CHAPTER 52: STUDYING WITH MY HUSBAND STEP-SIBLINGS

Aiden POV:

What? Yeah, I know taking Alexia to university wasn’t technically part of the deal. But come on, have you seen her? Eat, sleep, repeat—that had been her mantra since day one. That kind of lifestyle? Nope, not happening on my watch. Not under my roof.

So, yeah, after she finally—finally—chose her course (business management, not a bad choice, I’ll admit), I got straight to work. You’d be surprised how quickly a few phone calls and a little money can move things along. By the end of the day, she had a guaranteed spot. No waitlists, no hassle. Efficiency is key.

And yes, before you even start judging, I did enroll her in the most prestigious university in the country. Fedha University. What, were you expecting me to send her to some run-of-the-mill place? She’s a Timberlake now, for crying out loud. And a Timberlake always gets the best.

I wasn’t about to let her coast through life on a diet of laziness and caffeine while dragging my name through the mud. Plus, let’s be real—this wasn’t just about her education. Sending her to Fedha was my way of ensuring she started acting like the wife of someone who actually mattered. And yes, part of me enjoyed the idea of throwing her into the deep end of that shark tank.

The look on her face when we pulled up to the university gates? Priceless. You’d think I was leading her to her own execution. She shot me a glare that could’ve melted steel. But did I care? Not a bit. In fact, it made the whole thing even better.

Yes, to the most prestigious university—Fedha University, no less. What? You can’t blame me. She’s now bearing my last name, and with that comes certain expectations. A Timberlake doesn’t settle for second best, ever.

If she was going to carry the name, then she was going to do it justice. This wasn’t about me being over the top or dramatic—well, maybe a little—but it was about maintaining a standard. You don’t marry into the Timberlake name and then loaf around like a sloth. Nope, not on my watch.

Sure, she probably expected something average, something she could breeze through while still enjoying her marathon of naps and snacks. But why settle for average when you can have the best? That’s the Timberlake way. Besides, Fedha University is more than just a school; it’s a symbol of excellence, a brand, a network. She might not appreciate it now, but someday, she’d thank me. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself to justify the headache of convincing her to go.

And let’s be honest, seeing her reaction? Worth every single penny.

I parked the car, stepped out like I owned the place—because let’s face it, I kind of did—and handed her the admission folder. "All set," I said, watching her fumble with it like it was a live grenade.

She looked ready to bolt, but to her credit, she walked through those gates with her head held high. Well, mostly. A few students stopped to stare—who wouldn’t, with her storming past like she was on a mission?

As for me? I got back in the car, smirking the entire way home. This was going to be fun.

She refused to let me show her to her lecture room. Something about not wanting the attention. Honestly, it’s not like I was dying to do it—it was more about fulfilling my basic duties as a gentleman. You know, the "husbandly" thing to do. But when she insisted she was fine, I wasn’t about to argue.

I could tell she was determined to navigate this herself, wobbling her way through the towering buildings and elite aura of Fedha University. Fine by me. If she wanted to play the "independent woman" card, who was I to stop her?

So, with a casual shrug and the smallest smirk I couldn’t quite suppress, I left her standing there. Watching her figure out the labyrinth of this prestigious institution on her own wasn’t exactly cruel—it was a learning experience. Right? Besides, it gave me an excuse to get back to more important things, like my work.

Still, a small part of me was curious to see how long it would take before she called or texted for help.

Okay, yes, I might have forgotten to mention that there was a slight possibility—just a slight one—that she’d run into my step-siblings at some point. They were brats, no question about it, and not just ordinary brats; they practically redefined the term. They took arrogance, entitlement, and drama to new levels, and while I tried to avoid them whenever possible, I couldn’t exactly erase their existence from the universe.

But I wasn’t fazed. Not even a little.

You see, Alexia may be stubborn, reckless, and occasionally clueless, but one thing she isn’t is a pushover. That’s precisely why I married her. I didn’t want some spineless, whimpering, agreeable-to-everything wife. I wanted someone who could hold her ground and give as good as she got. And in that regard, Alexia was a top-tier candidate. If anyone could stand toe-to-toe with my step-siblings and leave them reeling, it was her.

As I drove back to my office, a smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. I could already picture the scene: Alexia crossing paths with those two—Eloise and Sebastian—who undoubtedly thought of Fedha University as their playground. They’d likely try to size her up, interrogate her, or, knowing Eloise, attempt to intimidate her.

But Alexia? Intimidated?

Not a chance.

She’d probably throw one of her sharp-tongued quips at them, and knowing her knack for hitting where it hurt most, she’d leave them stunned into silence. If—and that’s a big if—she didn’t escalate things into a full-blown confrontation.

I chuckled softly. The mental image of Eloise’s perfectly manicured composure cracking or Sebastian’s smug grin disappearing under Alexia’s verbal firepower was entertaining, to say the least.

By the time I reached my office, I’d almost put the thought out of my mind. Work awaited, and my schedule was packed. But, predictably, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Alexia.

It was Eloise.

Oh, great.

Reluctantly, I picked up the call, bracing myself for whatever nonsense she had cooked up.

"Aiden," she drawled, her voice dripping with exaggerated amusement, "you didn’t tell me you married... an entertainer."

I rolled my eyes, already regretting answering. "What’s that supposed to mean, Eloise?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, her tone far too innocent to be genuine. "Just that your wife made quite the impression today. You know she’s wandering around here like she owns the place, right? It’s adorable, really."

I could almost hear her smirking through the phone.

"And?" I asked, unimpressed.

"She practically bit Sebastian’s head off. Honestly, it was the highlight of my day."

Despite myself, I felt a flicker of amusement. Of course, Alexia would go for the jugular. "What did he do?"

"Oh, you know Sebastian," Eloise said breezily. "He made a harmless little comment about her... situation, and she—well, let’s just say she didn’t appreciate it. But don’t worry, I stepped in before things got too heated."

Translation: Eloise had egged things on, hoping for a scene. Classic.

"Anything else?" I asked dryly, already done with this conversation.

"Just thought you’d like to know how well your wife is fitting in," she said sweetly. "Don’t worry, Aiden. I’ll keep an eye on her."

I hung up without another word.

Later that evening, as I sat in my study, I half-expected Alexia to storm in and launch into one of her rants about the "snooty rich brats" she’d encountered. Instead, she was oddly quiet. Suspiciously so.

By the time dinner rolled around, I found her in the kitchen, chatting with one of the maids as she helped herself to a second serving of dessert. She looked... smug.

"Good day" I asked casually, leaning against the doorframe.

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable. "Oh, you know, the usual. Made some friends, learned a thing or two. Nothing special."

I raised an eyebrow. "Friends"? That was unexpected.

"Really?" I pressed, curious. "No drama? No encounters with... anyone?"

She shrugged, her tone light but with an edge that told me there was more to the story. "If by ’encounters’ you mean someone trying to lecture me on my place in the world, then yeah. There was a little bit of that. But don’t worry, I handled it."

Her smirk said it all. Whatever had happened, she’d come out on top.

I didn’t push further. If she wanted to gloat, she’d do it eventually. For now, I was content to let her revel in her little victory.

Later that night, as I sat in bed going over some documents, she flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh.

"Something on your mind?" I asked without looking up.

She groaned. "You’d think with all the money they pour into that place, they’d invest in better coffee. It’s practically undrinkable."

I bit back a laugh. "I’ll be sure to let the board of trustees know."

"Do that," she said, her voice muffled by the couch cushion. "Also, your siblings are insufferable."

There it was.

"Which one?" I asked, feigning disinterest.

"Both," she muttered. "Though Eloise gets extra points for being a professional pot-stirrer. And Sebastian? Ugh. If he calls me ’Mrs. Timberlake’ one more time with that stupid smirk, I’m going to lose it."

I smirked. "You are Mrs. Timberlake."

She sat up and glared at me. "Not the point."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Sounds like you had an eventful day."

"You could say that," she said, flopping back down. "But don’t worry. I survived."

I didn’t doubt it for a second.

If Alexia could hold her own against my siblings on her first day, there was no telling what she’d accomplish next.