CHAPTER 41: LATE AT MY WEDDING

Alexia POV:

AARGH! The blaring alarm shattered the remnants of my fragile sleep, grating on my already frazzled nerves. I groggily reached over and smacked it off, groaning into my pillow. Stupid thing. My brain was a tangled mess, thanks to the ridiculous thoughts I’d tortured myself with last night. The absurd idea of somehow returning to my past life, of undoing my death—if I’d even died at all. I should have been dreaming about beaches or cake, but no, my brain decided to fixate on existential dilemmas. Brilliant.

The wedding—or whatever this sham was—was scheduled for 7 a.m. Who in their right mind planned something so important at an hour when even birds were still yawning? Oh, right. Aiden. The human ice sculpture with a Rolex where his heart should be.

I kicked off the covers, sitting up in a rush as realization dawned. Wait a minute... This wasn’t going to be a proper wedding, but it was still a wedding, right? A civil marriage. And that’s when the thought hit me like a bolt of lightning.

Would it even be real?

Could Aiden have just... I don’t know... bribed someone to make it appear legal? With all his insane wealth, surely he had the resources to arrange something fake. Right? He wouldn’t actually make this marriage legitimate, would he? Would he?

I jumped out of bed, my heart racing. My mind spun as I stormed toward the door. I needed answers, and I needed them now.

Flinging the door open with more force than necessary, I found myself face-to-face with Aiden, his hand raised as though about to knock.

"Good, you’re awake," he said without missing a beat, already turning back toward his room. "Dress decent. And by decent, I mean my version of decent."

He didn’t even look back, just kept walking.

"The f— hey, wait!" I called after him, scrambling to keep up.

He stopped and turned slightly, raising one of his infuriating eyebrows. "What’s the matter? Getting cold feet?"

"No!" I snapped, though my stomach did a little nervous flip. "I just... I thought, because this is more like a... a contract, that the marriage would be, um... fake."

Aiden’s lips curled into a smirk, and I immediately regretted opening my mouth. He chuckled—actually chuckled—before turning back to continue toward his room.

"I don’t do fake," he called over his shoulder. "The marriage is real. Congratulations, you’ll be my legal wife."

My jaw dropped as I stood there, watching him casually open his bedroom door, step inside, and close it behind him without a second glance.

Real? REAL?

I stood frozen, processing his words. This wasn’t just a piece of paper to play pretend. It was binding, legal, permanent. My stomach churned with a mix of disbelief and panic.

I was really about to become Mrs. Aiden Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is.

Gods, I didn’t even know my supposed-to-be husband’s last name. What kind of absurd reality was this? Here I was, preparing to sign away my life—okay, not really, but it felt that way—and I couldn’t even attach a full name to the guy. That thought made me pause mid-stride. Was it too late to back out? I mean, I was really having second thoughts about this whole wedding thing as I trudged back to my room.

Closing the door behind me, I sighed and leaned against it, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar space. My room was like a designer’s dream: plush carpet, sleek furniture, and an intimidatingly perfect walk-in closet that practically screamed, I’m too rich for my own good. The clothes and shoes Aiden had bought for me were neatly arranged inside, each piece oozing elegance and sophistication.

And therein lay the problem.

I stepped into the closet, looking around like a kid lost in a candy store. Everything was expensive, tailored, and screaming try hard. Every dress, every pair of shoes, every blouse seemed to radiate an air of "I’m too fancy for your plebeian ways." Sure, I could acknowledge that these clothes were stunning, but that didn’t make choosing what to wear any easier.

There was no me in here.

Hoodies and sweatpants were me. Casual comfort, with no pressure to look like a fashion icon every second of the day. No one expected you to pair a hoodie with six-inch stilettos or to know what "champagne pink" versus "blush rose" meant.

I sat down on the bench in the middle of the closet, letting out a long, dramatic groan. Why did life have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t I just show up in sneakers and call it a day? This was supposed to be a business deal, not a fairy tale.

Pulling myself together, I glanced at the racks of clothes again, my eyes landing on a pale blue dress. It was simple—at least compared to the others—and had a flowy, easy vibe that didn’t scream, Look at me, I’m the rich guy wife Maybe that would do? I grabbed it along with a pair of nude flats because, let’s be honest, I didn’t trust myself to survive in heels. I may have lived a life of a princess once but after twenty years of poverty some things just change.

As I got dressed, I couldn’t help but mutter under my breath, "Why can’t hoodies and sweatpants be socially acceptable for weddings? They’re comfortable, practical, and don’t make you feel like you’re suffocating in fabric." yeah and another thing that I didn’t like in my once upon a time were the cosset and the stupid heavy gowns that needed a lot of servants help to put on.

Once I was dressed, I caught my reflection in the mirror. The dress actually looked... nice. I had to admit, Aiden—had good taste. I sighed again, smoothing the fabric over my thighs.

I stared at the mirror, nervously fiddling with the hem of my dress. Hair? Makeup? I had no idea what to do. Why didn’t rich guys like Aiden have someone on call to deal with these things in this Era ? Isn’t that, like, a standard feature of wealth? Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" I called, relieved at the distraction.

A servant stepped in, bowing slightly. "Miss, Mr. Aiden is calling for you. He says it’s time to—"

"Perfect!" I interrupted, ignoring the rest of her message as I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the dressing table. "Please, you’ve got to help me with my hair and makeup. I have no idea what I’m doing!"

The girl blinked, clearly startled. "Miss, I—"

"Please!" I begged, clasping my hands together dramatically. "You’re my only hope!"

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing pink, but after some more pleading and promises of eternal gratitude, she relented. With surprising expertise, she got to work on my hair, her hands moving quickly and efficiently.

"You’re amazing," I murmured, watching in awe as she styled my hair into an elegant updo.

She blushed again but didn’t reply, focusing on her work. Just as she started on my makeup, another knock came at the door.

This time, it was William, the butler, who peeked in. "Miss, Mr. Aiden insists you come downstairs immediately. He says you’re going to be late."

"Tell him I’ll be out in a minute," I replied, waving him off.

William nodded and left, and the servant continued her work, carefully applying just the right amount of makeup. I couldn’t help but admire her skill. When she finished, I turned to the mirror and grinned.

"Wow," I whispered. "I look... like a rich bride-to-be."

The moment was short-lived. The door flew open with such force it nearly hit the wall, making both of us jump. Standing there, radiating fury, was Aiden.

"For Christ’s sake, it’s seven! How long does it take to get dressed?" he barked, striding toward me.

"I—"

Before I could finish, he grabbed my hand and started dragging me out of the room.

"Does this mean the wedding’s canceled?" I asked, trying to keep up with his long strides.

"You wish," he shot back, his tone clipped. "And do pray to your god that it won’t be, because if it is, the deal is off. Oh, and you’ll be paying back every cent I’ve spent on you."

I gulped. "What the—how much?"

"Roughly more than $50 million," he said coldly as we descended the stairs.

"What?" My voice cracked. Sure, the ring, the dresses, the bags, the shoes, and, of course, the house he’d bought for my mom were extravagant, but $50 million? "You can always take everything back," I offered meekly, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Oh, I intend to. But let’s not forget the almost one million dollars you’ve stuffed into your mouth by ordering the most expensive food and wine at every opportunity."

My stomach sank. Oh. That. I had forgotten about the minor detail of my newfound love for luxurious dining.

By the time we reached the car waiting outside, I was too frazzled to argue. A sleek black vehicle stood in the driveway, the driver already holding the door open. Aiden gestured for me to get in.

"Get in," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate.

I slid into the back seat, trying to compose myself. Aiden followed, his expression still thunderous as he adjusted his suit jacket. Guess he wasn’t driving today.

As the car pulled away, I leaned back and let out a soft sigh. Great. I was about to marry a man who alternated between charming and terrifying faster than I could blink. What could possibly go wrong?

I didn’t even eat breakfast!