CHAPTER 29: SNOOPING AROUND

Alexia POV

The stupid jerk lied. I know I didn’t pee on myself. No matter how drunk I was, there were some things I just wouldn’t do. And I remember—vividly, unfortunately—doing it on the side of the road. Not that it was any less humiliating, but at least it wasn’t on me. Ugh. The whole thing was disgusting and mortifying, but it was miles better than his exaggerated, smug version of events.

With him gone—and thank God for that—I did what any self-respecting woman in my position would do: I explored.

Hell yeah, I did.

First off, let’s get one thing straight: the guy is definitely loaded. And I’m not just talking "nice car and a decent salary" kind of rich. No, this was another level of wealth. The kind where even the doorknobs probably cost more than my entire apartment. Honestly, apart from his irritating face and god-awful attitude, I think I could maybe survive living here.

The room alone was a dream. Huge, lavish, and decorated like it belonged in one of those home decor magazines I used to flip through while waiting for my shift to end. And the bed? Oh, don’t even get me started on the bed. It was like sleeping on a cloud—so soft I could practically feel it hugging me.

But then... the bathroom.

Oh. My. God.

It was like stepping into a spa. Marble countertops, a shower the size of my old bedroom, and a freaking bathtub that looked like it belonged in a royal palace. It even had one of those fancy rain showerheads that made it feel like water was cascading down from the heavens.

And hot water. Hot water every day

without worrying about the bill going up? This was living. No more rationing my showers to five minutes or less just to save a few bucks. No more choosing between conditioner and rent. This was the life I’d always dreamed of, wrapped in the luxury of soft towels and scented soaps.

I could get used to this.

Of course, there was still the matter of the smug jerk I’d have to deal with daily, but hey, small price to pay for all this, right? I mean, if I could handle drunk customers trying to grope me at my waitressing job, I could handle one moody, almond-milk-loving idiot.

This arrangement might actually have a silver lining after all. At least, that’s what I told myself as I admired my reflection in the enormous mirror, the steam from my long, guilt-free shower still swirling around me.

Okay, so the shower convinced me. Marrying the jerk might not be such a bad idea after all. Hot water, luxurious tiles, fancy rain showerhead—it was like bathing in a spa every single day. Who wouldn’t want that? But hey, there were still three days left to back out. I hadn’t signed anything binding yet, no contracts, no vows. Nothing. The escape route was still wide open.

Shrugging my shoulders, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in one of the plush robes hanging neatly by the door. It was soft, warm, and felt like it had been handcrafted by angels. But as I glanced around the room, a problem quickly presented itself.

Apart from the robes and towels, there was nothing wearable. Like, literally nothing.

What the hell?

Then it hit me. That smug, self-important jackass had thrown my clothes out. Yes, the same clothes he had oh-so-generously undressed me from last night. Instead of being a decent human being and, I don’t know, sending them to be dry-cleaned, he had decided to toss them straight into the trash.

The trash.

You can imagine how I felt when I spotted them crumpled up like yesterday’s takeout. I stood there staring at the trash bin, my mouth open in disbelief. Was this guy for real? Who does that?

"The fuck is wrong with him?" I muttered under my breath, feeling my blood pressure spike. I mean, sure, they weren’t designer clothes or anything, but they were mine. He could’ve at least given me the courtesy of deciding whether they were salvageable.

Nope. Not Aiden. Mr. Almighty Jerk probably thought he was doing me a favor by chucking them. God forbid his mansion be graced by my humble, middle-class wardrobe.

He should have sent them to be cleaned, not tossed them out like garbage. But of course, that would’ve required him to think about someone other than himself for two seconds, which was clearly asking too much.

"Self-entitled jerk," I hissed as I tightened the robe around me, storming over to rescue my poor clothes from the trash.

This was my life now. And while the hot showers and luxurious surroundings might’ve swayed me for a moment, the reminder of his arrogance and utter lack of consideration made me second-guess everything.

Yeah, the clothes were a complete disaster—beyond salvation. So, leaving them in the trash where they belonged, I stepped out of the room like a woman on a mission. Because that’s exactly what I was: a woman on a mission. A mission for clothes.

I wandered down the hallway, still getting used to the sheer size of the place. The house was so massive it could swallow my old apartment whole, several times over. I was determined, though. No way was I going to let a little thing like being barefoot and wrapped in a robe stop me.

As I turned a corner, I bumped into someone. Startled, I stumbled back a step.

"Oh!"

Standing in front of me was a servant—a middle-aged woman with a kind but professional demeanor. She looked just as surprised as I felt, but she quickly recovered, bowing her head slightly in a respectful nod.

"Good morning, miss," she greeted me, her tone polite and measured.

Miss. She called me miss.

Okay, I’ll admit it: I was hooked. It’s been ages—no, more like a lifetime—since anyone addressed me so politely and with so much respect. I wasn’t used to this level of deference. Growing up, respect wasn’t handed out freely. You had to claw and fight for it. But here? In this world of wealth and privilege? It was just... given.

See, this is what money does. With great money comes great respect.

I knew I was going off track, getting lost in this little fantasy of mine, but can you blame me? I had agreed to marry that jerk, Aiden, because I was looking for answers—answers to questions I couldn’t ignore. But who says I can’t fall in love with the perks that come with the mission?

Anyway, back to the task at hand.

"Um, excuse me," I said to the woman, my voice a little hesitant at first. "Could you tell me where the master bedroom is?"

She gave me a slightly curious look, but she nodded and pointed down the hallway. "It’s at the end of the corridor, miss."

"Thank you," I said with a small smile.

She nodded again before scurrying off, presumably to continue with her work.

I know what you’re thinking: Alexia, are you seriously about to snoop through the guy’s room? And the answer is... No! I wasn’t going to steal anything, okay? I was just going to borrow some clothes. Borrowing is not stealing, especially when you’re borrowing from your soon-to-be husband. That’s, like, the rule or something.

Besides, I needed something to wear so I could go grab my own things. Aiden had said I’d be moving in today, and, looking around at this place, I wasn’t exactly complaining. Sure, he was a jerk, but the house? The life? The luxury? That was something I could definitely get used to.

With my mind made up, I headed for his room.

I stood in front of the massive double doors to Aiden’s so-called room, which, let’s be honest, looked more like the gates to a fortress. They were tall, heavy, and just plain intimidating. My hand hovered for a second before I knocked.

And no, I’m not a pervert, okay? I knocked because I’m civilized and polite—even if I was secretly hoping he wouldn’t be in there.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I waited. Nothing.

I knocked again. Still nothing.

For once, luck was on my side. No jerk in sight.

With no one answering and my patience wearing thin, I decided to let myself in. I pushed open the door, and holy moly, this wasn’t just a room—it was a freaking palace within a palace.

The place was massive. Bigger than the already enormous room I’d slept in last night. And better, too. Every corner of it screamed wealth, sophistication, and that annoyingly effortless style Aiden seemed to exude. The furniture was sleek yet classic, the bed was an actual masterpiece, and the entire space radiated this sense of power and authority.

Ah, so this is why they call it a master bedroom.

I stepped inside, unable to stop my eyes from wandering. Plush rugs covered the hardwood floors, the ceiling was high enough to rival a cathedral’s, and the windows? They stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a view so breathtaking it could have been painted by an artist.

The bed, of course, was gigantic. It looked like it could fit five people comfortably—though I didn’t want to imagine what Aiden might actually use it for. Ew, Alexia, don’t go there.

Despite myself, I couldn’t help but be impressed. The guy might have a personality that makes you want to slap him, but damn, he sure knew how to live. This wasn’t just a room; it was a statement. A declaration of "I’m better than you, and here’s proof."

Shrugging off my awe, I reminded myself why I was here: clothes. I wasn’t here to admire his ridiculously lavish life. I was here because the idiot had thrown out my clothes, leaving me with nothing to wear. So, borrowing something from his closet was totally justified.

Right?

I smirked to myself as I headed for the wardrobe. Let’s see what the mighty Aiden keeps hidden in here.