THE CEO'S MARRIAGE PROPOSAL

Jessica's apartment looked like a clothing store had exploded inside it. Blouses dangled from lampshades, skirts were draped across chairs, and one of her sneakers had somehow ended up in the fruit basket on the kitchen counter.

"I'm dead. I'm so, so dead," she muttered, throwing another rejected dress onto the growing mountain on her bed. She stood in front of the mirror, hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing mismatched socks and a t-shirt that said I Hate Mondays. "This is the end of me. Jessica Robert, daughter of a fried chicken shop owner, dies not from stress, but from fashion suicide."

Her best friend, Sophia, was sprawled lazily on the bed amidst the chaos, sipping an iced Americano as though nothing was wrong. She wore yoga pants, an oversized hoodie, and an expression of irritating calm.

"You're overreacting," Sophia said, waving her straw casually. "Just pick one of my dresses. You'll look fine."

"Fine?" Jessica spun around, wild-eyed. "I'm about to meet the chairman of Go Food, Sophia! Ethan Maverick's grandfather! The man who could fire me-or worse-if he figures out I'm a fraud pretending to be you! Fine won't cut it! I need to look like I belong in his world!"

Sophia shrugged. "You belong just fine if you act like you do. Confidence is everything. Clothes are just decoration."

Jessica let out a strangled groan and collapsed onto the floor, hugging a sequin dress to her chest. "I can't do this. He'll see through me in five seconds. He'll ask about investments, or wine, or golf courses. What if he asks about my family?!"

"Then lie." sophia took another sip, utterly unbothered.

Jessica rolled her eyes so hard they almost stuck. "Easy for you to say, rich girl. I don't even know how to use half the cutlery they serve in chaebol mansions. Forks should be one size. Knives should be one size. Why do they need six?!"

Sophia sat up finally, setting her coffee aside. Her expression softened. "jessica, listen. You're smart. You're funny. And you're not boring. Trust me, Ethan Maverick's grandfather will love you."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of!" Jessica cried, tossing the sequin dress at her.

With a sigh, Sophia marched over to her wardrobe, pulled out a simple but elegant ivory dress with soft lace trim, and shoved it into Jessica's arms. "Wear this. It's classy but not over the top. Pair it with nude heels and that little clutch I bought in Paris. You'll look like money, but approachable money."

Jessica held the dress up doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Now put it on before I lose patience and go myself."

Jessica's shoulders slumped. "Sometimes I think you enjoy torturing me."

Sophia smirked. "Sometimes? Sweetie, always."

At exactly seven o'clock sharp, a sleek black sedan rolled to a stop in front of Jessica's modest apartment building. The polished chrome gleamed under the streetlamps, and even the neighbors paused on the sidewalk to gawk at the car that looked like it belonged in a CEO's driveway.

Jessica ,standing just inside the front door, felt her knees wobble. She clutched the borrowed clutch to her chest like a lifeline. Her ivory dress fit like a dream, her hair fell in soft waves, and her makeup had taken nearly an hour to get just right. On the outside, she might have looked elegant. On the inside, she was a roiling storm of panic.

The back door of the sedan opened, and out stepped Ethan Maverick.

He was impossibly tall, his suit a perfect charcoal tailored so precisely it must have cost more than her yearly rent. His hair was styled immaculately, his features sharp enough to cut glass. He moved with a kind of quiet authority that made the whole street seem to hush in his presence.

When his eyes landed on her, they narrowed slightly.

"You're late," he said in that smooth, clipped tone that brooked no argument.

Jessica blinked. "What? It's exactly seven!" She whipped out her phone, as if time itself would defend her.

He glanced at the device, then back at her, lips curving faintly. "I don't like waiting. Even for a minute."

Heat crept up her neck. Who complained about a single minute? She bit back a retort, instead forcing a polite smile. "Well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

Jessica didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward and opened the car door with a gentlemanly gesture that somehow felt more like a command.

"After you," he said.

She hesitated only a second before sliding into the leather interior, which smelled faintly of cedar and money. The moment she sat down, her nerves tightened like a coil.

This wasn't a date anymore. This was war.

The Maverick family mansion was less a house and more a palace. Marble columns stretched toward the high ceilings, crystal chandeliers glittered like captured starlight, and oil paintings of solemn-looking ancestors stared down at her from gilded frames.

Jessica felt like a burglar caught trespassing.

Ethan guided her into the grand dining hall, where a long table stretched across the polished floor. At the head sat Chairman Maverick ,a man whose presence dominated the room despite his age. His silver hair gleamed under the lights, and his eyes twinkled with an intelligence that missed nothing.

"So this is the young lady," the chairman boomed, rising to greet her. His voice echoed warmly, like thunder in the distance.

Jessica bowed deeply. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"Come, sit," he said, motioning her to a chair beside him. "Let us eat."

The first course was served, each dish delicate and artful, accompanied by an array of silverware that looked like an exam waiting to be failed. Jessica stared at the place setting, silently panicking over which fork to use first.

"Miss Wilson," Chairman Maverick began, his eyes sharp but kind. "Tell me about yourself."

Her mind went blank. All the lies Sophia had fed her vanished. The silence stretched unbearably until, in a moment of blind desperation, she blurted, "I... love horror dolls. And chicken feet."

The table went dead silent. Even Ethan froze, his pen poised over a glass of wine as if he'd misheard.

Jessica wanted to crawl under the table and die.

But then the chairman's booming laugh filled the room. "Horror dolls and chicken feet! Ha! What a pair of hobbies. No wonder my grandson is intrigued."

Jessica let out a shaky laugh, pretending confidence while Ethan's eyes bored into her with silent fury. She could practically hear his thoughts: What nonsense are you spewing?

Still, she pressed on, determined to play her role. "Yes, well... I believe a person's interests should be... diverse."

Chairman Maverick chuckled again, clearly amused. "Excellent answer! You are refreshingly unusual, Miss Wilson."

Jessica sipped her wine to hide her trembling hands, praying the ground would swallow her whole.

As the meal progressed, something unexpected happened.

Chairman Maverick leaned closer, his tone softening. "You remind me of my late wife. She had the same spark in her eyes, the same way of speaking her mind no matter what others thought. It drove me mad sometimes, but it also kept me alive."

Jessica blinked, touched by the sincerity in his gaze. For a fleeting moment, the weight of her lie lifted. She wasn't pretending to be someone else; she was just being herself-awkward, impulsive, and oddly endearing.

"Thank you, sir," she murmured, her smile trembling but genuine. "That... means more than you know."

Chairman Maverick patted her hand warmly. "You'll bring life back into this cold house. I can see it already."

Across the table, Ethan's jaw tightened. He was unused to seeing his grandfather so open, so charmed. And the fact that it was her who drew out that reaction unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

He didn't believe in coincidences. Something about this woman felt... suspicious. And yet, he couldn't deny the effect she had, not only on his grandfather but on him as well.

Just when Jessica thought she might survive the evening, disaster struck.

A servant entered the dining hall, carrying a tray. "Chairman, here are the fried chicken feet you requested."

Jessica's blood froze.

On the tray was a plate of glistening chicken feet, seasoned exactly the way her family's shop prepared them. Her heart stopped. What if the chairman recognized the recipe? What if Ethan connected the dots?

The chairman beamed. "I had the kitchen prepare these especially for you, my dear! You must try them."

Jessica's lips stretched into a brittle smile. "W-wow, how... thoughtful."

Her hands trembled as she picked up a pair of chopsticks. She couldn't refuse. That would look suspicious. She couldn't admit familiarity. That would expose her.

So she did the only thing she could: she shoved one into her mouth with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Mmm!" she exclaimed, chewing furiously despite her throat threatening to close. "Delicious! Absolutely... delightful!"

The chairman roared with laughter, clapping the table. "Ha! I knew you'd love them!"

Jessica forced herself to swallow, praying she wouldn't choke. Across the table, Ethan's eyes never left her, sharp and assessing.

She could feel his suspicion tightening around her like a noose.

The dinner finally ended, and Jessica escaped into the cool night air, nearly collapsing from relief. She leaned against the car, clutching her clutch like a shield.

She'd survived. Barely.

Ethan joined her moments later, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. He stood close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne-something crisp and expensive that made her pulse jump.

"You handled my grandfather well," he said finally.

Jessica gave a nervous laugh. "Oh, well... I just tried to be myself."

His gaze sharpened, piercing. "Did you?"

Her breath caught. For one terrifying moment, she thought he'd seen through everything.

But then he leaned back slightly, slipping his hands into his pockets, his voice low and steady. "Don't think you've convinced me yet. This marriage will happen, Miss Wilson. It's only a matter of time."

Her stomach dropped. Her carefully constructed world tilted. She was trapped.

The car door opened with a soft click. Ethan gestured for her to step inside, his eyes never leaving hers.

And as she slid into the leather seat, one thought echoed relentlessly in her mind:

I'm doomed.