CHAPTER 33: GOING OUT

Alexia POV

I was in the middle of the sweetest dream, somewhere involving me lounging on a yacht and drinking champagne—which, let’s be real, was just a manifestation of the life I deserved—when a loud knock shattered my bliss. I groaned, tugging the covers tighter around me. Couldn’t whoever it was just wait five more minutes? I was this close to owning my imaginary yacht.

The knocking persisted, growing more insistent, until it suddenly stopped. Ha! Victory. Or so I thought, until the door creaked open and my blanket was unceremoniously ripped off me.

"What the fuck?" I bolted upright, squinting at the towering figure of Aiden, looking far too smug for this hour.

"Wake up, it’s already ten," he announced like some self-appointed timekeeper.

Excuse me, I don’t have a job or any pressing responsibilities, so why was he acting like I owed him a 9-to-5 schedule? I glared at him, only for his amused voice to cut through my irritation.

"What is that you’re wearing?"

Oh no. I followed his gaze down to my old, faded SpongeBob pajamas. Yep, the same ones I’d had since I was a teenager. They were soft, comfy, and tragically embarrassing. My face heated as I scrambled to pull the sheet up over myself.

"What are you doing uncovering me like that? What if I slept naked, huh? Ever think of that, pervert?" I snapped.

He snorted, completely unfazed. "There wouldn’t have been much to see," he said with a smirk.

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

Ignoring my indignation, he placed a bag on the bedside table. "Get dressed. We’re going somewhere." Then, like the infuriating jerk he was, he strolled out of the room.

Still fuming, I snatched the bag and peeked inside. It was a dress—a gorgeous dress. Pulling it out, I held it up and admired it. The blue fabric was simple but classy, with a fitted corset-like bodice and a flowing skirt. The short sleeves and circle neckline made it look like something straight out of a fashion catalog.

I blinked. Aiden had good taste? Who would’ve thought?

Excited despite myself, I rushed to the bathroom to freshen up. Once I slipped into the dress and caught my reflection, I had to admit: damn, I cleaned up nicely. The dress hugged my curves in all the right places, and for once, I looked like I belonged in a place like Aiden’s mansion. With my hair tied into a ponytail and a quick spin in the mirror, I actually giggled. Who was this girl?

But then reality hit: I had no shoes to match the dress. My only decent option was a pair of white sneakers. They weren’t ideal, but at least they were clean and neutral. I slipped them on, trying not to think about how they clashed with the elegance of the outfit.

Ready—or as ready as I could be—I headed out of the room. But before dealing with Aiden, I had a mission. Food.

If I was going to spend the day with him, I wasn’t about to risk starvation. I had to look out for myself because who knew what kind of twisted torture he had planned.

Walking down the stairs, I noticed Aiden deep in conversation on the phone. He was all business, that usual stern expression etched across his face. But as his eyes landed on me, he froze mid-sentence. For a moment, I thought he was stunned by how good I looked in the dress—until his gaze dropped to my feet. His lips twitched, and I could tell he was fighting off some snarky remark.

He muttered something about calling the person back later before focusing entirely on me. "What are those?" he asked, pointing at my feet like I’d shown up wearing clown shoes.

I glanced down, then back up at him with a blank expression. "Shoes," I replied, emphasizing the obvious with an exaggerated look of innocence. Without waiting for a response, I strolled toward the kitchen.

I was on a mission for food, and the butler was my hero once again. When I mentioned I wanted juice and pancakes—because yesterday’s pancakes were divine—he nodded and disappeared to make it happen. Meanwhile, Aiden had followed me like a storm cloud.

"What do you think you’re doing?" he demanded, his voice tinged with exasperation.

"Taking breakfast," I replied in the same tone you’d use with a child. Was he always this dense?

"No, I mean the shoes," he clarified, shaking his head as if that made his question clearer.

"What about them?" I asked, sauntering into the dining room.

"Don’t you have any other... good ones?" he added, clearly trying not to offend me but failing spectacularly.

"These are the best I’ve got," I said matter-of-factly, taking a seat just as the butler returned with a plate of pancakes and a glass of juice. God bless efficient people.

"Thank you," I murmured as the butler placed the food before me. At least someone in this house had manners.

I turned my attention back to Aiden, who looked like he was about to blow a gasket. He ran a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of his frustration. "You should have bought shoes along with the dress," I said casually, cutting into a pancake and popping a piece into my mouth.

Aiden cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something I couldn’t catch. Finally, he growled, "You’re definitely not going in those shoes."

Without skipping a beat, he stormed off to the sitting room.

I shrugged, finishing my breakfast at a leisurely pace. When I was done, I bent down to take off the offending shoes and padded barefoot to where he was brooding.

"All done," I announced cheerfully.

He looked up, his gaze falling to my bare feet. His hand shot up to his face, massaging his temples like he was on the verge of a breakdown. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice strained.

"You said—and I quote—’You’re definitely not going in those shoes,’" I said, mimicking his voice. "So, I removed them. What the fuck do you want, Aiden? You need to make a choice already. It’s either barefoot or the shoes."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought his head might actually explode. He muttered something I couldn’t hear and finally said, "We’re stopping for shoes on the way. Just... wait here and don’t make this harder than it has to be."

I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall, grinning to myself. It was fun seeing Mr. Perfect lose his cool. Maybe marriage wouldn’t be so bad after all—at least I’d get to torment him daily.