The Billionaire's Two-Faced Escort Wife-Chapter 96: A Race Against The Clock

They finally disentangled, moving with a practised, hurried silence. The sheer intensity of their encounter, fueled by the risk of discovery, had left Adrian feeling both utterly sated and completely wired.

​"We have to move," Adrian said, his voice still slightly breathless, pulling on a silk robe. "She said she was in the dining room. If she’s been waiting more than ten minutes, she’s already calculating how to reclaim her investment."

​Alexander grinned, a raw, possessive look in his eyes that Adrian knew was purely for him. "Relax, darling. My mother always calculates. It’s what she does best." He slipped on a robe of his own, his movements betraying a masculine grace even in his haste.

​"But we need to calculate our defence," Adrian countered, quickly checking the room for any tell-tale signs: the lube, the rumpled sheets. He smoothed the bed with quick, practised hands while Alexander tidied their small mess. "The Adrienne cover story is great, but my sudden ’promotion’ to live-in partner needs constant justification."

​"You’re the most efficient, polite, and ’handsome’ employee I’ve ever hired," Alexander murmured, leaning in to steal one last kiss—a soft, lingering brush of lips that was far too tender for the current chaos. "That is your justification."

​Adrian laughed softly, pushing him away gently. "Go. Shower. I’ll get back to my room and appear like I—like I overslept. This is getting hard to keep up," He sighed.

"Then let’s not keep up, let’s be real–"

"I’m your dreams. I’m out," Adrian smirked and quickly snuck out of the room.

The Dining Room Showdown

​When Adrian finally stepped into the vast, sunlit dining room—dressed in a crisp, smart casual shirt and pressed trousers, his hair still slightly damp—Alexander was already seated at the head of the table, looking every bit the composed, impenetrable CEO.

​Mrs. Devereux sat opposite him, elegant and formidable in a tailored cream suit. She was sipping tea, her expression a study in sophisticated impatience. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, immediately fixed on Adrian.

​"Ah, Adrian, dear," she said, her voice dripping with the kind of forced sweetness reserved for subordinates or potential rivals. "You finally decided to join us. Sleeping in, are we?"

​Adrian didn’t blush. He didn’t stammer. He approached the table with the easy confidence of someone who belonged there, offering her a slight, polite smile.

​"Good morning, Mrs. Devereux. I apologise for the delay. Alexander and I were finalising details for the international acquisitions meeting scheduled for this afternoon. He needed a rather complex report checked before the markets opened." A plausible lie, efficiently delivered.

​He walked around the table and placed a soft hand on Alexander’s shoulder—a gesture of ownership and quiet support that was subtle enough for an attentive partner, yet professional enough for a dedicated assistant.

​Alexander glanced up, catching the signal, and played his part perfectly. "Adrian’s attention to detail is truly unparalleled, Mother. I’d be lost without him. Now, what is this about ’new arrivals’?"

​Mrs. Devereux’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. She disliked being outmanoeuvred, especially by a supposed ’secretary.’

​"The new arrivals are the Devereux Estate Board members, Alexander. They are arriving for the quarterly review, and they are expecting to meet Adrienne," she stressed the name, watching Adrian closely. "I need to ensure the house is appropriately staged to reflect your commitment to the ’family future,’ darling."

​She paused, turning her full attention to Adrian, her smile becoming sly, "And since you are here, Adrian, I need you to assist me. You strike me as a young man with a keen eye for domestic matters. I have some rather complicated seating arrangements for the formal dinner I’d like you to review. You will need to take careful notes, of course."

​It was a deliberate slight—an attempt to place Adrian firmly back in the role of secretary, relegating him to "domestic matters" instead of "international acquisitions."

​Adrian met her gaze steadily, his own eyes calm and unblinking. The panic he felt was entirely internal.

​"That sounds fascinating, Mrs. Devereux," Adrian replied smoothly, pulling a sleek, professional notebook and pen from his back pocket. "I am always happy to assist with any arrangements that reflect well on the Devereux name. As Executive Secretary, I pride myself on flawless execution in all matters."

​He paused, then added a perfect, subtle barb that only Alexander would fully appreciate: "I’ll require full access to the guest list and the estate budget, of course. For optimal efficiency."

​Alexander smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. Flawless execution. Adrian was not just playing the role; he was weaponising his compliance.

​"Excellent," Alexander affirmed, giving Adrian’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Mother, you couldn’t have a better resource. Adrian is a master of logistics. You may consider him your de facto chief of staff for the duration of the review."

​Mrs. Devereux’s smile finally slipped. She had tried to demote him to a butler, and Alexander had just promoted him to a temporary executive position right over her head. The battle lines were drawn.

​"Fine," she hissed through a forced smile. "Fetch the floor plan, Adrian. And make sure the coffee is hot."

​"Right away, Ma’am," Adrian replied, giving a short, perfect nod before turning to leave, his triumph a secret, shared look with the man at the head of the table.

​The fight for control over Adrian is now being waged on the domestic front, with Mrs. Devereux attempting to push Adrian down while Alexander promotes him up.

​Adrian returned moments later, carrying a fresh cup of coffee for Mrs. Devereux and the large, laminated floor plan of the apartment’s main living and dining spaces, which the CEO occasionally used for large events. He placed the coffee down, then unfurled the map across the table between Alexander and his mother.

He suspected something was up with Mrs. Devereux, shebqamst this touchy before, perhaps the absence of his daughter-in-law was causing her to be edgy.

​"The coffee, Ma’am," Adrian stated, his voice clipped and efficient. "The floor plan is sectioned for ease of visibility. I’ve highlighted the anticipated traffic flow patterns for a group exceeding twenty people."

​Mrs. Devereux hated being addressed with such military precision. It made her subtle attempts at humiliation look amateurish. She gave the floor plan a dismissive flick of her wrist.

​"Forget traffic flow, Adrian. That is utterly ridiculous," she snapped. "This is about prestige. I need the seating chart for the formal dinner. Seventeen people. I need to make sure the Board members are separated from the more social guests."

​Adrian instantly pulled out his notebook and began drawing a quick, numbered diagram. "Seventeen, noted. Please list the priority guests, Ma’am. I will also require a list of any known dietary restrictions and rivalries to ensure optimal social cohesion."

​He looked up, his grey eyes radiating intelligent focus. He wasn’t just taking notes; he was demanding data, placing himself firmly in a management role.

​Mrs. Devereux stared at him. He was supposed to be flustered, perhaps asking for the kitchen staff, not discussing "social cohesion" and "rivalries." She finally gave him a tight list of names.

​Adrian noted the names, then circled the two seats closest to Alexander. "I recommend placing the head of the Acquisitions Committee, Mr. Vance, here," he tapped the seat to Alexander’s right, "and placing Adrienne here," he tapped the seat to Alexander’s left. "It shows unity and allows Alexander to seamlessly transition between business and domestic conversation."

​Mrs. Devereux sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Adrienne, yes. That’s what we need to discuss, Alexander." She pushed the seating chart away, her eyes focusing entirely on her son. "This is precisely why the Board is coming to your home, not just the office."

The Ultimatum

​"Your father and I worked hard to cement the family image," Mrs. Devereux continued, her voice gaining the steely, emotional edge she reserved for corporate strategy. "It’s not enough to be a business tycoon, Alexander. You are a Devereux. We are the definition of old money, stability, and family legacy."

​She laced her fingers together, her gaze softening slightly, making her appear genuinely concerned—a masterful performance. "The Board members, the shareholders... they need to see that you are family-oriented. That your foundation is solid. They need to see a stable home life, Alexander. They need to see Adrienne."

​Alexander leaned back, taking a slow, deep breath, already bracing for the emotional weight of her demand. "Mother, Adrienne is travelling on business. I told you this."

​"Nonsense," she dismissed the lie with a wave of her hand. "You will not have your wife skip the most important social event of the quarter. It looks weak. It looks like you’re detached. It looks like your marriage is a sham." Her eyes flickered toward Adrian, holding the implied accusation.

​"I need you to show them, Alexander," she insisted, her voice dropping to a persuasive, insistent plea. "I need you to appear at the Annual Governor’s Gala on Saturday with Adrienne. That event, more than any boardroom meeting, is where the image is cemented. You will be photographed, you will be seen dancing, and you will show the world—and the Board—that your focus is just as much on heirship and stability as it is on profit margins."

​She locked eyes with him, the command clear. "I expect a full family appearance at the Gala. Adrienne must be there."

​Adrian, standing silently to the side, felt a sudden cold rush. The Governor’s Gala. The most scrutinised, public-facing event of the year. Alexander couldn’t possibly risk the ’Adrienne is overseas’ excuse on that stage.

​He realised with a sickening jolt that Alexander was going to have to produce a wife. And Adrian was standing right there.

​Alexander looked from his mother, whose expression was now unyielding, to Adrian, who suddenly looked pale beneath his tan. The gears were turning quickly in the CEO’s mind.

​"Fine, Mother," Alexander agreed, the word tight and controlled. "Adrienne will attend the Gala. She will be by my side. I will ensure our image is perfect."

​Mrs. Devereux’s triumphant smile returned. "I knew you would see reason, darling. Now," she looked at Adrian, "since Adrienne is returning suddenly, Adrian, you must coordinate with my personal stylist immediately. She will need to ensure Adrienne has the perfect gown for the event. Get me the stylist’s number now. It’s listed under ’F’ in my contacts."

​Adrian nodded, the cold knot tightening in his stomach. He wasn’t just managing the dinner; he was managing the façade of his own replacement. He was managing the clothes that the real Adrienne would wear.

​"Right away, Ma’am," Adrian said, the ’perfect secretary’ mask firmly back in place, even as his world tilted precariously on its axis.