His Contract Wife? The CEO's Mistake

The Sons

Camilla's POV

If someone had told me a year ago that I would one day sit in the same room as the De-Rosie family-surrounded by glass and men who moved empires with the flick of a pen-I would have called them mad or cruel.

Because girls like me?

We didn't belong here.

Not in skirts and low heels.

Not with our pens nervously clicking against embossed notebooks in rooms where last names carried the weight of kingdoms.

We came from shadows.

We came from service.

My father, Mr Silvano De-Canio, had been a driver for the De-Rosie family since before I was born. Every morning for nearly thirty years, he rose before dawn, polished his shoes to a shine, and climbed into the driver's seat of Antonio De-Rosie's long black car.

Rain or shine, with the sun kissing the horizon or buried behind storm clouds, he waited at the curb like a soldier at his post. He wore a navy uniform that had faded with time, a cap that had lost its shape, and a heart that never stopped honoring loyalty.

My mother, Gloria, served as a maid in the De-Rosie mansion. She came from a long line of women who knew how to keep secrets, press pleats, and understand a household's rhythm better than its own owners.

Her hands, soft in memory but calloused in truth, raised me with grace in a world that rarely left room for softness.

She still worked there in fact, still polished the silver, still ironed the white shirts, still served the espresso just the way Antonio liked it-two spoons of sugar and never too hot.

We had grown up just beyond the gates. Not in the main house, of course, but in a small cottage near the servant quarters, tucked at the back of the estate like an afterthought.

While the twin heirs were schooled by private tutors and later shipped off to Switzerland and London, I learned to read the kitchen table while my mother ironed shirts and hummed lullabies.

Still, I never envied them.

They had wealth, but I had love.

And love, I believed, was enough.

Until the day my father's cough refused to go away. Until I began hearing him wheeze through the night, shoulders shaking in silence because he didn't want to worry me.

Until I found his uniform folded on the bed and his resignation typed with trembling fingers.

And still, he refused to complain.

"It's just old bones, Camilla," he'd said. "I've had a good run."

But I hadn't.

I was only twenty-four, newly graduated with honors in Business Administration from a second-tier university no one at De-Rosie Tech cared about. I was invisible. Qualified but unseen.

And yet, the thought of my father-of all his years, all his loyalty-being discarded like a broken part in a shining machine, made something inside me crack.

So I did the unthinkable.

I walked into the De-Rosie mansion-not the office, not Human Resources, but the mansion itself-and waited in the hall until Antonio De-Rosie called me in.

He was seated near the front door, though it wasn't cold. That was just his way. The cane at his side gleamed with silver, and he looked up only after several minutes of silence.

"I know you," he said without a smile. "Mr Silvano's girl. The one who reads too much."

I swallowed. "My father's retiring."

"I know, I told him to." He leaned back, considering me. "He can't drive with lungs like that. It's a liability."

"He served you faithfully for twenty-nine years."

He nodded once, then tapped his cane. "And for that, I reward loyalty."

That was all he said.

The next day, I was given a job-not in the cleaning quarters or kitchen, but as his personal secretary at De-Rosie Tech. A low-paying position, but prestigious in title. It was enough and it was everything.

Not because I was the most qualified, not because I stood out

but because I was Mr Silvano's daughter.

And in this world, loyalty was a currency far more valuable than skill.

I adapted quickly, I learned which coffee Antonio liked in the mornings and how to keep my tone respectful yet firm in meetings. I kept my wardrobe modest-neutral blouses, pressed skirts, hair pinned neatly in a bun.

I never wore perfume, I never raised my voice, I stayed late and I arrived early. I learned to navigate the quiet, invisible politics of the elite-how to disappear in plain sight.

It wasn't long before I became a fixture in the building.

Still, whispers followed me like perfume in the halls.

Because no matter how well I performed, I would never be one of them and because of the two men who watched me more than they should have.

Daniel and Damian De-Rosie.

They were born minutes apart but seemed to belong to different planets.

Daniel, the elder, wore his charm like a tailored suit-effortless and expensive. Women noticed when he walked into a room. Men, too.

He had a smile that made you want to trust him, he called assistants by name, left generous tips, and had a way of making people feel seen.

Damian was colder, more restrained. His suits were darker, his steps quieter. He didn't speak unless he had something important to say-and when he did, people listened. He calculated everything and even silence.

They rarely acknowledged me beyond what was necessary.

And that was fine.

I didn't need them to.

But everything changed the day Antonio De-Rosie called an unexpected board meeting.

The top-floor conference room, normally reserved for quarterly projections and product launches, was filled with board members in expensive suits, the legal team and both sons seated on either side of Antonio like opposing kings.

I stood near the door, notebook in hand, ready to take minutes. I blended in like always.

Antonio adjusted his cufflinks-an old habit that usually meant something serious was coming. His voice, though weathered, cut through the chatter with steel.

"I'm stepping down as CEO," he said simply.

A ripple of surprise passed through the room.

Daniel leaned forward, Damian remained still. Neither spoke.

Antonio continued with a measured tone. "I've built this empire from dust and blood. But legacy isn't just about numbers, t's about knowing who can carry a name with pride."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"I will not name a successor based on profits, nor on performance." His gaze flicked from one son to the other. "But on who can build something beyond this company. A life and a foundation."

Daniel shifted in his chair. Damian's jaw tightened.

"I will leave my empire," Antonio said, "to whichever of my sons marries first."

The room fell into stunned silence.

You could hear the hum of the central air conditioning, the scratch of a pen that accidentally slipped from someone's fingers.

Even I stopped writing, my pen hovering uselessly in midair.

Marriage?

Not leadership?

Not innovation?

Not global expansion?

Marriage?

I asked myself this one million questions.

Antonio didn't flinch. "A man who can commit to building a family is a man who can lead a company. Marriage requires discipline, Sacrifice and vision. The same things an empire requires."

Daniel exhaled slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Damian, as usual, gave nothing away.

The meeting concluded with murmurs and cautious glances. The board didn't argue and no one dared to.

As people filed out, I remained at the back, heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't explain the unease I felt-not yet. Just that something had shifted.

That day, I went home in silence.

I found my father seated near the garden, wrapped in a shawl, coughing softly into his sleeve. My mother brought him tea in a chipped porcelain cup.

Their hands touched briefly as he took it, a moment of warmth that passed between them like a whisper.

And I wondered if Antonio understood what marriage truly was.

What legacy truly meant.

Because power could be transferred, companies could be signed away.

But love-the real kind, the quiet kind that endured illness and poverty and years of quiet sacrifice-that was something you built with time.

Not contracts.

And certainly not a race.

I had no idea then that I would become the unwitting centerpiece of that very race.

But something told me...

I was no longer invisible.

Not to them...

Not anymore.