CHAPTER 13: CHAPTER 13: COLD LOOK

Alexia POV

Of course, life couldn’t let me walk in like I owned the place without throwing a little more chaos into the mix. I should’ve known those receptionists wouldn’t let me go scot-free.

I’d barely made it halfway through the overly polished, chandelier-infested restaurant when I caught the sound of heavy footsteps behind me. Great. Security.

I didn’t even need to look back to confirm it. The whole place had that silent hush—you know the one, where everyone stops to watch what’s about to go down.

"Ma’am!"

Ma’am? Seriously? I’m not fifty.

Rolling my eyes, I picked up my pace, pretending I hadn’t heard. I mean, maybe if I got to the table quickly enough, Almond Milk Guy—aka Aiden—would magically make this problem disappear. If he was the one who’d dragged me to this overly posh place, the least he could do was get me out of trouble.

I spotted him easily. Because, well, it’s hard to miss a guy like Aiden in a crowd. I spotted him almost immediately—sitting at a table by the window, calm as ever, as though he owned the damn place. He probably did. The sleek, tailored suit. The perfect posture. He looked like a villain straight out of a romance drama. I could practically hear some intense background music playing as he sipped from his glass, eyes fixed on something outside. He was sitting at a table tucked into a corner with a full, uninterrupted view of the room—like some kind of mafia kingpin scoping out his territory. He had one hand wrapped around a crystal glass of water, the other resting lazily on the table as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

And, of course, he looked perfect. In his suit—probably worth more than my entire life—and his hair all neatly in place, he oozed this smug kind of confidence that made me want to roll my eyes and yell at him all at once.

As soon as our eyes met, I had a brief moment of panic. His stare could freeze the sun. It was that cold, sharp kind of look that made you want to check if you were still breathing.

Was he mad?

I glanced down at my hoodie and sweatpants and thought, Yeah, probably. I mean, I wouldn’t be thrilled if my so-called "fiancée" rolled into a high-end restaurant dressed like she’d just raided a laundromat either.

But then...

Then he did something with his eyes.

That’s the only way I can describe it. A thing.

His death stare didn’t land on me for long. Instead, his gaze shifted past me, over my shoulder, locking onto something—or someone—behind me.

I blinked. Wait, what was he—

The footsteps stopped.

Slowly, I turned around, and yep—just as I suspected—there they were: two security guards who looked like they could bench-press a car. They were headed straight for me, but now? They’d frozen mid-step, their stern expressions slowly crumbling into unease as their eyes darted toward Aiden.

I didn’t know what Aiden had done—whether he gave them a glare, a nod, or just telepathically told them to back off—but whatever it was, it worked.

The guards exchanged an awkward look, like they weren’t quite sure if they should retreat or tackle me on the spot. Finally, after a long pause, they turned around and marched back the way they came, their boots echoing against the floor.

Victory.

I couldn’t help it—I smirked. It was the same feeling I used to get back when I was a VIP in society. You know, the kind of person who just had to show up for everyone else to bend over backward. This time, though? It wasn’t me they feared. It was him.

And that worked just fine for me.

"Mr. Almond Milk," I muttered under my breath as I approached the table.

His head turned at the sound of my footsteps. The moment his gaze landed on me, I swear I saw it—just a flash of disbelief, maybe even amusement. His lips twitched, fighting off what I assumed was either a smirk or a laugh.

"Well," he said slowly, putting his glass down with a soft clink, "I see you... interpreted the dress code in your own way."

I dropped into the chair across from him, leaning back with a grin. "What can I say? I aim to impress."

His lips twitched again, this time curving into the smallest of smiles, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—watched me like I was an interesting puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out yet. "Clearly."

"Glad to see you’re making friends," he said, his voice smooth and calm.

"Yeah, well, not everyone’s as charming as me," I replied, brushing imaginary dust off my hoodie as I pulled out the chair across from him.

He raised an eyebrow, letting his gaze travel pointedly over my outfit. "This is what you call dressing decently?"

"Hey, you’re lucky I even showed up." I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms and matching his stare. "Besides, you’re the one who said dress decently. You didn’t specify whose standards we were going by. I happen to think this hoodie is a classic."

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his lips curled into something that might have been a smirk. Or maybe I was imagining it.

"You haven’t changed a bit," he muttered under his breath.

I froze.

"What did you just say?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

He tilted his head, playing innocent. "Nothing. Just that... you’re as impossible as I expected."

I didn’t buy it for a second.

Because for a brief moment there, I could’ve sworn he knew. Like he remembered something I wasn’t ready to confront. The tone, the words, the look—it was too familiar.

But instead of pressing him about it, I leaned forward and grinned.

"Well, lucky for you."

His gaze darkened slightly, like I’d hit a nerve. But then he shook his head, muttering something I didn’t quite catch, and took a sip of his water.

This was going to be interesting.