Love at First Night: The Billionaire's First Love-Chapter 81: He’s doing just fine as my husband

>Mallory

"Young Madam."

This time, the voice didn’t come from the receptionist. I turned around, already had an idea of who it might be. There are only three people who called me that way.

Secretary Plave stood a few steps behind me, his posture straight, his expression composed as ever. I’d only seen him properly once—when Grandfather visited the house weeks ago—but he was memorable in the way people who lived their lives beside power often were. And the atmosphere tells me he was really good at his job.

The receptionist stiffened the moment she saw him. Her face was drained of all color.

"S-Secretary Plave," she said, scrambling to stand and ending up with a deep bow. The change in attitude caught me off guard.

Plave’s gaze moved briefly to her, then settled on me. He gave a respectful nod.

"Young Madam," he repeated calmly. "Is there a problem?"

Before I could answer, the receptionist hurried to speak, her voice tight. "This woman insists she’s—"

"I didn’t insist. I am his wife. I am simply stating a fact."

I said it evenly, without raising my voice, but firm enough to tell her how disappointing she acted.

Plave didn’t look surprised, but his eyes went dark. Then his eyes flicked to Asher in my arms, then to the lunchbox he was holding, and finally back to my face.

"Yes," he said simply. "She is the Young Master’s wife."

The color drained from the receptionist’s face. Turning it into a complete ghostly white.

"I—I didn’t know," she stammered. "She didn’t have an appointment and—"

"That is enough," Plave interrupted, his tone cool. "You should have contacted the executive office immediately."

"I’m sorry, Secretary Plave, I really—"

The sharp tap of a cane against the marble floor cut her off.

The sound alone was enough to make the surrounding employees straighten instinctively.

Grandpa Segreev approached us at an unhurried pace, his presence commanding without effort as always, the way your body would instinctively stiffen at the mere sight of him. He took in the scene in a single glance—Plave, the pale receptionist, and me.

Then his gaze landed on Asher.

The severity in his eyes softened.

"Well," Segreev said, stopping in front of me, "this is a surprise."

"Chairman," I greeted, inclining my head slightly.

It wasn’t stiff. We’d already met, and I’ve seen worse of his attitude. We’ve already seen each other in my own home, sitting at my dining table and eating lunch together, holding his great-grandson the same way I was now.

His attention remained on Asher. " Would you look at that? You brought him with you."

Asher looked back at him quietly, his small fingers gripping the edge of the lunchbox. After a moment, he lifted his hand in a hesitant wave. Shifting slightly in my hand.

Segreev laughed, the sound deep and genuine.

"Good," he said approvingly. "What a brave kid. Truly, my blood runs in you!" he said, amused.

I hadn’t expected that warmth the first time we met, and I also never saw it, and I didn’t expect it now either. For a man known for being ruthless in both business and family matters, Grandpa was... unexpectedly gentle with Asher today.

Plave cleared his throat lightly. "Chairman, Young Madam was stopped at the reception desk."

Segreev’s expression shifted instantly. He turned his gaze to the receptionist, sharp and cold.

"Stopped?" he repeated.

The receptionist bowed repeatedly, panic written all over her face. "I’m very sorry, Chairman. I didn’t realize—"

"Since when," Segreev said, "does my grandson’s wife need an appointment to see him?"

"I truly didn’t mean any disrespect," she said quickly. "Please forgive me, Young Madam."

Her apologies came fast and frantic, drawing attention from people passing through the lobby.

I exhaled quietly.

"Chairman," I said, turning slightly toward Segreev, "it’s fine."

He paused and looked at me. I closed my eyes, then opened them again at the pitiful sight of the woman. I sighed before turning to Plave.

"She was just doing her job," I continued. "If she let in everyone who claimed to be my husband’s wife, I’d probably be the one causing a scene."

The receptionist froze.

Segreev stared at me for a moment, then let out a short, amused huff.

"You’re more reasonable than most," he said. "Still—" His gaze flicked back to the receptionist. "Control your attitude. You represent this company."

"Yes, Chairman," she replied quickly.

"Also, you needed to reflect on yourself and apply it at your next company," he added.

"Y-yes?" she stammered. I just shook my head. It sucks that it cost her her job, but she did have an attitude. And I already did my best for her.

He turned back to Asher, his expression softening once more.

"May I borrow him for a bit?" Segreev asked me. "I was on my way to see my grandson anyway. But I would rather spend it with someone who appreciates my presence."

My first instinct was to refuse.

I didn’t like the idea of unnecessary attachments. This marriage, this life—it all felt fragile, temporary. Letting Asher get closer to people who might one day become distant felt dangerous.

But when I looked at grandpa’s face, at the way he was already holding out his arms patiently, I hesitated. I don’t understand the reason, but somehow I wanted them to be family.

I wasn’t as against the idea as I used to be.

I looked down at Asher. "Is that okay?" I asked softly.

He hesitated, his brows knitting together. He glanced at the old man, then back at me.

After a few seconds, he nodded.

Segreev smiled broadly as he carefully took Asher from my arms, supporting him with practiced ease.

"Plave," he said, "take my grand daughter in law to Venzrich."

"Yes, Chairman."

Plave gestured for me to follow him.

As we headed toward the elevators, my hand gripping tightly at the lunchbox, my steps felt heavier than before. The closer I got, the more aware I became of the tightness in my chest.

We exited on the executive floor just as the doors of a boardroom opened.

A group of men stepped out, their voices low, their expressions satisfied.

Venzrich walked in the center. I stopped.

This version of him felt distant somehow—sharp-eyed, confident, entirely in control. His posture was relaxed, his suit immaculate, his attention focused on the investor beside him.

He looked... good.

Too good.

My heart is beating faster at the image of him working. I just stood there, not making a sound.

I wanted to look at him more.

One of the men laughed. "CEO Archeval, it’s always a pleasure working with you."

Venz nodded politely. "The feeling is mutual."

He looked so focused, his gaze was stern and authoritative.

Another investor chuckled and added casually, "If you ever find yourself dissatisfied with your marriage, my daughter would be happy to take your wife’s place."

The words landed like a slap on the face. I tightened my grip on the lunchbox. My brows furrowed.

Venz didn’t immediately deny it. Like I wanted him to.

"I’ll keep that in mind," he replied with a slight curve on his lips.

That was all it took. I stepped forward, annoyed.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice calm but firm.

The group fell silent, their head turned to me.

I met the investor’s gaze and smiled politely.

"He’s doing just fine," Isaid. "With me as his wife."