Hearts Rewritten

Ciara's POV

I didn't leave my hometown just to be nothing.

"Congratulations, Ciara!" A loud congratulatory noise met me as soon as I walked in the doors.

Party poppers, confettis, and loud trumpet noises have enveloped my ears while my co-workers celebrated the promotion that I recently got.

"I cannot believe you're leaving this office and have to go upstairs! Imagine the amount of money you'd get just by simply existing beside the President? Damn!" Jules excitedly muttered, not minding whether she's being loud or not.

I offered her a warm smile. "I could not believe it either!" My voice gradually rose as I went along with their heightened energy.

"It felt like it was yesterday when I first entered this huge firm as an intern but now, I was promoted to a higher role. I cannot believe it!" I felt so excited that I could not hide my emotions anymore.

"You deserve it." Yale walked up to me, holding a glass of beer and offering me a drink. "I can still remember how you spent most of your nights here. You even worked late at night to finish tasks that aren't supposed to be yours anyway. So... why else would there be no reason to give you a promotion?"

I took the glass and sipped on it. "Yes. Those nights are the worst..."

I gritted my teeth just by the thought. I did not know that I would be enjoying the fruits of my labor earlier than I thought.

"See? So now, you must enjoy every single second you have left before entering the secretary role because I swear, you won't get any good sleep soon." Mrs. Lena goes to warn me since she has been here the longest.

"Shall we go out for a drink?" Jules excitedly mumbled. It seems as though she had been looking forward to the drinking session or the send-off party for as long as I can ever imagine.

"Sure!" I matched her voice. "It will be my treat. Let's go!" I pushed her out of the office and watched all my workmates follow us.

"There's a grill near the office, we should visit it before they close." Yale suggested and I have never felt more excited than this night my whole life!

I picked up my coat hanging from the rack and immediately walked out. I could see every ounce of excitement in my body while I thought of all the possibilities.

When we reached the place, Jules immediately ordered drinks. She is known for always getting wasted in every hang outs so there is no doubt she would do the same thing today. I don't even have to worry because if she really does get blacked out, I'll just call her boyfriend.

"To our dear Ciara's promotion!" Jules shouted inside the grill place, not minding the people that were looking at us.

"Shh, calm down. You're not even drunk yet." Yale whispered in her ears while trying to calm her down as she looked like she was already wasted when in fact, she hadn't even sipped one alcoholic beverage yet.

"Why? I am just so proud that I would want her to celebrate this milestone as loud as we can. There is no need for us to be silent." She whispered and raised the glass for a drink.

"To Ciara!" At last, they can't do anything except take a cheers. I took a glass and took a sip of the drink as well.

"God..." I groaned as the alcohol sipped in. My throat felt like it was burning and I couldn't drink any more.

"I fear I'd be knocked out almost as immediately if we continued to drink recklessly like this." I mumbled as I tried to pick myself up as the liquor rushed through my throat.

I shook my head and immediately went to the meat. I started grilling and said, "So, who would replace me in the marketing team?"

"I heard there was an intern and the firm is planning to train her. I guess we can say that she'll be your replacement." Yale said as he started cutting the meat to help me.

Mrs. Lena looked at me and helped me cook as well. "Well, that intern won't be as good as you are but the best thing about this is... you got the job that everyone was dying to have."

"Yes. And I will make sure that I will do everything that I can to make the most out of this opportunity. It is not everyday that someone gets fortunate after all." I laughed a bit.

If you had told me three years ago-when I was eating cold instant noodles at my desk at 10 p.m. because the campaign deadline was killing me-that I'd be promoted to the President's secretary, I probably would've choked on my fork.

And yet here I was, sitting in a buzzing grill house with smoke curling above our table, beer bottles clinking, laughter echoing around us, and the scent of grilled pork belly, garlic, and soy-marinated heaven filling the air.

My cheeks were already flushed-partly from the shot of soju Jules forced down my throat, partly from how fast this new reality was sinking in.

"Okay, okay, one more shot!" Jules yelled, dramatically slamming her glass down on the table like we were in a K-drama brawl.

"Jules, I swear to God, I already feel like I'm floating," I laughed, clutching my glass as Yale refilled it. Again.

"You're not floating, you're ascending," she corrected. "You've transcended mortal status, babe. You are now one with the corporate gods."

Yale raised his own glass, his button-up half-unbuttoned and a rare, crooked smile playing on his lips. "To Ciara. Team Manager no more. She now dwells in the land of power suits and death stares. May she survive the cold-blooded ice king himself."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop smiling. "Why does everyone act like I've been assigned to babysit a fire-breathing dragon?"

"Because you have," Mrs. Lena said dryly, sipping from her wine glass as if she weren't the calmest force in the room. "And dragons don't appreciate being interrupted with schedule updates."

The three of them burst into laughter while I nervously chewed on a lettuce wrap.

I raised my glass with a grin, cheeks already warm from the liquor. "I swear, if anyone calls me madam at work, I'm quitting."

"Shut up," Jules laughed, tossing a cucumber slice at me. "You're about to walk the marbled halls of power. From emails and budget decks to brushing shoulders with Lysander freaking Eryx."

"God, don't say his full name like that. It sounds like you're invoking an ancient demon."

Yale leaned back, lifting his glass lazily. "An ancient demon who's known for reducing full-grown execs to stammering wrecks with just one eyebrow raise."

"Please," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. "He's just a man."

Yale tilted his head. "A man who hasn't taken a personal day in six years. Who replies to emails at 3:17 a.m. with periods so sharp they cut through your soul."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands while Jules cackled beside me.

Mrs. Lena, ever the composed one, smiled gently. "They're teasing, sweetheart. Mostly. But they're proud of you. I'm proud of you."

My chest tightened. I looked around at the people who had become more than colleagues. Jules, my chaos twin. Yale, my dependable realist. Mrs. Lena, our grounding force.

"I still don't believe it," I admitted, voice soft. "One day I was finalizing pitch decks, and the next... HR's telling me Mr. Eryx requested me. By name."

"Legend has it," Jules said in a low voice, "he read your performance review and whispered, Bring me the fiery one."

"Oh my god." I laughed so hard I almost choked on a lettuce wrap.

Truth was, when I received the news, my knees actually gave out. The President of the firm, Lysander Eryx-the man whose silence in boardrooms could be louder than thunder-wanted me as his secretary. Not just anyone. Me.

It was surreal. Terrifying. Exciting. Like standing at the edge of something huge, and not knowing if I was about to fly... or fall.

"Think about it," Yale mused. "You'll be in the inner sanctum. Scheduling meetings with billionaires. Witnessing power plays up close. Watching Lysander pace around in his six-thousand-dollar suits like a war general."

"Yale," I said flatly, "stop romanticizing my potential breakdown."

They all laughed. Even Mrs. Lena, who added, "Just don't let him scare you, Ciara. He's demanding, yes. But he values precision. Loyalty. Strength. And you have all three."

Those words... they meant more than I could say.

"I'll miss this," I said quietly. "Our team. Our chaos. Even Yale's rants about the printer."

"I'm not dead," Yale said, raising a brow. "I'll still be in the building."

"Barely. She'll be locked away in the executive wing," Jules sighed dramatically. "Drinking imported coffee and typing emails in code."

I giggled, but my heart felt heavy. Change, no matter how good, always came with a pang.

"Whatever happens," I said, "don't let me lose myself in that world. Okay? If I start walking around with a Bluetooth earpiece and snapping at interns-"

"We'll drag you back to reality," Jules promised. "With a tub of ice cream and the worst gossip we can find."

"And maybe pepper spray if Mr. Eryx turns into a dragon," Yale added.

"Shut up," I laughed.

We toasted again, this time more softly.

"To new chapters," Mrs. Lena said.

"To brave beginnings," I whispered.

Ciara's POV

The room was spinning.

Not in the cute, rom-com way where the girl twirls under fairy lights, but in the realistic kind-the kind that came after six shots of tequila, a suspicious mix of cocktails, and whatever the hell Jules made us drink in that flaming glass.

I had been flying high a few hours ago. Promotion party, overflowing liquor, sizzling meat straight off the grill, and coworkers who were more like family cheering me on. We toasted to my new position-President's Secretary-like I had just been crowned royalty.

And for a while, I believed it.

For a while, I was unstoppable.

Until the call came.

It pierced through my hangover haze like a needle through silk.

Unknown Number.

I shouldn't have answered, not with half my face buried in a throw pillow and the taste of barbecue sauce still haunting my tongue. But I did.

"Hello?" I rasped, sounding like I gargled gravel.

"Is this Ms. Ciara Dela Cruz?" The voice was crisp. Clinical. The kind that said I have bad news and I won't apologize for it.

"...Yes?"

"This is the U.S. Department of Migration. We're contacting you regarding your current visa status."

That's when the nausea hit me.

Not hangover nausea-existential, soul-leaving-the-body kind of nausea.

"Uh... okay?"

"According to our records, your visa expired last week. We've sent multiple notices, but we have not received a response or application for renewal. Therefore, you are now under consideration for deportation proceedings."

I sat up so fast my head nearly cracked in two.

"Wait. What? De-Deportation?" I stammered. "No, no, no. There must be a mistake! I-I have a job! I just got promoted! I pay taxes-well, sometimes! I-"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. You have seventy-two hours to submit updated documentation or leave the country. Failure to comply will result in legal consequences."

The call ended. Just like that.

No empathy. No "have a nice day."

Just cold, hard doom.

I stared at the ceiling. Then at my phone. Then at the framed photo on my shelf of me holding my first U.S. paycheck like a trophy. I had made it. I had come here with nothing but dreams and a secondhand suitcase.

And now?

Now I was being erased.

I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. I grabbed my coat, not even caring that it was inside-out, and stumbled into the street. My phone was in one hand, my dignity clutched loosely in the other. I needed air. Or liquor. Or a divine intervention.

It was the universe, I swear. Fate. Destiny. Karma with a megaphone.

Because as I turned the corner near the office district, heels clicking unevenly on the cracked pavement, there he was.

Lysander Eryx.

My new boss.

My infamously aloof, terrifying, devastatingly gorgeous boss.

Drunk.

I blinked, certain I was hallucinating. But no-Lysander, the immovable iceberg of the corporate world, was leaning against a lamppost, his dress shirt rumpled, tie hanging like a noose, a bottle half-empty in his hand.

"What the-Lysander?"

His head lolled slightly. "Ciara? Oh, you're the secretary?"

"You're... you're drunk?" I whispered, as if uttering a forbidden spell.

He blinked at me, eyes glassy, lips parted like he had no idea how he got there.

"I went to see a client. Client brought scotch. Scotch brought regrets."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I took a step closer, heels sinking into the sidewalk crack. "What are you even doing out here?"

"Thinking." He squinted up at the night sky. "About firing people. About not firing you."

That... was somehow comforting and ominous at the same time.

And then I said it.

"I'm being deported."

His brows furrowed. "What?"

"My visa expired. I just found out. I don't have a green card. They're giving me three days before they kick me out of the country like a... like a returned Amazon package."

His expression shifted-confused, mildly horrified, and definitely still drunk.

And that's when it hit me.

Like a meteor slamming into Earth.

A thought. A completely reckless, vodka-fueled, utterly insane thought.

I gasped. "Wait."

He narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're a citizen, right? You own a company. You wear suits that cost more than my rent."

"Are you okay?"

"No! I'm about to be deported! But you-" I pointed at him like he was some divine loophole. "You can save me."

"Ciara-"

"Marry me."

Silence.

Even the crickets seemed to stop chirping.

Lysander blinked slowly. "...What did you just say?"

I stepped closer, gripping his coat like I was pitching a business plan. "It's perfect! You need a reliable secretary-check. I need a visa-check. We fake the romance, do the paperwork, and boom-problem solved."

He just stared at me, stunned and unblinking.

"Come on," I whispered, grinning like the maniac I was. "You're all about strategic partnerships, right? This is just one with a wedding ring."

"You're insane." He mumbled. "I don't want to marry any random girl."

"Possibly," I shrugged, "but I'm a loyal employee."

He let out a long sigh, running a hand down his face. "You want to marry me so you can stay in the country?"

"Desperate times," I mumbled.

Then-God help me-I batted my lashes. "I can be very convincing. I'll even make you coffee. With cinnamon. Just how you like it."

"I will do everything you want me to do. I can even flip right now if you want to!" I attempted to do a flip on the street to show him that I am not lying.

"What? Hey, woman, stop." He forced me to just behave instead of making a scene.

"I can be pretty flexible as well. I'd please every single one in your family if needed just so we can make sure that this whole thing will work. Tell me, what else do I have to do?" I whispered, desperate to earn the favor.

He looked away, muttering something under his breath. Then, after an unbearably long pause, he said, "...There'd be a prenup."

My heart skipped.

Was that... was that a maybe?

Oh my God.

What did I just start?

Ciara's POV

Fake vows, real consequences.

If someone had told me last month that I'd be sitting across from Lysander Eryx-CEO, certified heartless automaton, and my terrifyingly gorgeous boss-discussing marriage terms over bitter espresso, I would've laughed until I choked.

But here I was. With yesterday's curls still fighting for life and my hangover making a rock concert in my skull. My eyes stung, my heart pounded, and Lysander? Not even a wrinkle in his suit.

"I took the liberty of having our legal team draft this," he said, sliding a thick folder toward me like it was a breakfast menu and not a legally binding contract.

The title read: "Prenuptial Agreement Between Lysander A. Eryx and Ciara Dela Cruz"

God. What was my life?

"Do you want me to read all of this now?" I asked, trying not to sound overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it.

There have been so many papers with God knows contents inside. I don't even know how I will start to absorb everything in just a blink of an eye.

"Which man with the right man would offer a woman a load of paper at this time of the day and expect her to read all of this? Oh God... this got to be torture." I groaned as I cracked my neck from the stress.

He didn't even blink. "I assume you're literate. Unless the tequila did more damage than I thought."

"Very funny," I muttered, flipping the first page and skimming through terms that might as well have been written in Latin. "So... I won't touch your billions, and you won't touch my savings account of thirty-seven dollars and twenty-five cents."

"Thirty-six," he corrected, a glint of amusement in his voice. "Your coffee this morning was billed to the office card."

I stared at him. "You checked my account?"

"I run a billion-dollar company. Due diligence is second nature."

"You're such a dreamboat."

"Are you ready to proceed?" he said crisply, ignoring my sarcasm.

I sat back, pressing my fingers to my temples. "Just... explain the big stuff to me. The rules. The don'ts. The if-you-do-this-you'll-burn-in-hell stuff."

He folded his hands on the table. "Fine. Rule one: This is a legal partnership, not a romantic one. You will not fall in love with me."

I scoffed. "Trust me, that's not a risk."

As if I would find myself falling in love with an arrogant man who is way out of my league. Plus, I do not intend to marry anyone without the presence of love. That is pure stupidity if you may ask.

His brow twitched. "Rule two: No real physical intimacy unless required for appearances. Kissing in public, hand-holding at events, but nothing behind closed doors."

"You're making it sound like I'm dying to jump you," I muttered.

He ignored that too.

"Rule three: Separate bedrooms, separate lives. We may share a house, but we're not sharing a life."

"Cold."

"Realistic."

He continued. "Rule four: The contract lasts one year. After that, we file for divorce. Quietly, cleanly. No mess."

One year.

Just one year of pretending to be the wife of a man who lived in suits and spoke in policies. One year of fake smiles at galas, fake laughter at corporate luncheons, fake everything-while trying not to lose myself in this ridiculous charade.

I swallowed thickly.

"And what do I get out of this?"

He lifted one hand, counting with precise fingers. "Full visa sponsorship. A lawyer to expedite your case. A monthly allowance for public appearances. Access to a secured residence during the contract. And immunity from company gossip."

I laughed bitterly. "You think people won't talk when I suddenly become your wife overnight?"

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes catching the sunlight like shards of steel. "They won't dare."

That shut me up.

Yeah, right. We're talking about the boss here, there ain't no way that the people will fabricate lies about him unless they all want to die. You know? He holds the power to fire someone, they won't dare go against him.

"You just have to go along with my lies and maybe we can take our time memorizing each other. Wouldn't that be great?" He whispered.

There was a pause. A thick, unbreathable kind of silence. His eyes were on me-sharp, assessing, too observant for comfort.

"You're shaking," he said.

I looked down. My fingers trembled just slightly against the paper.

"I've never done something this... illegal before."

"It's not illegal," he said. "It's strategic."

"Do you always marry your employees for strategy?"

He smirked-barely. "Only the reckless ones who needs saving."

"Fucking God complex." I mumbled in the air as I looked at this hell of a man.

A laugh escaped me, nervous and half-formed. He had a way of making you feel like the joke and the punchline all at once.

Then, without ceremony, he passed me a pen.

A sleek black Montblanc that probably cost more than my rent.

I stared at it. Then at him.

This was it.

If I signed this, I wouldn't be Ciara Dela Cruz, team manager turned secretary turned... fake wife. I'd be property. Papered. Bound.

But it was also freedom. From fear. From deportation. From the unknown.

"Any last chance to back out?" I asked.

"You already proposed to me," he replied smoothly. "I'm just being a gentleman and saying yes."

I rolled my eyes-but I signed. My hand moved before my heart could catch up. We also stamped our fingerprints making the contract more secure as our identities is already on the paper.

Ciara Dela Cruz.

The name looked oddly official next to his.

Lysander A. Eryx.

Black and white. Fire and ice. Two signatures sealing a deal that made absolutely no sense.

He took the pen back, clicked it shut, and closed the folder.

"We're done here."

I stood, suddenly aware of how much my knees wobbled. "So what now?"

He met my eyes with that terrifying calm. "Now... we tell the world we're in love."

"Get ready to be on top for a year, Ciara Eryx." He said, officially using his surname next to my first name.

Fucking declaration of marriage out of convenience.