CHAPTER 25: PUKING

Aiden POV

Okay, now I fucking hate her. Hate might not even cover it. Loathe. Despise. Take your pick. She puked. Of course, she couldn’t aim anywhere else. Oh no, not this girl. She had to unleash her stomach’s contents on me—ME—like I was her personal barf bag. Lucky for her, it missed my sweet ride, though that’s hardly a consolation. I mean, seriously? Who even drinks that much when they know they can’t handle it?

Great. Just great. I stood there, frozen for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. The stench hit me first, and then the wet, sticky sensation seeped into my clothes.

She didn’t puke on my car. Oh no, she aimed directly at me.

"Unbelievable," I muttered through gritted teeth, staring down at the mess now adorning my suit. This was Armani. Custom-tailored. And now it was... ruined.

Alexia sat there in the passenger seat, slumped and oblivious, like nothing had happened. Her head lolled to the side, and she mumbled something incoherent.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," I growled, stepping back from the car and yanking off my jacket. I wanted to hurl it into the bushes, but instead, I carefully folded it over my arm. Damage control.

She blinked up at me, her eyes glassy and wide, clearly trying to focus. "Oops..." she slurred, her voice trailing off in a sing-song tone. "Guess I missed..."

"Oh, you missed alright," I snapped, shrugging off my tie. "But not the way you think."

Her head lolled again, and she gave a weak laugh, like she thought this was the funniest thing in the world. Meanwhile, I was standing there covered in her—ugh.

"You’re a goddamn menace," I said sharply, yanking open the back door to grab some napkins. I always kept a stash for emergencies, but this was beyond anything I could have prepared for.

As I dabbed at my now-ruined shirt, she tilted her head and squinted at me. "You’re mad."

"No kidding," I shot back, glaring at her. "You just puked on me."

Her brows furrowed, as if trying to comprehend what I was saying. Then, like the chaos-inducing little minx she was, she giggled. "I didn’t mean to..."

"Right. That makes it so much better," I bit out, my patience fraying by the second.

I debated my next move. Drive her back to her dingy apartment and leave her there? Nope. I still didn’t know where the hell that was. Dump her on the side of the road? Tempting, but no.

That left me with one option.

"You’re coming home with me," I said coldly.

She blinked at me, her head wobbling slightly. "To your... castle?"

"It’s a villa, not a castle," I corrected, pinching the bridge of my nose. I didn’t have time for her drunken delusions. "And yes. You’re staying here. Starting now."

She gave me a sloppy grin. "Okay, Mr. Fancy-Pants."

I scowled, choosing to ignore her comment. The interior of my car still smelled faintly of her earlier disaster, despite my quick cleanup. I turned on the air freshener, hoping to mask the scent before it seeped into the leather.

I had plans tonight—good plans. Now I’m here, covered in puke, playing babysitter to someone who thinks "fun" means ruining my evening. Why did I even offer to drive her? Oh, right, because I’m an idiot.

I swear, this is the last time she’s ever drinking. Ever. Not on my watch. I don’t care if she begs, pleads, or cries crocodile tears. The moment she even glances at a drink menu, I’m confiscating it. I didn’t sign up for this. Babysitting, nope. Biohazard duty? Hell no.

Which god did I offend? Was it something I said? Something I did? Because I must’ve really pissed someone off to deserve this cosmic punishment. This isn’t just frustration—it’s a cosmic joke at my expense.

She’s never drinking again. Not on my watch. I don’t care if it takes divine intervention. Whatever lesson I’m supposed to learn from this? I’m over it.

By the time I finished checking my car and cleaning also her and me a bit, I was beyond done. My shirt was ruined, my patience was hanging by a thread, and my so-called fiancée was humming off-key to a song that didn’t exist.

"Alright, princess," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Time to get out."

She blinked up at me, her face pale but with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Carry me?"

"No."

She pouted, crossing her arms like a petulant child. "You’re no fun."

I reached for her recently stuck seatbelt, unbuckling it with a sharp click, now it knows to unbuckle? "You’ve had your fun for the night. Now, get out before I—"

She swayed as she tried to stand, and I instinctively caught her arm to steady her. Her body leaned heavily against mine, her breath warm and slightly sour.

"You’re warm," she mumbled, her head resting against my shoulder.

I froze, my hands hovering awkwardly around her waist. "Yeah, and you’re a mess," I said, trying to disentangle myself without dropping her.

Her laughter was soft, almost musical, as she let me guide her toward the villa. I kept a firm grip on her arm, half-dragging, half-leading her up the front steps.

When we finally made it inside, I kicked the door shut behind us and flicked on the lights. She squinted at the sudden brightness, then let out a soft whistle.

"Fancy," she slurred, looking around the foyer.

I didn’t bother responding. My focus was on getting her to the guest room as quickly as possible.

"This way," I said, steering her toward the staircase.

But as we reached the first step, she groaned softly and clutched her stomach.

"I don’t feel so good..." she muttered, her voice laced with panic.

My eyes widened as I realized what was about to happen.

"Don’t you dare," I warned, my tone sharp.

But she was already gagging, her face pale as she clamped a hand over her mouth.

I moved quickly, trying to guide her toward the nearest bathroom, but she stumbled, her legs giving out beneath her.

And just like that, chaos erupted once again.