Wife chasing Billionaire's Adoration.

After a full day of rest, Sandra felt rejuvenated and energetic enough to return to work. She had multiple client meetings scheduled for the day and was determined to ensure everything went smoothly. As she worked at her desk, Rayna entered the room and announced, "Boss, something's happened."

Sandra froze, her worry palpable as she looked up at Rayna, only to see a face brimming with excitement.

"The Rosé Couture just contacted us," Rayna said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "They want to meet you for a potential partnership!"

Sandra's heart pounded with disbelief. Rosé Couture was an international brand; she was skeptical. "Rayna, that must be a scam. There's no way a brand like that would approach a second-tier local company like ours," she said, her voice laced with suspicion as she turned back to her computer.

"Right? I thought so too," Rayna agreed, "until they said the owner will be flying here tomorrow to meet you personally."

"Rosa Fleming?" Sandra asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes!" Rayna could hardly contain her excitement.

Sandra tried to maintain her composure, but her throat felt dry and her hands began to tremble slightly, making it impossible to continue typing.

"Let's do it," she decided with a firm nod. "When am I free?"

"The day after tomorrow would be perfect. I'll respond to them now," Rayna said, practically bouncing out of the room with eagerness.

Now alone, Sandra fell into deep thought. The situation felt surreal, and it hadn't sunk in yet. An enormous opportunity was knocking at her door, yet she was scared. She worried she might be biting off more than she could chew.

Could she truly collaborate with such a company? Or were they trying to expand and devour local competition in the country? She had to be cautious; she didn't want to hope too much, but she was ambitious at heart.

Sandra couldn't concentrate on her tasks anymore and decided to do some research instead. Typing "Rosé Couture" into her computer, she knew the owner was Rosa Fleming, and that it was a subsidiary of Fleming Corps, run by Roland Fleming's mother. For reasons she couldn't fathom, her hand clicked on Roland Fleming's profile, and a photo of him on the cover of a business magazine appeared.

The moment she saw his sharp, handsome face, scenes from that night at the hotel flashed through Sandra's mind. She shook her head briskly and took a deep breath, trying to dispel the images.

How could she think of that night just by looking at any man's face? She must be turning into a pervert, she thought, feeling too distracted to continue. She stood up and walked out of the office to get some fresh air. She had a meeting scheduled in 30 minutes at a nearby café.

She planned to head there early to relax a bit. Walking from her office to the café, after ordering, she found a seat by the window where she could soak up enough sunlight.

On the curbside in front of the coffee shop where Sandra sat, a man was positioned in a low-profile, luxurious Maybach, his eyes squinting as he watched her intently. Sandra looked up, her gaze catching the car that seemed to be observing her, but all she could see was the reflection on the dark-tinted window.

In the driver's seat, Andreas waited for his boss's command. He knew that Roland was on a mission to pursue the future Lady of the Flemings.

"I'm thirsty," Roland suddenly said.

"Would you like me to order something for you from inside, Mr. Fleming?" Andreas quickly responded.

"No, let's go inside," Roland replied, already opening the car door and walking towards the café before Andreas could even finish his sentence. Andreas sighed, hurriedly got out of the car, and followed.

Roland entered the café and went straight to the table beside Sandra's. He sat in such a way that he was facing the opposite direction from Sandra, who noticed him the moment he sat down. She caught a whiff of a familiar scent but couldn't place where she had smelled it before; however, it quickly dissipated.

Sandra glanced at the man to her left front and saw that he was looking at her intently, without blinking. There was no animosity in his eyes, just a serious, poker-faced expression with deep, penetrating eyes fixed on her. Feeling awkward, she frowned, recognizing the man as Roland Fleming. What was a big shot like him doing in this modest café?

She couldn't bear to look at him anymore and turned her attention back to the papers she'd been working on. But concentration eluded her; in her peripheral vision, it seemed the man was still watching her.

At the counter, while waiting for his payment to be processed, Andreas watched his boss, shaking his head slightly. "I knew it," he mumbled to himself, thinking, 'His boss definitely has zero experience in love, let alone courtship. He's definitely scaring his future lady boss.'

After paying, Andreas sat down in front of his boss and kept quiet while Roland continued to gaze at his soon-to-be lovely wife.

Roland observed his wife—yes, in his mind, she was already his. He admired her fair neck framed by long, shiny, straight black hair. She wore a red, long-sleeved silk blouse, with a couple of buttons undone, giving him a full view of her collarbone. Her lips were adorned with peach-colored lipstick, complemented by very light facial makeup. She was beautiful, very beautiful. He was tempted to pin her down on the table, to rip off all her clothes right then and there.

But something irritated him: the wildcat didn't recognize him at all. It seemed he hadn't left much of an impression. Before he could think of a way to approach her, a baritone voice rang out, "Miss Romualdez?"

All three looked up to see a handsome, sunny-faced man in a suit sit down in front of Sandra. She stood, shook his hand, and smiled beautifully at him.

"Mr. Arrevalo," she said. Roland finally heard her voice, melodious like an angel's, though he preferred the sound of it from that night when she was begging him to stop.

Roland swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He then looked at the man in front of Sandra and felt an immediate dislike; he was an eyesore.