CHAPTER 52: CHAPTER-52. (SMOKING HOT HUSBAND OF MINE).

After brunch and the so-called great announcement, everyone dispersed to their respective rooms.

Though we....I, on behalf of Dave and I, insisted to Grandpa Albert to return to the apartment, he straight up denied the request.

His exact words were, "It’s Sunday. You’ll stay here tonight. We’re family."

Yeah, right. Family.

I tried to argue, but one look at Grandpa’s steel eyes had me snapping it shut. No one, not even Walter, argued with Albert Morris when he had made up his mind.

Dave didn’t even try. He just slipped his hands into his pockets, face unreadable as ever, and gave the slightest nod of surrender.

And just like that, I was stuck. Stuck in this massive mansion with people who either wanted to ignore me, judge me, or, in Nicole’s case, give me hives with every fake smile he flashed.

I followed Dave down the hallway toward the guest rooms, my footsteps echoing on the marble floor.

Every inch of this house screamed money and history, but none of it felt warm. None of it felt like home.

When we reached our room, Dave pushed the door open and held it for me, silent as always.

The casual, stylish outfit he’d worn earlier still clung to him, and I hated how much I noticed it.

"Guess we’re prisoners for the night," I muttered, stepping inside.

His lips twitched...a smirk, almost not. "Wouldn’t call it prison."

He glanced around the huge room with its king-sized bed, polished furniture, and curtains heavy enough to block out the sun. "More like a gilded cage."

I dropped my bag on the couch and crossed my arms. "Same thing."

He didn’t argue. Just shut the door and leaned against it, closing his eyes for a moment like he needed a break from the entire world.

The silence stretched between us again, thick and awkward. My chest tightened.

I didn’t know if I wanted to scream, or... worse, if I wanted to ask him what that moment at the table had meant. The hand on my back. The look in his eyes.

But I didn’t. Because that was dangerous territory.

So instead, I said the safest thing I could think of. "Well... at least dinner won’t be as dramatic, right?"

His eyes opened, and for the first time all day, he actually laughed. Quiet, low, but real.

"Don’t count on it."

Noted. Expect the unexpected. Just thinking about the possibilities made my head ache.

I pulled the hem of my dress tighter, suddenly too aware of how stiff the air between us was. My throat felt dry, so I blurted the first excuse that came to mind.

"I’m... I’m going to take a shower first," I said quickly, before he could move toward the bathroom.

His brows lifted the tiniest bit, amused. "You don’t have to claim it like it’s a battlefield."

I shot him a look, cheeks heating. "Well, considering how this house feels? I’m not taking chances."

That earned me another small chuckle, the second one of the day, which felt unfairly precious. He pushed himself off the door and gestured toward the bathroom.

"Go ahead. Ladies first."

"Thanks," I muttered, trying not to sound as awkward as I felt.

Inside, I shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

The bathroom was bigger than Croline’s entire old apartment, with white marble floors, golden fixtures, and a shower that looked like it belonged in a luxury spa.

I twisted the knobs until steam began to fill the room, then stepped under the spray. The hot water hit my skin, melting away the tension knotted in my shoulders.

Finally, I felt like I could breathe.

No prying eyes, no fake smiles, no carefully calculated dagger-words from Vivian. Just water and silence.

Except... my mind didn’t stay silent.

I kept replaying that moment at the table. His hand was steady against my back. His eyes, soft and unguarded, like he’d slipped out of his mask without realizing it.

And me, melting like an idiot over a simple touch.

By the time I finished, my head was no clearer than before. I wrapped myself in the fluffy robe hanging by the door and padded back into the room.

Dave was exactly where I’d left him, lounging against the couch, scrolling absently through his phone.

But his eyes flicked up when he heard me, tracing me once, before he snapped back into his usual neutral self.

"Your turn," I said, setting the towel on the chair and pretending not to notice how his gaze lingered that half-second too long.

He stood, stretching a little, and nodded. "Don’t lock me out if I take too long."

"I’ll think about it," I shot back, surprising myself with the bite in my tone.

His lips curved again, almost-smile number three, before he disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower starting up filled the room, and suddenly I was very aware that Dave Morris...my distant, frustrating, impossible husband...was just a thin wall away.

And that realization did absolutely nothing to calm the storm already raging inside me.

The memories of that night flashed in front of my eyes, uninvited.

His voice, sharp with frustration.

My own, just as sharp in return.

The way we’d stood too close, arguing about going public, about who would break first under the pressure of all those eyes and whispers.

And then... that moment after. The one where the silence between us had nearly burned louder than the fight itself.

I pressed my palms to my cheeks, desperate to cool the heat there, which was of no use.

I probably looked like a ripe tomato left too long in the sun.

My pulse wouldn’t slow, and the memory of his hand on my wrist...firm, grounding, infuriatingly gentle despite his words...looped over and over in my mind.

So much so that I didn’t even register when the sound of water stopped.

It was only when the door clicked open that reality slammed back into me.

And there he was.

The cold, distant, smoking-hot husband of mine.