The Airport Entrance
When Julian D’Aurelius arrived at the airport, Bianca De Dominicis was already there.
The sliding glass doors hissed open, letting in a rush of cool, conditioned air mixed with the faint scent of coffee and jet fuel. The place was alive—rolling suitcases, hurried footsteps, distant announcents echoing overhead—but sohow, all of that noise dimd the mont his eyes landed on her.
She stood near the entrance like she belonged to another world entirely.
Bianca shifted her weight slightly, one hand resting on her hip as she glanced around, impatience flickering in her red eyes. "Took you long enough," she muttered under her breath, though there was a faint curve at the corner of her lips.
Such a stunning beauty standing at the airport entrance.
Heads turned. Conversations slowed. Even the rhythm of footsteps seed to stumble around her presence.
A young man walking past nearly walked straight into a pillar.
Another guy, clearly with his girlfriend, still dared to sneak a second glance—and imdiately paid the price with a sharp pinch to his arm.
Bianca noticed none of it... or rather, she ignored it all with the ease of soone long used to being the center of attention.
"Unbelievable..." soone whispered nearby. "Is she a celebrity or sothing?"
"Doesn’t matter," another replied quietly. "If I stare any longer, I’m dead."
Many people were willing to risk being hit by their girlfriends just to take a few more glances.
Especially a certain CEO of a listed company, who was particularly taken aback when he saw Bianca.
The man, in his forties, wearing an expensive suit and a stiff neck brace, froze mid-step. His eyes widened, and for a mont, even the pain in his neck seed forgotten.
"...Now that’s..." he murmured, swallowing hard. "Worth the trip."
Who would have thought that coming to Valemont on a business trip to sign a contract, he would encounter such a beauty?
Confidence quickly replaced hesitation.
He adjusted his tie, smoothed his hair, and walked toward Bianca with what he clearly believed was a charming smile.
"Miss, may I introduce myself? I am the owner of White Wing Group... My na is—"
"Go away," Bianca cut him off instantly, her tone sharp enough to slice through steel. She didn’t even look at him properly. "You look like a toad, older than my dad. Who gave you the face to introduce yourself to ?"
The words hit like a slap.
The surrounding air went still.
The man’s smile froze, then cracked.
Bianca finally turned her head, eyes sweeping over him with open disdain. "Trying to be an old cow eating young grass?" she added coldly. "Do you want to get three keys made for ten bucks? Maybe that’ll suit you better."
A few nearby onlookers couldn’t hold back their laughter.
The man’s face flushed red.
"Y-You—" he stamred, trembling.
Bianca didn’t let him recover. "Bragging about a company worth a few billion?" she scoffed lightly. "What a joke."
Her voice wasn’t loud—but it carried. Every word landed with precision, tearing apart whatever dignity he thought he had.
The man stood there, stiff, humiliated, his hands shaking slightly at his sides.
He opened his mouth again, but nothing ca out.
After finishing her scolding, Bianca suddenly brightened—like a storm clearing in an instant.
She turned, her eyes lighting up, and ran toward Julian with a smile that felt completely different from the cold edge she had just shown.
"Husband, I’m here!"
Julian, who was walking toward her calmly, almost tripped mid-step.
"...What?" he muttered under his breath, catching himself just in ti.
With that one call of "husband," quite a few n at the airport were now glaring at him with envious, borderline murderous eyes.
One guy even whispered, "How the hell...?"
Another clenched his fist. "This world isn’t fair."
Julian could practically feel the weight of their resentnt pressing against his back.
The middle-aged man who had been scolded looked over—and suddenly froze again.
His expression shifted from anger... to shock.
"...Wait," he muttered. "That’s... that’s Julian D’Aurelius... President of the D’Aurelius Group?"
Cold sweat instantly ford on his forehead.
He had co to Valemont to sign a contract with the D’Aurelius Group.
And he had just tried to flirt with the woman calling him "husband."
His face turned pale.
Without another word, he quickly grabbed his briefcase, raised it to cover his face, and turned away—almost fleeing as he disappeared into the crowd.
Julian walked up to Bianca, exhaling slowly, his golden eyes narrowing slightly.
"Who’s your husband?" he said helplessly. "I don’t rember marrying you, so don’t call that."
Bianca didn’t let go of his arm. Instead, she leaned closer, her voice softening as she tilted her head slightly, feigning shyness.
"You are," she said sweetly. "You forgot? Yesterday we got married... and last night was our first night. I must say..." she paused, glancing at him sideways, lips curving mischievously, "...you were quite wild with ."
Julian’s expression froze.
"...Are you serious right now?" he said, staring at her. "When did that happen? I spent last night at ho. Are you drunk in the morning or sothing?"
"I was at ho last night, wasn’t I?" he added, almost doubting himself for a split second.
Bianca nodded imdiately, smiling like she had already won. "Yes," she said smoothly. "But I dread about you. About marrying you... about our first night."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping just enough to feel dangerous.
"So you have to take responsibility."
Julian’s eyes widened.
"You—"
He stopped mid-sentence, completely thrown off.
His mind scrambled for logic, for a way to counter that statent.
Nothing ca.
Could she really accuse him of sothing that happened in a dream?
[Oh no, if I have to follow this logic, I’ll need to take responsibility for every woman I’ve ever dread about... I’m finished.]
[Why did I even dream like that last ti...]
[Selene... Charlotte... Lina... Bianca... Amara... Liza... all six at once—what was wrong with ...]
(Shit!!)
Bianca’s smile didn’t change—but her eyes flickered.
Just for a second.
Then she shot him a sharp glare, fingers tightening slightly around his arm.
Greedy?
The word echoed in her mind like a spark hitting dry grass.
Her lips pressed together, and though her expression remained playful, sothing deeper stirred beneath it—possessive, sharp, unwilling to share.
"No one else is going to take you from ," she said suddenly, her voice low, almost too calm.
Then she looked up at him again, smile returning like nothing had happened.
"So," she added lightly, tugging his arm, "are we going or are you planning to stand here and deny our marriage all day?"
Her grip didn’t loosen.
Not even a little.
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