CHAPTER 26: PUKING(II)

Aiden POV

Before I could react, Alexia stumbled forward, clutching her stomach as if she were trying to hold herself together. I grabbed her shoulders to keep her upright, but it was like trying to steady a tornado in heels.

"Bathroom," I barked, already moving toward the closest one down the hall. But she groaned again, her legs turning to jelly beneath her.

"No... I can’t..." she mumbled, her hand flying to her mouth as she gagged audibly.

For a split second, I contemplated my life choices—what series of decisions had brought me here, holding up a drunken mess of a woman who was two seconds away from ruining my marble floors.

"Hold it in," I growled through gritted teeth, practically dragging her toward the bathroom door.

She made a feeble attempt to push me away. "Stop yelling," she slurred, swaying dangerously to the side.

I ignored her, yanking the door open and steering her inside just as she doubled over. I barely managed to aim her toward the toilet before she retched.

The sound was horrendous. The smell? Worse.

I stood back, my jaw clenched, arms crossed over my chest as she clung to the edge of the toilet like it was her last lifeline.

"Great. Just great," I muttered under my breath. This was not how I imagined my night ending.

She coughed and spluttered, her body shaking as she emptied the contents of her stomach. I reached over and grabbed a towel, tossing it in her direction.

"Here," I said gruffly. "Clean yourself up."

She lifted her head weakly, her eyes watery as she tried to focus on me. "Thanks..." she murmured, her voice small and pitiful.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Stay here. Don’t move," I ordered, stepping out of the bathroom to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen.

When I returned, she was slumped against the wall, her head tilted back as she closed her eyes. Her face was pale, her hair a wild mess, and for a moment, she looked more fragile than I’d ever seen her.

"Here," I said, kneeling beside her and holding out the water bottle. "Drink this."

She cracked one eye open, staring at the bottle like it was an alien object before taking it from me with trembling hands.

"I’m sorry..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I stared at her, caught off guard by the unexpected apology.

"For what?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

"For being... this," she said, gesturing vaguely at herself. "A mess. A disaster. Whatever you’re thinking right now."

I leaned back on my heels, studying her carefully. She wasn’t wrong—she was a mess. But there was something disarming about seeing her like this, stripped of her usual sass and bravado.

"You are a disaster," I admitted, earning a weak glare from her. "But you’re my disaster from now on, so get used to it."

Her lips twitched, as if she were trying to smile, but the exhaustion won out. She leaned her head against the wall again, closing her eyes.

"I don’t know why you’re doing this," she murmured, her words slurred but tinged with sincerity. "You don’t even like me."

I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I stood and grabbed another towel, wetting it in the sink before crouching beside her again.

"It’s not about liking you," I said finally, dabbing at her sweat-dampened forehead. "It’s about getting what I need. And right now, I need you to get it together."

She didn’t reply, her breathing evening out as her head drooped forward.

"Hey," I said sharply, shaking her shoulder. "You’re not passing out here. Come on."

She groaned, swatting at my hand weakly. "Five more minutes..."

"Not happening," I said, hauling her to her feet.

She wobbled like a newborn deer, her legs barely supporting her weight as I guided her toward the guest room. By the time I got her onto the bed, she was half-asleep, mumbling nonsense under her breath.

I pulled the covers over her and stepped back, rubbing the back of my neck. She looked so small lying there, her face peaceful despite the chaos she’d caused.

Shaking my head, I turned off the lights and left the room, closing the door softly behind me.

Back in the living room, I collapsed onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The smell of vomit still clung to me, and my shirt was a lost cause, but at least she was out of my hair for now.

Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my knees and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

This was going to be a long marriage life.

...

Fuck. Fuck.

What kind of god did I offend to suffer through this night?

I leaned back against the couch, pinching the bridge of my nose as I tried to process everything. The smell of her vomit still clung to me, and my favorite shirt was a complete write-off. The pristine interior of my car had narrowly escaped devastation, but my nerves? Completely shot.

The image of Alexia, drunken and unapologetically chaotic, stumbling around like a hurricane in heels, was burned into my brain. And now, she was passed out in the guest room, likely dreaming of more ways to ruin my life.

This wasn’t how my perfectly curated existence was supposed to go.

I got up, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass of scotch. I needed something stronger than water after all of this. My villa was a sanctuary—a place of order and discipline. And now, it was tainted by her.

Her slurred words echoed in my mind. "I’m sorry..."

She’d looked so vulnerable when she said it, her usual fiery demeanor completely gone. For a brief moment, I’d felt... something. Sympathy? No, that couldn’t be it.

Whatever it was, it irritated me to no end.

I downed the scotch in one gulp, the burn doing little to calm my frayed nerves.

Her words played on repeat. You don’t even like me.

Of course I didn’t. She was reckless, loud, and completely incompatible with my world. Yet, here I was, tolerating her nonsense for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely.

I set the glass down with a little too much force, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. My phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the silence.

It was a text from my assistant, who was still abroad dealing with the mess I’d sent him to handle.

Assistant: Everything’s under control here. Do you need me to come back earlier?

I stared at the screen for a moment, contemplating. As much as I wanted to say yes, to dump this entire situation into his lap, I couldn’t. This was something I had to handle myself.

Me: No. Finish what you’re doing.

I put the phone down and ran a hand through my hair, glancing toward the hallway that led to the guest room. She was quiet now, probably sleeping off the wine and the humiliation of tonight.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck.

This marriage was supposed to be a business arrangement. Practical. Clean. Efficient. Instead, it was turning into a circus, and I was the unwilling ringmaster.

I walked to the bathroom to clean up, peeling off the ruined shirt and tossing it into the laundry bin. As the warm water ran over my hands, I couldn’t help but think of her again—how she’d clung to the edge of the toilet like it was her lifeline, how she’d mumbled apologies through half-lidded eyes.

She was a disaster, but she was also... human. Flawed in ways I didn’t know how to handle.

Shaking off the thought, I dried my hands and headed back to the living room. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily tonight. Not with her under my roof, throwing my perfectly controlled life into chaos.

I sank onto the couch again, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, I’d have to deal with her sober self. God help me.