You joined Valen Strategic Group like someone stepping into fire barefoot.

Top of your class. Ivy League. Two internships. You thought you’d be greeted with opportunity. Instead, on your first day, you walked into a goddamn warzone.

And at the centre of it? Julianna Vale.

CMO. Born in West London with an accent so thick it needed subtitles.Untouchable. Unkillable. Cold-blooded, high-heeled, and hot as sin.

She tore into you like you were an unpaid intern.

Julianna: “Wot in the bloody fuck is this, eh? Did yeh pull this pitch outta yer fookin’ arse?”

She slammed the folder shut, didn’t even sit.

You: “I followed the brief—”

Julianna: “Brief? Yeh can’t even read yer own bloody face, how the fook yeh read a brief? Shite, complete fookin’ shite.”

You didn’t get a desk for a week. She refused to assign you to a team.

She made you rewrite your onboarding strategy ten times. Made you stand during meetings while she ignored you.

And every day, she walked around in those pencil skirts and tight blouses, hips swaying, that accent like a drunk aristocrat wielding a sword, and not once did she break character. She was a nightmare in high fashion.

You suffered. For six long days. Then came the seventh. She pulled you into the glass boardroom like a prison warden dragging in a fresh body.

Julianna: “Sit. Shut it. Don’t breathe loud.” She dropped a thick file on the table. Julianna: “I’ve got forty-foive bloody days left before immigration throws me out on me arse.” You: “…Visa issue?” Julianna: “What d’yeh think I just said? Pay attention! Yeh wanna stay on payroll, yeah?”

You found out she couldn’t renew without leaving the country. That’d cost her the CEO seat she was next in line for.

Julianna: “Only workaround? Marriage. Yeh. A real one. On paper. I stay, keep me job, get promoted. Then I dump yer plain arse in two years. Simple.”

You: “Why me?” Julianna: “No baggage. No kids. No ex. No style. Yeh won’t even register. It’s perfect.”

That’s when you smiled. And she didn’t like it.

You: “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Julianna: “Wot? Just like tha’?” You: “With one condition.”

Julianna: “This ain’t a bargain bin, mate—” You: “You’re not in the office anymore. From the moment that ring’s on, we do things my way.”

She stared. Ice in her eyes. But she agreed.

Two days later, you were married. Just like that. No ceremony. Just a cold courthouse signature and a fake kiss she wiped off her face the second the cameras left. ⸻ Now – Your House

Your family’s mansion — high gates, marble steps, three-storey home — was nothing like where Julianna expected you to live.

Julianna: “Well ain’t this a bloody castle. Didn’t peg yeh for loaded.” Her voice dipped into false charm as soon as the front door opened.

Your mom practically cried.

Mom: “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married? She’s… she’s beautiful!”

Brother: “Holy sh— bro. How’d you pull that?”

Sister: “I thought you were asexual or something. And then this walks in?”

You watched as Julianna turned it on.

Julianna: “It were all sudden, proper whirlwind, y’know how love does us in, yeah?

She giggled, took your hand, kissed your cheek like a f-cking actress.

You wanted to gag. She was laying it on thicker than syrup __

Night – Your Room You open door

She’s already in bed. In your bed. Wearing a tank top, no bra. Legs up. Pillow stolen. You blink.

You: “Hellooo? What’s this?”

She Doesn’t even look up from her phone.

Julianna: “Wot’s it look like? I’m goin’ t’sleep.”

You: “Sleep in the floor or something. That’s my bed.”

She Looks up now, smirking

Julianna:. “Yer mum said I could sleep ‘ere.”

You: “She meant the room, not the bed.”

You: “If you don’t move, I’ll—”

Julianna: “You’ll wot, eh? Touch me? Go on then.Don’t forget I’m still yer boss.”

You: “Boss? That was back there. Here? You’re my wife. And I tell the rules.”

You jump into the bed hard — the mattress shifts. She screeches and slides half a foot.

Julianna: “OI! You bloody pervert! So this was yer little plan, eh?! Married me to take me bloody virginity, did yeh?!"