CHAPTER 137: KARMA OR COSMIC CRUELTY?

Alexia – POV

Ever since I woke up from that stupid nightmare—or coma, or hell trip, whatever the hell it was—Aiden had been... cold.

I mean, ice-cold.

Which, honestly? I didn’t even blame him. Hell, if I were him, I wouldn’t want to look at me either. The real surprise? I was still in his house. In his bedroom. Breathing the same air as him.

After everything—after what he found out about me—I expected to wake up chained to a hospital bed with a nurse handing me a manila folder full of divorce papers. Or maybe dumped in some budget clinic with barely a name tag on the wall, like a discarded problem.

But no. I woke up in silk sheets. In a room too perfect for someone like me. With a stupid chandelier and velvet curtains and the faint scent of his cologne still hanging in the air. As if the room remembered him even when he wasn’t around.

And that made it worse.

Because while my body was healing, everything else inside me felt like it was breaking. Aiden hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t cursed. He hadn’t done anything. Just walked around me like I was a piece of furniture he didn’t ask for—like I was part of a deal he deeply regretted signing.

He barely looked at me. Barely spoke.

And that silence? That indifference?

It burned worse than any wound on my body.

But again—I deserved it. At least a part of me thought I did. After all, if he finally saw the real me, the whole broken, pathetic me—why the hell would he stay?

What broke me, though, wasn’t his distance.

It was how careful he used to be with me.

How his hands used to memorize every inch of me like I was art.

How his eyes used to soften—just a little—when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Now, I was just an obligation.

A breathing body that needed tending.

An unfortunate part of some legal contract he probably dreamed of tearing up every night.

I tried to thank him once.

He just nodded.

Didn’t say anything. Didn’t even glance my way.

And that silence?

Yeah. That was the real nightmare.

And then the cruelty began.

Which—I mean—of course it did.

I always knew this day would come. From the second I said yes to that ridiculous marriage, to the moment I stepped onto that damn private jet with him, I knew.

Men like Aiden don’t stay soft.

They sharpen with time. With betrayal. With pain.

And me? I was a walking reminder of all three.

Still, knowing it would eventually come didn’t lessen the blow when it did.

Because it didn’t start with a slap or a scream or some dramatic door-slamming argument. No. That would’ve been easier. Cleaner.

Aiden’s cruelty was quiet.

Measured.

The kind of slow-dripping poison that didn’t kill you in a moment—but hollowed you out piece by piece.

It started the morning I was finally strong enough to stand without wobbling. I managed to shuffle into the kitchen, hair tied up, hoodie clinging to my still-sore skin, hoping maybe—just maybe—he’d meet me halfway. A nod. A "how are you feeling." Anything human.

Instead, he walked in, looked at me like I’d spilled something expensive on the marble floors, and casually said, "Since you’re still my wife for the time being, it’s only fair you earn your keep."

I blinked.

Not because I didn’t hear him.

But because part of me thought maybe I hallucinated that too.

"I’m letting the staff go," he added, pouring himself coffee like we were discussing a minor change in wallpaper. "William will stay. The rest, no. So... you’ll help. Cleaning, laundry, dishes—whatever needs doing. Got it?"

Got it.

No discussion. No emotion. Just orders.

And that was the start.

The princess who once bathed in rosewater now scrubbing toilets in a million-dollar villa. The wife he once kissed like she was made of stardust now folding his shirts and avoiding his eyes.

Each task he handed me was a reminder: You’re nothing now. You don’t belong here. But I’ll let you stay... just long enough for you to feel it.

And damn, did I feel it.

I didn’t argue.

I didn’t cry in front of him.

I just nodded and did what he asked.

Because even if he couldn’t see it, I wasn’t doing it for him.

I was doing it for the ghost of who we were, for the girl who once thought maybe—just maybe—someone like me could be loved.

Even if just for a moment.

And just like I used to treat my servants in my former life, Aiden made sure I relived it.

Every. Damn. Day.

Only this time, I was the servant in question... and he played the role of the bratty, heartless royal.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

He didn’t raise his voice or throw me out—no, that would’ve been too merciful. Aiden was smarter than that. Crueler in that cold, calculating way that tore deeper than any slap ever could.

He would pass by and sneer, like I was something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe. And I—I learned not to meet his eyes. Not because I was scared of him, but because every time I did, all I saw was rage. Hatred. Bitterness. And it gutted me.

It wasn’t like I was unfamiliar with meager work. I’d been a fucking waitress, for god’s sake. I hustled plates and dealt with sleazy customers while scraping change for rent. I lived in a dingy little apartment with water-stained ceilings and a mother who couldn’t stay sober long enough to remember my name.

But that life? That sorry excuse for existence?

It was paradise compared to this.

This... twisted luxury.

Because at least back then, I wasn’t living in a palace and still feeling like a prisoner. At least back then, I didn’t love someone who looked at me like I was something disgusting he couldn’t scrub off his soul.

Yeah. That’s the worst part.

Not the cleaning. Not the humiliation.

It’s the loving him part.

This pathetic, traitorous heart of mine had the audacity to beat faster every time I heard his footsteps down the hall. I would’ve ripped it out of my chest if I could. Because it didn’t make sense. Not after everything I did. Not after everything he remembers.

I wasn’t even sure I was worthy of loving someone like Aiden.

Not after what I did to him in our past life.

I used to be the princess. Spoiled. Vicious. Drenched in privilege. I ordered beatings like they were pastries and ruined people for fun. And the universe? It remembered.

It reincarnated me perfectly. To pay for my sins.

A shitty childhood. A drunk, abusive mother. A hellhole of an apartment. A job that broke my back and spirit in equal measure. And now—now

—I serve the very man I once tortured, and worse than that?

I love him.

And every fucking day, my stupid heart shatters just a little more.

If that’s not karma, I don’t know what the hell is.

*******

And this—this hollow shell of a girl trying to keep herself from falling apart—was the state I was in when he came home tonight.

He was late. Much later than usual.

But I heard his car the second it pulled into the driveway.

Funny how that worked. My body had rewired itself to recognize him—no matter how quiet his approach, no matter how emotionally detached he was. Even before the engine cut off, something inside me knew it was him.

I was in the kitchen, up to my elbows in soap and lukewarm dishwater because I wasn’t allowed to use the dishwasher. Washing plates like a good little housemaid, pretending I didn’t feel the cold emptiness where my pride used to be. I didn’t turn around when I heard the door click open. I didn’t need to. My skin already prickled. My stomach had already twisted itself into its now-familiar knot.

Aiden.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t clear his throat. Didn’t hurl a passive-aggressive jab like he usually did whenever he caught me "slacking."

I braced for a sneer, a cold sigh, maybe even silence laced with contempt.

But I didn’t expect this.

His arms. Wrapping around me from behind.

Not roughly.

Not in anger.

Just... there. Around me.

Engulfing me.

I froze. My mind stuttered like a broken film reel. For a second, I genuinely wondered if I was dreaming—hallucinating again. Maybe I’d passed out from exhaustion and my brain was playing a cruel trick.

But then I felt him. His body, flush against mine. The faint scent of whiskey clinging to his breath. The quiet tension in his chest. The warmth of his palm, resting low on my stomach like it had every right to be there.

And then—God help me—my body moved before my brain could stop it.

I leaned into him.

Because it felt normal.

Because it felt right.

Because somewhere, buried deep in the wreckage of my soul, I still craved him. Still loved him.

I knew I shouldn’t have.

I knew tomorrow he might pretend this never happened. That he might sneer twice as hard to make up for this one moment of weakness. But just then... just then, I let myself have it.

One breath. One heartbeat. One second of pretending that maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t the villain he remembered.

That maybe he wasn’t about to walk away again.

That maybe, just this once, he came back to me.