. She had cropped the shot so only half his face and her own shadow on the grass were visible. Her caption read: Some people have been standing there since youth. The comment section was going wild. Is this the power of childhood sweethearts? Gosh, Howard was so handsome as a teenager. Who wouldn't fall for him? Dianne really kept this hidden for so many years. When is that violent girl from yesterday going to apologize? I tapped on the photo to expand it. The teenage boy was indeed Howard. But I recognized the photo instantly. I was right there on the day it was taken. It was our prep academy's anniversary celebration, and Howard had been dragged into volunteering by the student council. Dianne was secretly taking pictures of him. A second after that frame was taken, I stepped out from behind the tree and pressed an icy bottle of water against his cheek. Howard dodged with a scowl, but naturally reached out to take my heavy backpack off my shoulders. Dianne had simply cropped me out completely. I held my phone screen in front of Howard's face. "'Standing there since youth'?" Howard's heart skipped a beat. "I was waiting for you that day." "She didn't capture that part." "I have the original photo." He leapt out of bed immediately, not even bothering with slippers, and marched into the home office to boot up his computer. I leaned against the doorway, watching him. In less than a minute, he pulled up an image from an encrypted album. Under the exact same tree, on the exact same afternoon. In the uncropped photo, teenage Howard held my backpack in one hand and my half-empty water bottle in the other. I stood beside him, draping his oversized school jacket over my shoulders. The shadow Dianne claimed as her intimate presence was merely her standing several feet behind us, completely ignored. Looking at the screen, a chuckle escaped my lips. "How do you even still have this?" "I had it taken." "Who took it?" "Garrett." "You were bossing Garrett around back in high school?" "He was my desk mate back then." "You made your desk mate secretly snap photos of me?" "He did it voluntarily." A faint cough sounded near the doorway. Garrett stood outside the office. "Ma'am, I was not voluntary." Howard cast him a dark glare. Garrett instantly pivoted. "Though I grew to do it voluntarily over time." I couldn't stop laughing. Howard, however, wasn't smiling. He exported the original high-resolution photo and prepared to forward it directly to the PR department. I pressed my hand over his wrist. "Don't rush." "She's stepping on you." "She's stepping on you too." "Which is why we can't be hasty." I saved Dianne's cropped photo to my phone. "The more elaborate her fantasy is right now, the sweeter her downfall will be later." Howard looked at me, falling silent for a moment. "You've already planned everything, haven't you?" "Pretty much." "When did you start planning?" "The moment she posted that gala photo." He reached out, pulling me into his arms and resting his chin on my shoulder. "Nora." "What?" "Are you actually going to let us go public?" I looked at him. Howard had been remarkably obedient since last night, refraining from aggressive public statements, avoiding reckless confrontations, and holding back his legal team from suing the entire internet. Yet I knew deep down how desperately long he had waited for this moment. I raised my hand, gently smoothing down his messy morning hair. "I'm giving you your chance." His eyes lit up instantly. "Tonight is the Crawford family gala. I'm taking you with me to shatter her fantasy."