Alexia POV:
Stupid forr brothers. Why the heck were they here?
Okay, yes, I’ll admit it—I was jealous. Because unlike , they still had everything. They were still etched in the history books, still together, still had the status and camaraderie that used to define my life. And ? I was an erased page, a forgotten footnote in the tiline.
After the last incident at the diner, when I’d dumped hot coffee on them and stord out, I hadn’t thought much about why they were there. It didn’t even occur to that they might have been there because of Aiden. But seeing them here, chatting so casually with him, laughing like old friends, I pegged them to be his buddies. His allies.
It stung.
It felt like Aiden had taken the life that should’ve been mine. My brothers—my brothers—should’ve been standing by , not him. And that realization, that bitter truth, made my blood boil.
Fuck all of them.
While Aiden went to speak with the secretary, I watched them. Carefully. Intently. And what I saw only made my frustration worse.
They hadn’t changed one bit.
Their goofiness, the sa antics that used to drive Mother insane and amuse Father endlessly, was still there. Luke’s exaggerated hand gestures as he recounted so ridiculous story. Henry’s teasing jabs that made Martin roll his eyes. Even Martin, the supposed "serious" one, had a small smirk tugging at his lips.
I wanted to scream. It was unfair. So unfair.
My eyes drifted around the group, taking them all in, when they finally landed on Mike.
He wasn’t laughing with the others. He wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation. Instead, he was watching .
Quietly.
Mike, the loudest of them all, the one who could drown out a thunderstorm with his incessant chatter, was silent. Unnaturally so.
That wasn’t like him. Not at all.
I frowned, my chest tightening with unease. Could he have rembered who I was? Could he, out of all of them, have sohow rembered our past lives like I did?
The thought sent a ripple of anxiety through .
If he did rember, why wasn’t he saying anything? Was he waiting for the right mont to expose , to call out in front of everyone? Or was he grappling with his own questions, unsure if it was really standing here?
His gaze was piercing, almost searching, and I had to fight the urge to look away. I wouldn’t let him intimidate —not now, not after everything I’d endured.
But the truth was, I didn’t know what to make of him. Of them. Of Aiden, who was clearly more connected to my brothers than I’d ever realized.
And that uncertainty?
It was suffocating.
"Mike," Aiden called out, and just like that, Mike broke his gaze from and went to his side without hesitation.
Great. They were all in cahoots now, weren’t they?
This was it.
I was about to marry soone who not only had the life that should have been mine but who might—or might not—have been the reason for my downfall in the first place. My once glorious, privileged past reduced to ash while his seed to have flourished.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Get killed again, if I was really killed the first ti? Or maybe this would be poetic justice, his chance to pay back for how cruel I had been when he was the servant and I was the one calling the shots.
Well, what better way to find out than by going through with this absurd marriage?
Before I could stew further in my own dramatic thoughts, Aiden suddenly appeared by my side. His face was calm, but his hand gripped mine like a vice. For a mont, I thought it was a romantic gesture—the way the brothers hollered and hooted like a pack of unruly teenagers only added to the illusion.
But no. This wasn’t romance.
This was insurance.
Aiden’s insurance that I wouldn’t bolt.
"You think I’d run?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
"I don’t think," he replied coolly, his grip tightening just enough to make his point. "I prepare."
He started leading toward what I assud was the judge’s chambers, his steps purposeful and confident as if he was escorting to my doom.
The stupid brothers whistled again, making exaggerated comnts like, "Look at that handholding! True love, right there!" and "Aiden, slow down! Let the poor girl breathe before you drag her into eternal commitnt!"
I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t fall out of my head.
"Are they always like this?" I muttered under my breath. It seed like they were even more unruly than our past life.
"Unfortunately," Aiden replied dryly.
As we walked, I tried to ignore the gnawing sensation in my chest, that nagging feeling that I was stepping into sothing far more complicated than I was prepared for.
This wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore.
It was a collision of past lives, unspoken truths, and the overwhelming suspicion that this union was going to unearth secrets neither of us were ready to face.
And yet, here I was.
Walking hand in hand with my soon-to-be husband, who might very well be the person who ruined in my past life.
Perfect. Just perfect.
...
Are all judges old, or is it just the one officiating our wedding?
Okay, sorry for my rudeness, but this guy was ancient. He greeted Aiden with the kind of respect that made wonder if he had been around since the dinosaurs. Great. My husband-to-be in about 30 minutes wasn’t just rich; he was clearly influential enough to have history with the judge himself.
The ceremony began, and the judge started reciting the necessary legal formalities, but to be honest, I wasn’t listening. My stomach had taken over my brain, loudly reminding of the breakfast Aiden had refused to let eat.
The judge droned on, but I was too busy daydreaming about pancakes, waffles, or even just a dry piece of toast. Then suddenly, the judge directed a question at . I didn’t even notice until Aiden squeezed my hand hard enough to make wince.
I shot him a glare, and he subtly nudged his head toward the judge.
"Miss," the kind old man repeated patiently, "are you entering this marriage of your own free will, or are you being forced?"
Oh, this was fun.
I glanced at Aiden, who was smirking like he had already won a silent battle between us. His eyes narrowed as if daring to seize this mont to escape. The unspoken ssage in his glare was clear: Don’t even think about it.
Of course, that only made want to ss with him.
As I opened my mouth to answer, my stomach decided it was ti for an encore performance. It growled so loudly that the poor judge looked startled, and the brothers burst into laughter.
"He refused to feed breakfast," I said, pointing an accusing finger at Aiden like a child tattling to the teacher.
The brothers snickered louder, Henry actually doubling over while Luke patted Aiden on the shoulder in mock sympathy.
Aiden, on the other hand, looked mortified and furious all at once.
"Just answer the question," he ground out through clenched teeth. "So we can wrap this thing up and you can eat whatever you want."
Now that was a tempting offer.
I turned back to the judge, smiling sweetly. "I’m here of my own free will."
The judge nodded, clearly amused by the entire interaction, and continued with the ceremony.
Aiden let out a low sigh, his grip on my hand relaxing slightly. But as I glanced at him, I caught the subtle twitch in his jaw. Oh, he was definitely annoyed.
Good. That made feel a little better. If I was going to be hungry on my wedding day, at least I could have so fun at his expense.
The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur, though not because it was romantic or heartwarming. It was more like a race to the finish line—Aiden’s hand stayed firmly locked around mine, as if I were a flight risk, and the judge droned on about obligations, legalities, and bonds. My mind kept wandering to the buffet I hoped was waiting after this ordeal.
When the mont ca to say "I do," Aiden’s voice was crisp, controlled, and just as annoyingly confident as I expected.
"And do you, Miss Alexia—" the judge began, but my stomach had one last protest in it.
The loud, unrelenting growl cut through the room like a declaration of war.
Henry lost it. He slapped Luke on the back, both of them laughing so hard I thought they might choke. Even Mike, who had been eerily quiet most of the ti, cracked a smile.
Aiden exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "For the love of God," he muttered under his breath, before gesturing to the judge. "Just hurry up."
The judge chuckled softly, clearly amused by the chaos. "Miss Alexia?"
"Yes, yes, I do!" I blurted, eager to get it over with. "Now can we finish this so I can eat?"
The brothers broke out into another round of laughter, and even the judge gave a bemused smile as he declared us husband and wife. Signed the marriage certificate as the judge requested.
"Congratulations," he said, closing his ledger. "You may kiss the bride."
Ooooh Fuck! I forgot that tiny detail. What’s the best way to get your first kiss than with your fake husband in a legal wedding. Note the sarcasm.
Aiden turned to , his expression unreadable. I half-expected him to skip the kiss entirely, but no—he leaned in, his lips brushing mine lightly. It was brief, businesslike, and about as romantic as shaking hands at a board eting.
The brothers, of course, whistled and hooted like we’d just starred in a blockbuster rom-com.
"Was that so bad?" Aiden murmured as he pulled away, his voice low enough for only to hear.
"Depends," I whispered back. "Can we go eat now?"
His jaw tightened, but instead of snapping at , he took my hand and led out of the courtroom. The brothers followed behind us like an entourage, still laughing and making jokes.
As we stepped outside, I realized the day was surprisingly warm for a supposed winter wedding. The sunlight felt like a spotlight as we walked to the car, and I couldn’t help but glance at Aiden. For soone who had just married a woman he barely tolerated, he looked surprisingly calm—too calm.
"So," I said as we got into the car, breaking the silence. "What now? Do we cut a cake? Throw a bouquet? Or is this where you lock in a tower and tell to stay out of your business?"
Aiden didn’t respond imdiately. Instead, he adjusted his cuffs and stared out the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped and emotionless.
"We’re going to get you breakfast. You’ve been starving all morning, and frankly, I can’t deal with any more interruptions from your stomach."
I blinked, surprised by his practicality. "Wait, really?"
"Yes," he said flatly. "But don’t get used to it. This isn’t a honeymoon."
And just like that, the tension in the car shifted. The brothers, sitting in the back, exchanged amused glances but wisely kept quiet.
Late breakfast might not have been a honeymoon, but it was a start.
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