CHAPTER 61: LYING TO MYSELF

ALEXIA’S POV

"Tomorrow, you won’t be going to campus," Aiden said casually over dinner.

For a moment, I thought I had misheard him. "Wait... what?"

He didn’t even glance up from his plate. "I said, you’re not going to campus tomorrow."

No school? No waking up early?

Praise GOD!

Was Christmas coming early this year? Did the heavens finally hear my cries? Sleep—oh, beautiful sleep! Mummy missed you!

A goofy smile spread across my face before I could stop it. I had to fight the urge to throw my hands up in victory and start doing a full-on happy dance right there at the dinner table. No classes, no lectures, no pretending to care about economics at ungodly hours of the morning.

Maybe this marriage thing wasn’t so bad after all.

And then—of course—the jerk had to pop my bubble.

"You’ll still need to wake up early," he added, like the life-ruining villain he was. "I need to get you ready for tomorrow’s business event."

Great. No sleep.

Just like that, all my dreams shattered. Sleep, my beloved, had been ripped away from me before I could even hold her in my arms.

I stared at Aiden in pure betrayal. "So basically, I’m still suffering?"

He arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with my dramatics. "You’re accompanying me to the business gala. You need to look the part."

I groaned, slumping back in my chair. "Ugh. You mean I have to wear one of those suffocating fancy dresses?"

"Obviously," he deadpanned.

"And heels?"

He sighed, rubbing his temples like I was the one stressing him out. "Yes, Alexia. Heels. It’s a formal event, not a pajama party."

I made a disgusted face. "Well, that’s unfortunate."

"You’ll survive."

I highly doubted that.

"Do I at least get a say in what I wear?" I tried, hoping for some small mercy.

"Not if you plan on showing up looking like you just rolled out of bed," he shot back. "There will be a lot for you to choose you will only need to pick one and as for tomorrow be ready by seven sharp."

Seven. Sharp.

I dropped my fork on the plate dramatically. "Why are you like this?"

Aiden just smirked and continued eating. "Eat your dinner, Alexia. You’ll need the energy."

I pouted, stabbing a piece of steak with unnecessary aggression. This man was a menace.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

"And don’t let me forget that I caught you skipping classes," Aiden continued, his tone as sharp as ever. "I didn’t send you to university so you could cut classes like some delinquent. Now that the press knows you’re studying at Fedha University, don’t let them catch you skipping—much less me. I definitely don’t want scandals in our first month of marriage."

I groaned, dropping my head onto the table dramatically. Of course, he wasn’t done scolding me. The man had an endless supply of complaints.

Did I skip class? Yes.

Was it worth it? Also yes.

But now, I had to deal with Mr. Perfectionist CEO acting like I had committed a federal crime.

He didn’t even pause his lecture as I let out another exaggerated groan at the thought of waking up early. Seven sharp. Why did that sound like a death sentence?

Don’t get me wrong—I loved parties. Back in my previous life, they were one of the few things that actually made existence bearable. Dancing, drinking, dressing up—it was all fun.

But not when it came to the preparation.

Jeez, the sheer hours it took to get ready? The cursed bodices that squeezed the life out of you? The inability to breathe—much less eat anything?

Fucking great.

A boring lecture suddenly didn’t sound so bad in comparison.

I could already picture it:

The excruciating pain of that stupid corset. The lack of freedom to breathe like a normal human being. The inability to enjoy the fancy, overpriced food they’d be serving.

Honestly, what was the point of fancy food if you weren’t even allowed to eat it? Who was it for? The table?

Nope. Not me.

And to be clear—I wasn’t always a foodie. Back when I was a princess, food was just... there.

I had access to whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. It never felt special.

But now?

Now, I had known the pain of hunger.

And let me tell you, nothing makes you appreciate food more than knowing what it feels like to go without it.

So, if Aiden thought I was going to put up with another night of starving myself for the sake of some stupid dress and his perfect image—

He had another thing coming.

I agreed to be his wife, not Miss Perfect Wife.

There was a difference.

And yeah, I know I’m acting like a spoiled brat right now, but guess what? I don’t care.

I think I’ve suffered enough since being born into this stupid era that I’m entitled to at least one tantrum.

No?

Fine. Let’s just tell the truth then.

I’m bitter.

Bitter because he gets to call the shots.

Bitter because he’s the one with all the power.

Bitter because he’s the wealthy one while I’m just the beggar bride people love to call a gold digger.

How much I’ve fallen.

Once, I was a princess. Treated like royalty. Respected. Feared.

Now?

Now, I’m just a nobody who married into money.

I get called names. I get looked down on. I get dismissed.

And the worst part?

He knows it.

Aiden fucking knows it.

And he doesn’t even have the decency to throw me a bone. To let me have one moment where I feel like I’m in control. No, he just keeps making the rules, pulling the strings, deciding everything.

And I?

I have no choice but to dance to his tune.

I don’t get to even to sleep on the bed.

I quickly finished my food, wiped my mouth, and thanked William, the ever-patient butler, before getting up.

I didn’t even bother sparing Aiden, my jerk of a husband, a glance. I headed to—our room.

Not his room.

Not my room.

Our room.

I hated that.

It wasn’t like we were actually married. Not in the real sense. But still, we were stuck sharing a room because of appearances.

I dragged my feet to the washroom, going through the motions of my night routine. Washing my face. Brushing my teeth. Tying my hair up.

And then I stood there.

Staring at my reflection.

At the girl who used to be somebody—who used to have a name that meant something.

Now?

She was just a pawn in a game she didn’t ask to play.

With a sigh, I walked out, stopping at the bed for a second before shaking my head. Nope.

I can’t even sleep there.

Even if Aiden wasn’t in the room yet, even if he never laid a finger on me, I still wasn’t going to even try sleeping on that bed.

So, without hesitation, I grabbed a pillow, threw myself onto the couch, curled up, and shut my eyes.

This was my life now.

Might as well get used to it.

Tomorrow, I had to wake up early.

Ugh.

Might as well start sleeping early—not that I actually wanted to. But if I was going to survive whatever ridiculous event Aiden was dragging me to, I needed at least some energy.

I shifted on the couch, hugging my pillow tighter. The cushions were firm—not exactly the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but at least it was mine. Even though he was the one who technically bought it.

With a deep sigh, I closed my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep before Aiden came in. I didn’t want to hear him. Didn’t want to deal with whatever smug, bossy remark he’d have about me ditching class or about me not being "perfect wife" material.

I didn’t sign up for this to please him.

I signed up for survival.

And tomorrow, I was going to have to survive a long day of fake smiles, high heels, and suffocating dresses.

Great.

Just great.

AIDEN’S POV

Okay... that was too easy.

I expected a fight. A tantrum. Maybe even something thrown at my head.

But all I got was a grumble.

She actually grumbled—like a spoiled child forced to eat vegetables, not like the fiery, sharp-tongued menace I had married.

Huh.

Maybe—just maybe—she had finally decided to accept reality.

To accept me.

To accept this marriage.

Maybe she finally understood that resisting was useless, that the sooner she stopped fighting, the easier this would be for both of us.

Maybe she had chosen to be a perfect wife—like she should.

I smirked to myself, unbuttoning my cufflinks.

Finally, some peace.

She slept on the couch.

Like she ought to.

No arguing. No threats. No dramatic speeches about personal space or calling me a cold-hearted jerk under her breath.

Just... silence.

Things were starting to look great.

Before, I had to fight with her for the bed—listening to her whine, watching her throw pillows at me like a stubborn child. But now? She just accepted it.

Finally, she was learning.

I glanced at her curled-up figure on the couch, her face half-buried in a pillow. Good. This was how things were supposed to be.

I turned off the bedside lamp, sinking into the comfortable mattress.

For the first time since this ridiculous marriage started...

I felt like I had won.