Veronica stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor of Dennis Pinnacle, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Cullen standing at the reception desk. His unexpected presence caught her off guard—he wasn't due back from Bella until next week.

He looked impeccable as always in a custom navy suit that accentuated his broad shoulders, his posture radiating authority as he spoke with the receptionist. For a brief moment, muscle memory threatened to betray her—that familiar urge to straighten her skirt, check her hair, put on her most pleasant smile.

But today, Veronica simply walked past, her spine straight, her gaze forward. Six years of habit were hard to break, but the woman who had once arranged her entire existence around Cullen Dennis's approval was slowly fading away.

"Veronica."

His voice stopped her. She turned, maintaining a professional distance.

"Cullen," she responded, her tone neutral. "I wasn't aware you'd returned."

His piercing eyes studied her, perhaps noticing her lack of reaction to his presence. Where was the eager-to-please wife who would have lit up at the mere sight of him?

"It was a last-minute decision," he replied coolly. "Sabrina wanted to come back early."

Translation: Niall wanted to come back early, and Sabrina followed her lead. The unspoken truth hung between them.

"I see," Veronica said. "Is she at school today?"

"Of course." His tone suggested the question was ridiculous. "Where else would she be?"

Veronica nodded, refusing to be baited into an argument. "I'll be working late, so I won't be able to pick her up. Please let Chelsea know."

Without waiting for his response, she continued down the hallway toward her office. Six months ago, she would have rearranged her entire schedule at the mere possibility of seeing Sabrina. Today, the project with Dario took priority—her first real step back into her old life.

She felt Cullen's gaze boring into her back but didn't turn around. Let him wonder about this new version of her. It wasn't for his benefit anyway.

Two hours later, Bradley Cameron appeared in her doorway, looking uncomfortable.

"Mrs. Dennis, could you take these coffees to Mr. Dennis's office?" he asked, placing two steaming cups on her desk.

Veronica looked up from her computer, brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

In six years, she had never been asked to deliver coffee to anyone, let alone to her husband. Her role at the foundation involved managing high-level donor relations and program oversight, not serving as someone's personal attendant.

Bradley shifted awkwardly. "I know it's unusual, but Frank is in a meeting, and Mr. Dennis specifically requested that these be brought to his office immediately. I would do it myself, but I have an urgent call with Tokyo."

Something about his discomfort made Veronica suspect there was more to the story, but she nodded anyway. "Fine."

She gathered the coffees and made her way down the hallway toward Cullen's corner office. The door was ajar, a sliver of space revealing movement inside. Voices filtered through—one unmistakably Cullen's, the other a melodic female tone that made Veronica's stomach twist into a familiar knot.

She paused, caught between professional obligation and self-preservation. Before she could decide, the partially open door offered her an unobstructed view of what was happening inside.

Cullen had Niall pressed against his desk, his hands cupping her face as they kissed passionately. Niall's elegant fingers gripped his lapels, pulling him closer as she returned his fervor with equal intensity.

The intimate tableau froze Veronica in place. It wasn't the first time she had seen evidence of their relationship, but witnessing it in such a raw, unguarded moment made her chest constrict painfully. This wasn't just attraction or convenience—it was desire, pure and unmistakable.

The coffee cups trembled in her hands as she took a step back, ready to retreat. But fate wasn't that kind.

"Veronica!" Frank Elias's accusatory voice boomed from behind her. "What are you doing?"

Inside the office, Cullen and Niall sprang apart. Niall's perfect features arranged themselves into an expression of demure embarrassment, while Cullen's face hardened into stone as he registered Veronica standing at his door.

"I—Bradley asked me to deliver coffee," she explained, lifting the cups slightly.

Frank's lip curled. "How convenient that you arrived precisely at this moment. Did you plan this little interruption?"

"I didn't—"

"That's enough, Frank," Cullen cut in, his voice glacial. His eyes, when they turned to Veronica, held nothing but cold disdain. "Put the coffee down and leave."

Niall smoothed her immaculate designer dress, her long fingers delicate against the expensive fabric. "I should go," she murmured, her voice soft and cultured.

"No," Cullen said firmly, placing a possessive hand at the small of her back. "Veronica was just leaving."

The way he said her name—like an unwelcome intrusion into his real life—cut deeper than Veronica wanted to admit. She moved forward to place the coffees on his desk, but her normally steady hands betrayed her. The scalding liquid sloshed over the rim, splashing across her skin.

She bit back a gasp of pain, quickly setting the cups down to avoid further spillage.

"Typical," Frank muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Creating scenes and making messes."

Cullen's jaw tightened. "If there's nothing else, Veronica, I suggest you return to your duties. Though if there are any more disruptions today, we'll need to discuss your continued employment here."

The threat was clear—and completely unjustified. But Veronica recognized the futility of defending herself. In this room, in this company, her status as Cullen's wife meant nothing compared to Niall's position as the woman he actually wanted.

"I apologize for the interruption," she said quietly, and with as much dignity as she could muster, turned and left the office.

In the hallway, she examined her hand. An angry red welt was already forming where the coffee had scalded her skin. The physical pain was almost a welcome distraction from the humiliation burning in her chest.

She headed to the executive restroom, grateful to find it empty. Under the cool water, her skin pulsed with pain, but her face remained composed in the mirror. The woman staring back at her had endured far worse than this—years of neglect, of rejection, of being treated like an inconvenient obligation rather than a wife.

"This will heal," she whispered to her reflection, unsure if she meant her burned hand or her wounded pride. "Everything eventually does."

By late afternoon, Veronica's hand was bandaged and the morning's humiliation had faded to a dull ache in the background of her consciousness. She was reviewing departmental schedules when snippets of conversation from the hallway drifted through her open door.

"Did you see her? Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe her."

"I heard she has a PhD from Oxford and speaks five languages."

"The way Mr. Dennis looks at her—I've never seen him like that with anyone."

"Rumor has it they met in Monaco during the Grand Prix. She's connected to some European racing circuit."

Veronica kept her eyes fixed on her computer screen, though the words blurred before her eyes. She didn't need to ask who they were discussing. Niall's presence in the building had clearly caused quite a stir—exactly as Cullen likely intended.

The voices grew louder as a group of senior managers passed by her office, escorting someone on what appeared to be a company tour.

"And this is our international marketing division," one of the VPs explained proudly. "We've expanded into seventeen new territories under Mr. Dennis's direction."

"That's impressive," came the reply—that same melodic voice from Cullen's office, now warm with professional interest. "Your market penetration strategy must be extraordinary."

Curiosity got the better of Veronica. She glanced up, catching sight of Niall surrounded by a cluster of the company's most senior executives. They gazed at her with undisguised admiration as she asked insightful questions about their operations.

Niall was a vision of sophisticated elegance in a cream designer suit that highlighted her slender figure. Her dark hair fell in lustrous waves over her shoulders, framing a face that could have launched a thousand advertising campaigns. But it wasn't just her beauty that commanded attention—it was the confidence, the effortless grace with which she navigated the corporate environment.

As if sensing Veronica's gaze, Niall turned slightly, her eyes meeting Veronica's across the distance. For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across her perfect features—not quite recognition, not quite dismissal, but something in between.

Then she turned back to her admirers, continuing her tour without so much as a nod to acknowledge the woman who was, legally at least, still married to Cullen Dennis.

Veronica ducked her head, returning to her work. The message couldn't have been clearer if it had been skywritten across the city: Niall belonged in Cullen's world in a way Veronica never had and never would.

A moment later, a loud voice shattered her contemplation.

"Watch where you're going!" One of the senior managers glared at a group of junior staff members who had almost collided with their important procession. "Be careful not to bump into Ms. Crystal!"

The rebuke was delivered with the kind of deference typically reserved for visiting royalty. The junior staff members—Veronica's direct reports—mumbled apologies, stepping well back from the path of the VIP tour.

Veronica watched as the procession continued down the hallway, Niall at its center like a queen among courtiers. The contrast couldn't have been more stark: this morning, Veronica had been threatened with termination for accidentally witnessing a kiss; now, Niall was being paraded through the company like its future matriarch.