CHAPTER 118: FALLING IN LOVE

Aiden’s POV

I know I’ve been acting like a proud, jealous husband—but can you really blame me when my wife is sexy hot as hell, surrounded by greedy, lecherous men? Every time I catch even a glimpse of her, I can’t help but feel the surge of possessiveness. It’s like an unspoken challenge: they can stare all they want, but they’ll never have her. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Walking through the crowded party, I kept a vigilant watch on Alexia. Every time one of those entitled eyes lingered too long, I’d step in with a casual word or a lingering touch on her back that made it perfectly clear: she was mine. I smiled to myself at how natural it felt to be protective—though I didn’t want to come off as overbearing. But when you have a wife who looks as incredible as Alexia, sometimes the instinct is just too strong to ignore.

I remember thinking earlier, as I introduced her to the board members and senior partners, how proud I was to have her by my side. "This is my wife, Alexia," I had said with a touch of authority in my tone, and I watched as their expressions shifted ever so slightly, from polite interest to restrained admiration. It wasn’t just about her beauty—it was her aura, the way she carried herself with a mix of elegance and mischief that commanded attention.

I know some might say I’m overreacting, that my jealousy is misplaced. But standing there, with Alexia’s silhouette lit by the soft glow of chandeliers, I couldn’t help but feel that every gaze cast her way was a silent challenge. And each time I caught one of those greedy looks, my heart pounded with the need to remind everyone that she belonged to me. I let my hand rest confidently on her small of the back, a subtle yet unmissable claim.

Yet, even in the midst of all this, a part of me was introspective. I knew I’d sworn off involving feelings, had promised myself that our intimacy would remain purely physical. But tonight—watching Alexia move gracefully among the glittering elite—I felt something more. It was as if every moment we shared, every stolen glance, every possessive touch, was slowly unraveling the defenses I’d built.

I caught her eye as she laughed at a joke from one of our colleagues, and for a brief moment, I saw vulnerability there—a flash of something that might be more than just attraction. I couldn’t tell if it was her natural charm or if she was daring to challenge my boundaries. Either way, I wanted it.

I leaned in close, my voice low so only she could hear, "You’re stunning tonight, Alexia. And remember, I’m right here." I wanted her to feel safe, to know that while the world might be full of greedy men, she was cherished, wanted, and entirely mine.

As the party progressed, my resolve hardened. I wasn’t going to let anyone come between us. I’d continue to be the proud, possessive husband she deserved—even if it meant showing off a little, letting the world know that I wouldn’t tolerate a second glance from anyone else. And deep down, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way.

For now, all I cared about was this moment: Alexia in my arms, the sound of her laughter mingling with the music of the party, and the silent promise in my heart that I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe—and to keep her all to myself.

Good lord—who would have thought that this is the same girl who once puked on me? The very one I nearly strangled back in the day. I still shudder remembering those moments. I used to just tolerate her, thinking of her as nothing more than an annoying presence I had to endure. But somewhere along the way, everything changed.

Now, as I stand here—watching her laugh, radiant in a room full of glimmering faces—I can’t help but marvel at how much I admire her. It’s infuriating and beautiful all at once. I remember when every encounter with her sparked nothing but irritation and a desire to escape her clumsy antics. And yet, here I am, completely captivated by her every move.

I find myself wondering: How did I get here? How did I come to cherish the very woman I once despised? Was it her unyielding spirit? The way she always managed to push through even when the odds were stacked against her? Or was it something in me that changed—a realization that beneath her unpredictable exterior lay a spark I couldn’t ignore?

The irony isn’t lost on me. The girl who once made me want to strangle her now has my heart pounding in my chest. I look over at her, her eyes bright and filled with life, and I feel an overwhelming rush—a mixture of admiration, desire, and something deeper I dare not name.

I lean back, trying to steady my thoughts. I remind myself that this isn’t just a twisted turn of fate or some illogical attraction. It’s real. I’m falling for her, despite everything she once represented to me. And as I watch her interact with the crowd, the same person who once disgusted me now ignites a fire I never knew I had.

It’s maddening, exhilarating—and utterly terrifying. I never imagined that I’d be here, proud to introduce her as my wife, to stand by her side and defend her against the world’s greed and judgment. Yet, every time I catch a glimpse of her, every time I feel her warmth next to me, I know that I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

In the past, I tolerated her. Now, I admire her. And though part of me still wonders if I’m capable of truly letting go of the old grudges, I can’t help but smile at the sheer absurdity of it all. Fate has a twisted sense of humor, and here I am—a man who once wanted to strangle the very idea of her existence—now completely smitten.

I take a deep breath and allow myself a moment of vulnerability, silently promising that I’ll do everything in my power to protect and cherish her, no matter how unexpected this journey might be.

I took her toward the balcony as I noticed the crowd inside growing too heavy, too suffocating. The constant murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses—it was all becoming too much for her. I pulled her gently by the hand, guiding her away from the center of the party into the cool, open air.

Outside, the night sky stretched wide and dark, sprinkled with distant stars. The breeze was a welcome reprieve, soothing the heated tension that had been building inside me. I could see the relief flicker across her face as we stepped onto the balcony, far from the relentless chatter of the guests.

I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and began to caress her bare back, letting my fingers trace the delicate line from her shoulder down toward her waist. The cool night air mingled with the warmth of my touch, and I felt her shiver against me.

For a moment, her eyes met mine. I saw a glimmer of defiance there, a subtle glare that told me she was trying to mask the vulnerability I knew was hidden beneath. But I also saw something else—a quiet admission that she, too, was affected by what we shared, by the way our bodies and our souls had collided.

"Alexia..." I murmured softly, the word lingering between us like a promise. I wanted to say more, to let her know exactly how much she stirred something in me that I could no longer ignore. Yet, the words remained unsaid, suspended in the cool air around us.

She pulled back slightly, feigning a scowl as if to hide her reaction, but I could tell by the way her hand brushed against my arm that she wasn’t really angry. Not really. She could pretend all she wanted—act like she was perfectly in control—but I knew the truth. I saw it in the way she leaned into my touch, in the softening of her gaze when our eyes met. I was affected by her just as deeply as she was by me.

I let my fingers continue their slow, deliberate caress, moving in gentle circles that were meant to comfort, to reassure her that despite everything, I was here. In that quiet moment on the balcony, away from prying eyes and judgment, I felt a surge of possessiveness mingled with tenderness—a feeling that was both familiar and utterly new.

"Don’t act so tough," I said in a low, playful tone, though the edge in my voice betrayed my true emotions. "I know you feel it too."

She hesitated, her eyes narrowing just a fraction before she looked away, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

I pressed my forehead gently against hers, closing my eyes for a moment to savor the connection. It wasn’t just the physical closeness—it was the unspoken understanding, the raw admission that beneath the layers of sarcasm and defiant cool, we were both changed by each other.

The world beyond the balcony, with its glittering lights and opulent parties, melted away as we stood there together. I didn’t need to say that I was falling for her—her silent gaze, the way her pulse quickened under my touch, said it all. And though I’d once vowed to keep our intimacy free from feelings, I couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

As the breeze played with her hair and the stars bore witness to our quiet rebellion against a world that demanded perfection, I knew that nothing could erase the mark we’d left on each other. I was hers, in every possible way—and even if she would never openly admit it, I sensed that deep down, she was beginning to feel the same.

I couldn’t help it any longer. The heat between us had built to a fever pitch. I leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started soft and tentative but quickly grew into a steamy, all-consuming make-out session. The world around us—crowded parties, glittering lights—vanished as our lips met in a collision of need and defiance.

Her hands tangled in my hair as I deepened the kiss, our breath mingling in the cool night air on the balcony. For a long moment, all I could feel was the electricity of her touch and the way her body melted against mine. Every second we spent like this only made it harder to face the party below.

When we finally broke apart for air, I rested my forehead against hers, our eyes locked in a silent conversation. I knew it was time to decide: why continue enduring the pretentious atmosphere of that party when all I wanted was to be here with her?

"Let’s ditch the party," I said, my voice low and rough with sincerity. "I can’t stand being around all those people right now—not when I’d rather be with you."

Alexia’s eyes sparkled, and a genuine laugh bubbled up from her. She nodded, almost imperceptibly at first, then more decisively. "Yeah," she murmured, a trace of mischief in her tone. "Let’s get out of here."

In that moment, as the sounds of the party faded into the background, I felt something shift inside me. The cool night air, the privacy of the balcony, and the undeniable pull between us made it all seem so natural. I knew I had made my choice—even if I was still wrestling with my own tangled feelings—and I was ready to take the risk.

We stood there together, the tension of the evening giving way to a new, exhilarating promise of something different, something raw. And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t just the proud, possessive husband. I was a man willing to break free from the chains of our agreed-upon rules—if only for a moment, if only for us.

I took her hand, feeling the lingering warmth, and with one last shared look that said everything without words, we slipped away from the party into the night, leaving behind the glittering chaos for a quieter, more honest moment—just the two of us.