CHAPTER 27: STRANGE EMOTIONS

~ AXEL~

"I only have one or two meetings tomorrow. If you want, you can come with me."

I watched her reaction carefully, noting the way her eyes widened with genuine surprise. It wasn’t the sad, shocked or guarded look I’d grown accustomed to seeing when she’s around me. This was pure excitement.

"Really?" she asked in a pitch higher than usual.

"Don’t make me regret it," I said dryly, though I felt something unfamiliar tug at the corner of my mouth, almost like a smile.

"I won’t," she promised quickly, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "I promise I’ll be professional and..."

"Good." I straightened my cuffs, cutting off what would undoubtedly be an unnecessary ramble of assurances. "Then get some sleep. We have a long day ahead. I’m taking a shower."

Inside the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror and stopped short.

For just a moment there, when she’d looked at me with such genuine enthusiasm, I’d actually smiled. And that wasn’t the calculated expression I used in boardrooms or at galas.

I gripped the marble counter so tight that my knuckles were turning white. What the hell was I doing?

I stared at myself harder, watching as my expression shifted back to the familiar mask of control. "Focus," I told myself quietly. "The foundation of your plan is going well. The public and her parents are all buying the story. Don’t forget why you married her."

The reminder should have brought clarity, and reinforced my resolve. Instead, it left a bitter taste in my mouth that I couldn’t quite explain.

I turned on the shower, letting the scalding water wash away the confusion.

This was about getting my revenge, about paying back in the currency as they did me, about fulfilling the promise I had made. Nothing more.

When I finally came out from the bathroom twenty minutes later, the suite was quiet. Layla was already in bed, curled up on her side with the sheets pulled up to her chin. Her brunette hair fanned across the white pillowcase, and her breathing was soft and even.

I found myself standing there longer than necessary, watching the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders. She looked peaceful, unguarded, and vulnerable in a way she never allowed herself to be when awake.

Her face was relaxed, and free of the tension that seemed to follow her everywhere lately. No worry lines creased her forehead, no tightness around her eyes from dealing with her family’s cruelty. She just looked young, innocent, and something twisted uncomfortably in my chest.

I forced myself to look away, moving to the sitting area where I’d left my laptop. Work. That’s what I needed. Numbers, projections, strategies are things that made sense, and that I could control.

I opened the laptop and stared at the screen, scrolling aimlessly through emails yet my mind kept wandering back to dinner, and the way she’d defended me to her friend.

"He’s actually much gentler than anyone realises."

Why had she said that? I had been cold and distant to her the previous week. And why did hearing it affect me more than it should have?

I was so lost in my own thoughts for a long time till I heard her sleepy voice. "Didn’t you say you wanted to be in bed by ten?"

I glanced at the clock. Oh shit.

"It’s past eleven," she continued, her words slightly slurred with drowsiness.

I closed the laptop at once. "You’re right."

I made my way to the bed, deliberately lying on the far side and leaving a wide gap between us. The mattress dipped slightly as I settled in, and I heard her shift, probably moving further toward her edge.

"Good night, Axel," she murmured.

"Good night."

But sleep didn’t come easily. I lay there in the darkness, hyperaware of her presence beside me, of the soft sounds of her breathing, and the faint scent of her shampoo on the pillows.

So this was my unfortunate fate. Instead of her being uncomfortable around me, I was the one being tortured here. Great.

The next morning came too quickly and we ate breakfast in relative silence, almost as if both of us were lost in our own thoughts.

I found myself watching her from behind my newspaper, noting the way she carefully buttered her toast, how she always left the crusts on her plate.

"Ready?" I asked when she finished her coffee.

"As ready as I’ll ever be," she replied, smoothing down her dress nervously.

Downstairs, I opened the car door for her, offering my hand to help her inside. The gesture felt natural now, and automatic in a way that should have concerned me but didn’t.

"Where exactly are we going?" she asked as I settled into the seat beside her.

"The Meridian Building. I’m meeting with a potential investor for the Portland expansion."

"What kind of investor?"

"Tech entrepreneur. Young, ambitious, with lots of money to throw around." I glanced at her. "Try not to let him charm you too much."

She laughed. "I think I can handle myself around charming men."

"Can you?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it, and I saw her cheeks flush slightly.

"I married you, didn’t I?" she shot back.

Something sharp and unexpected twisted in my chest at her words, but I kept my expression neutral. "Touché."

This game we were playing, was beginning to get a little dangerous.

The Meridian Building was a modern glass tower that reflected the Portland skyline. As we walked through the lobby, I noticed several men’s gazes following Layla.

She seemed oblivious, focused on staying close to me as we walked through the crowd.

The elevator ride to the fortieth floor was quiet, but I could feel her nervous energy radiating beside me.

"Just observe," I reminded her as we stepped out. "Don’t speak unless I ask you’re confident."

"I understand."

The conference room was neat, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a mahogany table that could seat twenty, and a view that cost more than most people’s houses.

"Mr. O’Brien!"

I turned to see a young man approaching us, probably in his late twenties, with perfectly styled blond hair and a smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial.

He was exactly the type of person I usually dismissed within the first thirty seconds of meeting.

"Alexander Cross," he introduced himself, extending his hand. "But please, call me Alex."

"Axel O’Brien." I shook his hand briefly. "This is my wife, Layla."

His attention immediately shifted to her, and I watched as his eyes lit up with obvious interest.

"Mrs. O’Brien," he said, taking her hand and holding it just a fraction too long. "What a pleasure. I have to say, the photos in the business journals don’t do you justice."

Layla smiled politely. "Thank you, Mr. Cross."

"Alex, please." His grin widened. "And I have to ask, are you involved in the business as well? Because if you have half your husband’s mind for strategy, I might need to steal you away for my own company."

He laughed at his own joke, still holding her hand. Something dark and unfamiliar stirred in my chest as I watched him flirt with Layla. My jaw clenched involuntarily.

"Shall we get started?" I interrupted.

Alex finally released Layla’s hand, though his gaze lingered on her as we moved toward the conference table. As he pulled out her chair before I could, that strange, twisted feeling in my chest intensified.

Of course, I wasn’t jealous or something. Was I?