CHAPTER 68: DITCHING MY WIFE AGAIN

Aiden’s POV

I had to admit it—the spa had done wonders to Alexia.

She looked... wow.

Beautiful. Elegant, even. The kind of woman who could turn heads in any room she walked into. The gown hugged her in all the right places, and the way the soft waves in her hair framed her face—damn.

If not for Liz standing right beside me, I might have actually taken a moment to appreciate it.

But instead of admiring her, all I felt was irritation.

Not because she looked bad—because she didn’t.

Not because she was **throwing herself at me in front of everyone—**because, honestly, if Liz weren’t here, I might not have minded it.

No, I was irritated because Liz was watching.

Because I knew she was seeing all of this.

And I couldn’t help but feel a deep, gnawing guilt in the pit of my stomach.

Liz had come back.

For me.

And what did she find? Me. Married.

To someone else.

Even if this marriage was nothing but a deal, even if Alexia and I had no real feelings for each other, Liz didn’t know that.

To her, it must have looked like I had moved on.

Like I had forgotten about her.

And the worst part? I couldn’t tell her otherwise.

So as Alexia stood beside me, beaming, holding my arm, acting like the perfect wife, all I could think about was Liz’s words from earlier—

"I thought you waited for me."

God.

If only she knew.

Alexia was playing her part perfectly.

The graceful smile, the way she leaned into me, her hand resting lightly on my arm—it was exactly how a devoted wife should act.

And the cameras loved it.

Flashes went off in every direction as photographers captured what they thought was a picture-perfect couple. The whispers among the crowd were full of admiration—"What a stunning pair," "Aiden’s wife is breathtaking,""He really got lucky."

But I couldn’t bring myself to play along.

I knew what was expected of me. I knew I should smile down at her, whisper something in her ear, pretend to be as captivated by her as everyone else was.

But I couldn’t.

Not with Liz standing right there.

Not with guilt weighing down on me like a damn anchor.

So instead, I stood stiffly beside Alexia, barely looking at her, barely reacting to her touch.

And she noticed.

Oh, she definitely noticed.

I could feel her tense slightly, but she didn’t let it show on her face. She was committed to the act, even if I wasn’t.

I had wanted her to act like my wife in public.

And now that she was, I hated it.

Alexia didn’t falter, not even for a second. If anything, she tightened her grip on my arm, her nails gently grazing against the fabric of my suit as if reminding me to play along.

I didn’t.

I was too aware of Liz standing there, watching.

Her expression was neutral, but I knew her well enough to catch the subtle things—the way her eyes flickered to Alexia’s hand on my arm, the way she pressed her lips together as if holding back words.

And for the first time since marrying Alexia, I regretted it.

Not because she was embarrassing me—no, tonight she was flawless. The problem was that, for once, she looked every bit the part of my wife... and I didn’t want her to.

Not with Liz back in the picture.

Alexia, however, was in full performance mode. She turned to Liz with a dazzling smile, the kind that could put any socialite to shame.

"And you are?"

There was no hostility in her voice. No sharp edges, no bratty sarcasm. Just politeness dipped in honey.

Liz blinked, as if caught off guard by the question. She probably expected jealousy, maybe even an argument, but instead, she got a perfectly composed, gracious wife.

"Elizabeth," Liz finally answered, offering a small smile. "An old friend of Aiden’s."

"Oh, how lovely," Alexia replied smoothly, tilting her head. "It’s always nice to meet old friends of my husband."

She emphasized husband.

Subtle. But effective.

I could see the twinkle of mischief in her eyes—she was enjoying this.

The Black brothers, who had been watching this exchange like an audience at a live drama, barely held back their grins. They knew Alexia wasn’t normally like this.

She was mocking me.

Playing the role of the perfect, sophisticated wife in front of Liz was her way of getting back at me for leaving her waiting outside.

And damn it, it was working.

Liz gave me a look. The kind that said, "So this is your wife?"

And I had no answer.

Because at that moment, Alexia looked more like a true heiress than any woman in this room. More refined. More elegant. More... belonging to this world.

And I hated that I had no excuse to dismiss her.

I clenched my jaw.

The cameras were still clicking, the murmurs growing louder around us.

I had no choice but to play along.

So I did the bare minimum.

I placed my hand lightly over Alexia’s where it rested on my arm, a gesture that should have looked natural—but instead, it felt like a leash.

Because somehow, in the span of a few minutes, she had managed to trap me in my own game.

********

The event had turned out exactly as I expected—a battlefield of business negotiations hidden behind champagne glasses and polite laughter.

The moment Alexia and I stepped into the grand ballroom, all eyes were on us. It was inevitable. We were newlyweds, and not just any couple—I was Aiden Timberlake, heir to the Sinclair empire, and she was the woman people still whispered about behind closed doors.

The mysterious wife.

The nobody turned somebody overnight.

And tonight, she was stunning.

The spa had worked its magic on her. Her hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, and the white gown she had chosen—a daring number with an open back and thigh-high slit—clung to her figure like it was made for her.

But the biggest shocker?

She played her part perfectly.

Smiling at the right moments. Laughing at subtle jokes. Holding onto my arm in a way that made it look like she belonged by my side.

If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought she was born into this world.

And the businessmen?

Oh, they ate it up.

One after the other, they approached me, their eyes flickering between me and Alexia, some with admiration, others with well-hidden skepticism.

They came with their shallow compliments and hidden agendas, each hoping to charm their way into earning my favor.

"Mr. Aiden, a pleasure, as always. And your wife—simply breathtaking. You’re a lucky man."

"They say a man’s success is measured by the woman beside him. Judging by your wife, your success must be limitless."

"My wife would love to meet Mrs. Aiden—perhaps a dinner soon?"

It was exhausting.

But Alexia?

She handled it with a grace I never expected from her.

She played along, smiling sweetly, nodding at the right moments, even offering words that made it seem like she was engaged in these business discussions.

I won’t lie.

It was impressive.

But that didn’t mean I’d let my guard down.

Because if there was one thing I knew about Alexia, it was this—

She was unpredictable.

And I didn’t have to wait long for her to prove me right.

At one point, as the night progressed, a young businessman with a cocky smile and an expensive watch approached Alexia with a drink in hand.

"A beauty like you shouldn’t be without a drink in hand," he said smoothly, offering her the glass of champagne.

Alexia’s eyes lit up instantly.

And I?

I shut it down before it could even begin.

Stepping forward, I smoothly plucked the drink from the man’s hand before Alexia could touch it.

"She won’t be drinking tonight."

The businessman looked taken aback, but then chuckled nervously, assuming I was just another possessive husband.

"Ah, of course. Protective, aren’t we?" he said with an amused smirk.

I smiled back, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.

"Something like that."

People around us laughed, nodding approvingly.

"A good husband always looks out for his wife," someone added.

"Aiden always takes care of his own," another chimed in.

And just like that, I had turned it into a moment of admiration rather than suspicion.

But Alexia?

She was not pleased.

I could feel the sharp glare she shot my way as I took a sip of the champagne—the one meant for her.

She wanted a drink.

But guess what?

She wasn’t getting one.

Not after the disaster of the last time she got drunk.

No way in hell was I dealing with Drunk Alexia again.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue—not in front of everyone.

Instead, she did something that caught me off guard.

She leaned in slightly, brushing her fingers along my arm as she whispered, so quietly that only I could hear—

"You are being an asshole."

I nearly choked on the champagne.

This woman.

Before I could respond, someone else stole my attention.

Liz.

Liz had been lost in the sea of businessmen and socialites, effortlessly moving through conversations, charming everyone in her path.

But now—

Now, she was making her way toward me, her smile still in place... but off.

Too tight.

Too forced.

Something wasn’t right.

I knew her too well to ignore it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead despite the cool air in the event hall.

Something was wrong.

I frowned.

"Liz?" I said, my voice low enough that only she could hear.

She turned to me, blinking rapidly.

"I... I think I just need a—"

"Liz?" I said, my voice low enough that only she could hear.

She turned to me, blinking rapidly. "I... I think I just need a—"

And then, she collapsed.

The moment slowed.

One second, she was standing there, still poised, still in control. The next, her body went limp, her knees giving out as she crumbled to the floor.

Gasps erupted around us.

The Black brothers cursed, stepping back in shock. Guests turned, their murmurs escalating into a loud buzz. The cameras, which had been flashing relentlessly at Alexia and me just moments ago, now turned to Liz’s unconscious body.

Shit.

I reacted instantly.

Before she could hit the ground, I lunged forward, catching her in my arms. Her body was light, too light, as I scooped her up effortlessly. Her skin was cold against my palm, her head lolling against my chest.

"Liz?" I tried, but she didn’t respond.

Her breathing was shallow, her lashes fluttering slightly but not enough to open.

Panic gripped me.

I didn’t panic. Ever.

But right now? With Liz unconscious in my arms and the entire event watching?

Yeah, I was panicking.

I could hear Alexia’s sharp intake of breath beside me, but I didn’t turn to look at her.

"Someone call an ambulance!" Henry shouted, but I didn’t wait.

I wasn’t going to wait.

My car was outside. The hospital was fifteen minutes away if I sped.

I was already moving, carrying Liz through the stunned crowd, ignoring the flashing cameras, ignoring the whispers, ignoring everything except the woman in my arms.

She felt so small.

So fragile.

And I hated it.

Someone—maybe Alexia, maybe one of the Black brothers—called after me, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

The second I was outside, my driver rushed to open the door.

"Sir—"

"Forget the formalities," I snapped. "Move."

I placed Liz carefully in the back seat, my heart pounding in my ears as I climbed in beside her.

"Drive. Fast."

The engine roared to life, tires screeching as we pulled away from the curb, heading straight for the hospital.

I didn’t let go of her hand.

Didn’t stop looking at her pale face.

Didn’t let myself think about anything else except getting her there in time.

I wasn’t losing her again.

Not this time.