CHAPTER 48: MORNING AFTER

Alexia POV:

The couch. Nope, I meant to say my new sleeping quarters. I wouldn’t call it terrible; in fact, it was oddly more comfortable than the rickety excuse for a bed I’d had back at my dingy little apartment. Still, it was the principle of the thing. My husband—and I use that term loosely—was sprawled out in a bed that could easily fit half a soccer team, while I was left to curl up like a stray cat.

But hey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s how to make the best of a bad situation. So, after tossing and turning for what felt like forever, I finally drifted off into a surprisingly decent sleep.

I managed to get a few hours of decent sleep, even though I was still simmering from last night’s great bed eviction. And just when I was finally drifting into dreamland—probably something involving me throwing pies at Aiden’s smug face—bam! I was rudely awakened by what sounded like an entire construction crew setting up shop in the room.

And then I woke up.

Not because my body was refreshed or the sun was shining through the windows in some picturesque way, mind you. No, I woke up because someone—and by someone, I mean Aiden—decided that the best time to start making noise was the crack of dawn.

Turns out, it wasn’t a construction crew. Nope, it was just Aiden, rummaging through drawers and stomping around like a bull in a china shop.

At first, I tried to ignore it. Maybe he was just moving something heavy, and it would be over soon. Or maybe he was rearranging his perfect, rich-boy suits in some high-tech closet that probably steamed and pressed them for him. I told myself to let it go.

But then it got louder.

And louder.

And louder.

I cracked open an eye, groaning as I peeked over the edge of the couch. There he was, in all his smug, infuriating glory, shuffling papers and slamming drawers like a man possessed. What was he even looking for? His soul? Because it sure wasn’t in that study.

"Hey!" I called out groggily, my voice hoarse from sleep. "Could you keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep," I grumbled, my voice thick with annoyance.

Did he apologize? Of course not. Instead, the bastard somehow managed to increase the noise. He started slamming drawers like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and I swear he did it on purpose. I mean, how hard can it be to find whatever it is you’re looking for without sounding like you’re demolishing the house?

He didn’t even look up. Oh no, Mr. High-and-Mighty Timberlake was far too important to acknowledge the lowly peasant trying to sleep on his couch. Instead, he increased the noise, this time slamming something heavy on his desk just to spite me.

I sat up, glaring at him through a haze of exhaustion and irritation. "I said keep it down!"

Still nothing.

That was it. If he wanted a war, he was going to get one.

With a huff, I grabbed the nearest pillow from the couch and hurled it in his general direction. I wasn’t aiming to hit him—well, not really. But it was the principle of the thing.

The pillow sailed through the air with all the grace of a limp pancake and landed harmlessly on the floor. He finally looked up, one eyebrow raised in that infuriating way of his, as if to say, Really?

"What?" he asked, his tone as cool and detached as ever. "Can’t handle a little morning productivity?"

"Productivity?!" I shot back, my voice rising with every syllable. "You sound like a herd of elephants stomping through the house! What could you possibly be doing at this ungodly hour?"

"I’m working," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

I flopped back down on the couch, groaning dramatically. "Of course you’re working. What else would a rich, self-important control freak like you do first thing in the morning?"

"Some of us have responsibilities," he said, clearly enjoying himself.

I wanted to retort—really, I did—but I was too tired to come up with anything clever. Instead, I grabbed the pillow I’d thrown earlier and hugged it to my chest, muttering something about rich people and their complete lack of consideration for normal human beings.

The couch wasn’t bad, but at that moment, it felt like a punishment. And the worst part? I couldn’t even go back to sleep, not with him stomping around like he owned the place.

Which, to be fair, he did. But that didn’t make it any less annoying.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he found whatever precious item he was hunting for—a tie, maybe, or some other overpriced accessory that only rich people care about. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom.

Now, any normal person would’ve just rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But I’m not exactly normal, and besides, revenge is best served... well, whenever the opportunity presents itself.

As soon as I heard the bathroom door click shut, I sprang into action. That bed—his bed—was just sitting there, taunting me with its oversized pillows and ridiculously fluffy comforter. If Aiden wasn’t going to let me sleep in it last night, then I was damn well going to take my chance now.

I jumped onto the bed with all the grace of a cat burglar, except instead of stealing diamonds, I was stealing a few stolen moments of luxury. I spread out like a starfish, savoring the soft sheets and the warmth of the comforter that still held a hint of Aiden’s expensive cologne. Not that I cared about his cologne or anything—it was just nice to feel like I’d won, even if only temporarily.

Of course, I didn’t think this through. In my rush to claim the bed, I completely forgot that Aiden was only a few feet away in the bathroom. And, as luck would have it, he wasn’t one of those people who takes long, leisurely showers.

Barely ten minutes had passed when I heard the bathroom door open. My heart sank.

"Really?" His voice cut through the room like a knife.

Honestly, if I had known how this little bed escapade was going to end, I might have reconsidered my choices. But hindsight is 20/20, and at the time, I was too stubborn—and, okay, a little too petty—to back down.

I turned my head to see him standing there, towel tied low around his waist, water still dripping from his hair and down his annoyingly well-defined abs. If he weren’t a billionaire businessman, he could have easily moonlighted as a model. Not that I was admiring or anything.

He looked at me like I was a stray cat that had clawed up his favorite couch.

"What?" I said innocently, pulling the comforter up to my chin like it could shield me from the consequences of my actions. "You weren’t using it."

He raised an eyebrow, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Get off."

"Nope," I replied, popping the ’p’ like I had all the confidence in the world. "You’re up, and I’m tired. So technically, the bed’s mine now."

Aiden let out a sigh so heavy it might’ve cracked the floorboards. "Alexia, get off the bed."

"Why don’t you just let me have it for a few hours? You’ve already had your precious sleep," I muttered, sitting up and crossing my arms in defiance.

"Because it’s my bed," he said, his tone cold and final. "And I don’t share my things."

"Oh, so now I’m just some thing to you?" I shot back, narrowing my eyes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience visibly thinning. "Alexia, either you get off the bed, or I’ll—"

"You’ll what?" I cut him off, daring him to finish that sentence.

His response wasn’t verbal. Instead, he moved with the kind of speed that made my stomach drop. Before I could even process what was happening, Aiden leaned down, wrapped his infuriatingly strong arms around me, and lifted me off the bed like I weighed nothing.

"What the—put me down!" I shrieked, kicking and flailing like a fish caught on a hook.

And then it happened. In the chaos of my struggle, his towel—the towel—slipped.

For a split second, we both froze. He dropped me like I was on fire, his hands shooting to his waist to grab the now-useless towel.

"OUCH!" I yelled as my butt made painful contact with the floor. But the pain didn’t last, because when I looked up, I saw him.

Aiden, standing there in nothing but his boxers, looking equal parts horrified and embarrassed.

I couldn’t help it. The sight of him scrambling to save his dignity, combined with the sheer absurdity of the situation, sent me into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"You—you dropped me!" I managed to gasp between laughs, clutching my stomach as tears pricked my eyes.

Aiden quickly recovered, his expression hardening into something sinister. Then, to my horror, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

"Since you’ve seen me," he said, his voice low and smug, "it’s only fair I get a glimpse of you, too."

My laughter died instantly. "You wouldn’t dare."

He didn’t reply, but the way he took a step toward me said enough.

I bolted.

I didn’t care that I was barefoot, still in my pajamas, or that my pride was in tatters. All I knew was that I had to get out of that room before Aiden could make good on his threat.

Behind me, I could hear his low chuckle, the sound of it chasing me down the hall like some villain in a horror movie.

Eventually, I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to find some coffee to salvage what was left of my morning. William, ever the saint, was already there, preparing what looked like an elaborate breakfast spread.

"Good morning, Mrs. Timberlake," he said cheerfully, as if my husband’s antics hadn’t already ruined my day.

"It’s Alexia," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. "And it’s not a good morning. Your boss is a nightmare."

William chuckled politely, handing me a steaming cup of coffee. "He can be... particular."

"Particular?" I snorted. "That’s one way to put it."

I sipped the coffee, letting the warmth soothe my frayed nerves. But as I stood there, staring out the window, a wicked idea began to form in my sleep-deprived brain.

If Aiden wanted to play games, fine. Two could play that game.

I wasn’t sure what my plan was yet—maybe something involving an alarm clock set to go off every five minutes, or perhaps "accidentally" rearranging his meticulously organized office. Whatever it was, I knew one thing for certain: I wasn’t going to let him win.

He may have the money, the house, and the inheritance at stake, but I had something far more valuable: spite.

This wasn’t just a marriage; it was a battle of wills. And if Aiden thought he could break me with a little noise and a lot of arrogance, he had another thing coming.