CHAPTER 30: WEARING MY CLOTHES!

Aiden POV

Where the hell was Tobias? He should’ve been done by now. I glanced at my watch, annoyed. My day was already packed, and I didn’t have time to sit and wait for my assistant. Finishing the minutes for the earlier meeting, I called in my secretary. Since Tobias was still tangled up in God-knows-what, I instructed her to cancel the rest of my less important appointments.

The main reason I came into the office today had already been handled, and the rest could wait. Now, it was time for the next item on my agenda: the jewelry store.

No, I wasn’t there to buy a gift for that headache of a fiancée. Let’s not get carried away. This trip was purely transactional. I needed an engagement ring.

This wasn’t about romance or sentimentality. It was about strategy. I had to ensure that my father and that conniving lawyer of his wouldn’t find any loopholes to exploit. They were already circling my mother’s inheritance like vultures, and I wasn’t about to let them win. That meant tying myself to Alexia—legally and irrevocably.

I arrived at the jewelry store and scanned the display cases. It was full of glittering options, all screaming wealth and status. Perfect. I needed something expensive, something that spoke volumes about my image. The kind of ring that would make anyone think this wasn’t just some hastily arranged marriage for convenience.

The attendant’s eager smile faltered only slightly as I ignored her small talk and pointed to the most beautiful and outrageously priced ring in the shop. It was a stunner, a flawless diamond set in a platinum band. Even I had to admit it was impressive.

But then she asked the dreaded question: What size do you need?

Shit.

I hadn’t even thought about that. What was her ring size? Small? Medium? Large? Hell, I didn’t even know if women’s fingers worked on the same scale as clothing sizes.

I kept my expression neutral, but inside, I was cursing. After a brief hesitation, I told her to go with medium. If her fingers were smaller, we could resize it later. If they were bigger... well, she could squeeze it on until we got that fixed too.

I paid for the ring, and as I waited for the receipt, my eyes drifted to the boutique next door. The thought crossed my mind: she needed clothes. There was no way I was letting her parade around in public wearing those rags she seemed to think qualified as fashion.

The problem? I didn’t know her sizes for that either. Another curse under my breath. Fine, I’d drag her here myself one other time or send Tobias to figure it out. That was a task for another time.

With the ring secured, I made a quick stop at the courthouse to file the paperwork for the marriage certificate. Tobias had done his job digging up her personal details, so I filled out the forms quickly. All the legalities were falling into place. One step closer to locking this whole thing down.

Satisfied, I finally headed home. It was time to have a long-overdue conversation with that little minx about how things would go once we were married. We couldn’t afford any misunderstandings—or distractions.

But as I walked through the front door, my butler greeted me with unexpected news: She’s not home.

What?

I stared at him, trying to process the words. Where the hell had she gone? And more importantly, why?

Tobias wasn’t the only one making my day a headache, it seemed.

She didn’t have a job to go to, and by now, her drunken excuse of a mother would’ve been moved out of that dingy apartment. I had made it clear—crystal clear—that she’d be staying with me from now on. So where the hell did she run off to?

Great. Just great.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling under the surface. This is why I said she’s a headache. Did she leave a note? Nope. Did she bother to say where she was going or when she’d be back? Of course not. Now I was supposed to sit here and wait for her like I didn’t have better things to do. Fantastic.

I’d cleared my entire schedule for the day. Do you know how hard that is? But no, instead of making progress, I was stuck pacing my own damn house, wondering what stunt she’d pulled this time.

I had planned to talk to her—to get her on the same page. We might have agreed to this marriage, but there were still details to work out. How were we going to make this work? What were the rules? What was expected of her? Of me?

Apparently, none of that mattered to her because she was off doing... whatever the hell she wanted.

It was infuriating. Did she not realize how serious this was? This wasn’t some game. It wasn’t just about her. I had more on the line than she could imagine.

Clenching my fists, I exhaled slowly. Fine. Let her have her little adventure. But when she walked through that door, we were going to have a very

long talk. Whether she liked it or not.

She better not have changed her damn mind. Or worse—she better not be off with some lover.

One of the conditions of my mom’s will was clear—I had to be in a stable marriage. No room for games. No room for affairs, scandals, or any kind of public mess that would paint me as a failure. And that’s exactly what I was trying to avoid—failure. If there’s one thing I couldn’t afford, it was giving the vultures a reason to swoop down and take everything my mother had worked for.

And her... Alexia... she was part of this. I agreed to marry her, yes, but this wasn’t a free pass for her to go off and do whatever she wanted. This wasn’t about feelings—this was about business, and as much as it was convenient to think of her as my wife-to-be, the truth was, we were in this together for much bigger reasons than love.

The will had been clear: a stable marriage, no drama, and a family that looked perfect on paper. And if Alexia thought she could just stroll off and have some affair or start a scandal, she was sorely mistaken. I was playing this game, but not in a way that would let anyone else win.

The thought of her out there doing God knows what with someone else had me seething. There was too much riding on this for her to act like a child. She didn’t get to throw all of this away on a whim, especially when the eyes of my father’s lawyer were always watching, waiting for an opening.

I couldn’t afford a slip-up. Not now. Not ever.

So I waited. I paced. I tried to focus on work as I decided instead of waiting for her like a fool I should do something creative in my study room, but all I could think about was where she was, what she was doing... and the one thing I couldn’t shake from my mind—Was she thinking of my side of the deal, or was she busy throwing away everything we had for her own selfish needs?

She better come back, and she better have a good fucking explanation. Because this was getting out of hand. And if she thought she could jeopardize everything for a little selfish freedom, I’d remind her of the bigger picture—whether she liked it or not.

How the hell could someone so small, so short, take up so much of my fucking focus?

I mean, I get it—she’s there

. She’s around. But the way she manages to infiltrate my mind, to make everything I do feel like it revolves around her... it’s maddening. Not in a good way either. No, this is frustration at a whole new level.

Every damn time I think I’ve got everything under control, she does something that just messes with my head. I can’t even tell if it’s because I’m constantly on edge or if it’s just that she’s an expert at pushing my buttons without even trying.

Two more days. Two more days and I’ll marry that little headache, and then maybe—maybe—I can finally start the process of securing my inheritance. Once we’re married, everything will go according to plan. I’ll have what I need, and she’ll be locked into this arrangement. No more running away, no more distractions. We’ll go through the motions, pretend we’re this loving couple, and then—boom—I’m free to get what’s rightfully mine.

But until then, she’s still in my life, and I’m stuck dealing with whatever mess she decides to throw at me next. Great.

Just as I was trying to wrap my head around the mess she’s already created in my life, the damn butler knocks on my door, interrupting my thoughts. He’s standing there, as usual, all prim and proper, and says something about the "young miss" arriving.

Young miss my foot.

I glanced at the clock. It was already 8:45, nearly 9 PM. Where the hell had she been all day? This better be good. I don’t have time for excuses, and I’m not in the mood for whatever story she’s cooking up this time. I told her she was supposed to stay with me, not gallivant off somewhere and keep me waiting.

I stormed down the stairs, ready to give her a piece of my mind, but then I froze when I stepped into the living room.

There she was, sprawled on the couch, looking entirely too comfortable. Wait.

Is that—my shirt? And those trousers?

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I blinked twice, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. But no, it was my damn shirt and my damn trousers.

She was wearing my clothes, and not just any clothes, but the ones I’d wore in in my mother’s funeral. What the hell was this?

She’d literally stripped off and taken my stuff. Was she trying to make a statement or just playing games? Either way, it didn’t sit well with me.

I felt a vein in my neck start to throb. How did she even get my clothes? Why would she think this was okay? I had half a mind to march over and rip them off her—no. I wasn’t about to lose control over something this petty. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to let this slide without saying something.

I crossed the room, my steps slow and deliberate.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"