Talk About Cooperation Again

The heavy oak door of the villa clicked shut behind Cora, sealing away the chaotic aftermath of the plaza. The moment she stepped into the entryway, the rich, savory aroma of simmering chicken soup and garlic-seared shrimp washed over her. The tension in her shoulders instantly began to melt. Warm light spilled from the kitchen, casting a golden glow across the hallway.

Sophie came jogging around the corner, holding a pair of soft indoor slippers. "Mommy, with such an acute sense of smell, it's a pity that you didn't become a perfumer! Thank you for your hard work today."

Mason emerged from the dining room a second later, carrying a stack of neatly folded napkins. "Dinner is ready, Mommy. We were just waiting for you to come back."

Cora slipped off her heels and slid her aching feet into the plush slippers. She walked into the dining area and paused, her gaze sweeping over her young children. They stood side by side, their faces beaming with pride. In that quiet, unguarded moment, a sudden, wild thought struck her chest like a physical blow.

She stared at Mason’s brow and Sophie’s intense, dark eyes. Beneath the soft, youthful baby fat that rounded out their cheeks, she saw a startling, undeniable resemblance to Victor Crawford’s cold, chiseled features. The sharp jawline, the piercing stare, the sheer commanding presence—it was all there, mirrored in miniature. Her breath caught in her throat. The lingering scent of Victor’s bespoke cologne from the plaza seemed to ghost through her memory, mixing with the aroma of the dinner.

She quickly shook her head, forcing the impossible idea away. Her face turned pale as she ruthlessly crushed the rising panic.

She reprimanded herself internally. *That is impossible. Vanessa claimed the man from that night was a disgusting, hideous old man. There is zero chance it was the CEO of the Crawford Group.*

Mason stepped closer, his dark brows furrowing in concern. "Mommy, are you not feeling well?"

Cora reached out and gently smoothed down his hair, forcing a bright, reassuring smile onto her lips. "Mason, Mommy is just a little tired from the flight and the meetings. Let's sit down and have dinner."

The dining table was arranged beautifully. There were four dishes laid out with care: perfectly glazed shrimp, stir-fried seasonal vegetables, a tender cut of beef, and a steaming ceramic bowl of rich chicken soup. The portions were neat, the presentation meticulous.

Watching her son and daughter serve themselves with such extreme independence sent a deep pang of guilt straight through Cora’s heart. She picked up her chopsticks, but her appetite had vanished. She was too obsessed with her demanding work schedule. She spent her days building an empire, fighting off rivals, and securing her position in the cutthroat fashion industry, leaving her children to navigate the domestic world alone. She felt a profound sense of failure, believing she was falling horribly short of her fundamental duties as a mother.

The next morning, the bright sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her home gym. Cora was in the middle of a grueling core workout, sweat glistening on her forehead, when her phone buzzed loudly on the mat. She checked the screen, paused her timer, and answered the call.

"Hello, Miss Atwood. This is Milo Granger, Mr. Crawford's personal assistant."

Cora grabbed a towel and wiped her neck. "Mm-hmm."

Milo cleared his throat, his tone dripping with excessive politeness. He had unintentionally offended this powerful figure the day before, and he was treading with extreme caution today. "Do you have time today, Miss Atwood? Mr. Crawford wishes to speak with you regarding the employment contract."

Cora took a slow sip of water, deciding to test his boundaries and the sheer desperation of the Crawford Group. She tossed the water bottle aside. "I am free from ten to eleven this morning. That is my only window."

A heavy silence fell over the line. Milo was clearly thrown off guard. The standard operating procedure in Oakhaven was that everyone, regardless of status, bent their schedules to accommodate Victor Crawford.

Milo hesitated before speaking again. "Please allow me a moment to check Mr. Crawford's schedule."

Cora leaned against the gym wall. "Okay."

Hearing the title 'Mr. Crawford' brought the memory of that intimidating, imposing man rushing back. The truth was, Cora had an entirely open schedule for the day. She had no other meetings planned. But she felt zero obligation to make life easy for an arrogant, wealthy man who used his security team to throw people onto the street. Even the strange, lingering familiarity she felt around him would not make her yield.

Milo returned to the line a minute later. "Miss Atwood, Mr. Crawford will accommodate your schedule. He will meet you at ten o'clock sharp in his office at the Crawford Group headquarters. Is that acceptable?"

Cora arched an eyebrow in genuine surprise. Victor was notoriously difficult and uncompromising. The fact that he was willing to shift his own massive corporate agenda to fit her narrow, arbitrary time slot signaled a major shift in power. She realized this negotiation was going to be far more complex than she initially thought.

After finishing her workout, she showered and dressed. When she emerged into the kitchen, the twins had already set out a warm breakfast of toast, eggs, and fruit. The sight triggered her maternal guilt all over again. Over the past two years, Mason and Sophie had practically taken care of her, rather than the other way around. She sat down, forced down the food, and spent thirty precious minutes reviewing their study materials before leaving for the city.

The Crawford Group headquarters was a towering monolith of glass and steel in the center of the financial district. The moment Cora stepped into the grand lobby and stated her name, the head receptionist snapped to attention. She was escorted straight to the private executive elevator. Cora noted the flawless efficiency and impeccable manners of the staff, silently acknowledging the rigid discipline that fueled the company’s massive prosperity.

That brief moment of professional admiration vanished the second she walked into the president's office.

Victor sat behind a massive desk of dark mahogany, looking like a king passing judgment. The air in the room was instantly tense, suffocating in its heavy silence. He didn't offer a greeting. Instead, he cut straight to the transaction.

Victor leaned forward, steepling his long fingers together. "Miss Atwood, if you agree to become Aura's design director, I will double your annual salary."

Cora stood frozen for a second, her blood running cold. She glared at him, her eyes flashing with fierce indignation. "Mr. Crawford, what do you mean by that? Do you think I will forgive your girlfriend for her insults just because of your wealth? Perhaps I am a nobody in your eyes, but I still possess my dignity. I will not be bought off."

Victor looked up slowly, his dark eyes analyzing her. He wondered if she was subtly insulting him, implying that he possessed vast wealth but lacked basic decency. He found her stance incredibly arrogant.

He allowed his gaze to sweep over her cold, striking figure. She wore a black silk embroidered dress that hugged her curves flawlessly, projecting an aura of untouchable grace. A simple white hairpin rested in her dark hair, and a delicate white bracelet circled her slender wrist. He noted the craftsmanship. She wore only two pieces of jewelry, but they were rare, bespoke items that cost a fortune. She clearly did not lack money.

Still, Victor operated in a world defined by leverage and payouts. He did not believe a single word she said about dignity.

Victor leaned back in his leather chair, a disdainful smirk playing on his lips. "So, are you telling me that you agreed to come to Aura for something other than money? We both know how the industry works."

Cora raised her chin, flashing him a cold, proud smile. "Mr. Crawford, the main reason for my return to this city is that the only company worthy of my talents is Aura. I came for the legacy, not your bank account."

Victor found himself momentarily distracted. As she spoke, he watched the movement of her red lips and the faint dimples that appeared above the corners of her mouth. There was something deeply, maddeningly familiar about her expressions. He lost track of her words, trapped in a bizarre sense of déjà vu.

Cora cleared her throat loudly, the sharp sound snapping Victor back to reality.

Victor regained his composure and narrowed his eyes. "Just name your price."

Cora bristled, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides. She felt as though she had walked into a pawn shop rather than a corporate boardroom. He was speaking to her like a cynical trader haggling over a cheap commodity.

She took a slow breath, forcing her voice to remain dangerously steady. "Mr. Crawford, your girlfriend publicly doubted my identity and insulted my professional integrity. It is not too much for me to demand a formal apology, is it? Are you the kind of person who likes to settle everything and show good faith with a checkbook? Do you truly believe that money is omnipotent enough to erase any disrespect?"

Victor stared at her. He wanted to tell her yes. He wanted to say that money was the easiest, cleanest, and most direct weapon to solve any problem on earth. It was exactly how he managed his loveless, obligation-bound relationship with Vanessa.

Five years ago, he had woken up in the Majestic Hotel with a pounding headache and an empty bed. The mysterious woman he had shared a passionate, drug-fueled night with had vanished. He had launched a massive, frantic search across various media platforms, hunting for the specific emerald ring he had intentionally left for the woman he had fallen in love with in the dark.

When Vanessa had finally appeared before him, clutching that exact emerald ring, he was convinced she was the woman from that night. He had brought her into his world. He allowed her to live in his exclusive Orchid Garden estate. But the illusion shattered almost immediately. He quickly discovered a deep, visceral repulsion toward being intimate with Vanessa, questioning if his intense feelings from that night were solely the fabricated result of the drugs in his system.

The upper crust of Oakhaven society blindly considered Vanessa to be his official girlfriend, though he had never once confirmed the rumor. He couldn't be bothered to explain the twisted dynamic to the public. He let Vanessa decide if she wanted to stay in a loveless arrangement. He was incredibly generous to her financially, rationalizing that she had lost her virginity to him during that one-night stand. Money was the only thing he could give her, and she took it greedily.

Yet, looking at Cora now, the transactional walls in his mind wavered. Her fierce pride, the fire in her eyes, the shape of her mouth—she felt strangely, deeply familiar in a way Vanessa never did.

Victor broke the heavy silence, making an unprecedented concession. "Miss Atwood, I can apologize to you if you want."

Cora blinked, genuinely shocked. She had expected him to throw another checkbook at her or order his security to drag her out again.

She recalled her friend Maya’s gossip about the unbreakable bond between Victor and Vanessa. This apology confirmed it in her mind. A man like Victor Crawford did not bow his head for just anyone. He was lowering himself to protect Vanessa's reputation. Cora became fiercely convinced that his affection for his girlfriend ran deep.

Victor held her gaze, his voice dropping into a sincere, quiet register. "I apologize on Vanessa's behalf, Miss Atwood."

He paused, the rare moment of vulnerability vanishing in a flash as his commanding arrogance returned. "However, you should also watch your attitude moving forward."

The blatant warning instantly ruined the gesture. Cora's blood boiled.

She glared at him, her voice dripping with ice. "Mr. Crawford, if you do not want to apologize, just say so. You do not get to remark on my attitude after your staff threw me into the street. I know that you have a blind, deep affection for Vanessa, but you do not need to show off your tragic love story to me."

She snatched her designer leather bag from the desk and turned on her heel, marching toward the door to storm out of the suffocating office.

Victor surged up from his chair. He crossed the room in two massive strides and clamped his large hand firmly around her wrist, halting her momentum.

Meanwhile, miles away from the tense negotiations at the Crawford headquarters, Mason and Sophie slipped out the back door of the villa.

They wore black face masks and pulled the brims of oversized baseball hats low over their eyes. The chaotic airport video of them defending their mother had gone viral across local social media networks. They knew they had to remain hidden. Being recognized would ruin their covert operation and bring unnecessary trouble to Cora.

The night before, while digging through online corporate databases to investigate Victor Crawford, Mason had stumbled upon a goldmine. Stryker, a major entertainment subsidiary of the Crawford Group, had posted an urgent casting call for twin child actors. Mason possessed a sharp, calculating mind. He instantly saw it as the perfect, flawless opportunity to earn independent money and secure a physical pathway to get closer to Victor Crawford's inner circle.

They navigated the city transit system alone, arriving at the massive Stryker audition hall.

The waiting room was packed with nervous children practicing lines, all flanked by hovering, anxious parents holding water bottles and headshots. Mason and Sophie stood alone in the corner, their small figures looking starkly isolated amidst the crowd.

The audition process moved quickly. After an hour of waiting, a staff member called their number.

Mason and Sophie walked into the bright audition room hand in hand. The casting director, a weary man sitting behind a long table, looked up from his clipboard. The moment his eyes landed on the twins, he froze. His absolute attention was captured. The two children possessed a striking, undeniable physical resemblance to the CEO of the Crawford Group. Their bone structure, their intense stares, the specific curve of their lips—it was like looking at miniature royalty.

A female staff worker sitting next to the director leaned forward, her brow furrowing in concern as she looked around the empty doorway behind them. "Where are your parents, sweethearts?"

Mason stepped forward. He softened his posture and blinked his large eyes, masterfully playing on their sympathies with a perfectly innocent, heartbroken face. "We don't have a daddy, and it's very tough for Mommy to work alone to raise us. We came here by ourselves."

A collective gasp echoed down the judges' table. The female staff worker pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes watering. Moved by the tragic, brave backstory of the struggling single mother and her independent children, the judges immediately scribbled down extra points on their evaluation sheets out of pure sympathy.

The casting director cleared his throat, trying to regain his professional composure. "So what will you perform for us today?"