CHAPTER 55: SELF APPOINTED BESTIE

Alexia POV:

Okay, first of all, let’s talk about the absolute awful way Aiden woke me up this morning. Seriously, who the hell splashes someone with cold water while they’re peacefully sleeping? Is he trying to kill me via heart attack? Because let me tell you, mission almost accomplished. I woke up gasping like a fish out of water, nearly fell off the cushion, and the stupid jerk just stood there looking all smug like he had just performed some grand public service.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough—I didn’t get breakfast!

Like, hello? I’m supposed to function on an empty stomach? This man dragged me out of bed, shoved me towards the bathroom, and basically pushed me out the door like I was some delinquent teenager being forced to attend school. No warm toast, no bacon, no pancakes. Nothing. Just a grumpy stomach and a growing resentment towards my oh-so-loving husband.

When I complained, because obviously, I had to complain, do you know what he did? He grabbed an apple and a banana from the counter and shoved them into my hands like that was some kind of proper meal. I stared at the sad excuse for breakfast, then at him, and then back at the pathetic fruit in my hand.

"This isn’t food," I deadpanned.

"It’s nutritious," he replied, completely unfazed, already walking towards the door like his job here was done.

I wanted to throw the apple at his head, I really did. But given that I needed a ride to campus, I swallowed my pride (and my hunger) and got into the car with my pathetic breakfast in tow.

Oh, but he wasn’t done being bossy. Before driving off, he handed me a phone. A new phone. I blinked at it, confused.

"I’ve never seen you with one," he said, shrugging. "And only God knows what condition your old one is in."

Rude. But fair.

He continued, "My number’s already in there. If things get out of hand, call me. Only if it really gets out of hand. Otherwise, I don’t care what you do to my step-siblings, just keep it out of the media."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Oh, so I can fight them, just as long as it’s not on the news?"

"Exactly," he smirked.

What kind of husband encourages his wife to get into fights but expects her to be discreet about it? An Aiden Timberlake kind of husband, apparently.

Whatever. At least now I had a phone. Not that I was planning on calling him. Ever.

...

Okay, let’s just take a second to process the absolute insanity of my life right now.

First off, Aiden Timberlake—my dear husband—was freaking happy that I had put his obnoxious step-siblings in their place. Not just happy, but downright cheering me on like I was his personal champion in a gladiator match. The only condition? Keep it out of the media.

Like... what?

He literally approved of me going head-to-head with his bratty stepsiblings, as long as I didn’t make headlines doing it. Who does that? Who encourages

their wife to get into fights but sets ground rules about press coverage? This was next-level insanity.

I had been furious at him for dragging me out of bed and depriving me of breakfast (because, let’s be real, an apple and a banana do not count). But all of that rage? Gone. Completely vanished the second he handed me a phone.

And not just any phone.

Oh no. This man went and got me the latest trending model from the most expensive brand on the market. The kind of phone that influencers and celebrities flex online. The kind that costs more than my entire existence.

I stared at it, blinking. Was this real? Had my life suddenly shifted into some kind of luxurious fever dream?

I was so struck dumb that I literally forgot how to speak. No witty comebacks. No sarcastic remarks. Just silence. My brain had short-circuited.

Aiden was still talking, saying something about only calling him in emergencies, but all I could do was nod along mindlessly, still processing the fact that I now owned a phone that could probably buy me three months’ worth of food.

Forget being mad about breakfast. I could survive a skipped meal if it meant getting this.

As Aiden drove off, I was still staring at the phone, my fingers running over its sleek, expensive design. My old phone? Completely forgotten. Honestly, I didn’t even know where it was anymore. It could have fallen into a black hole for all I cared. This new beauty had officially taken over my life.

I clicked the screen, watching as it lit up, and sure enough, his number was already saved. Of course, it was. Aiden was the type to be ten steps ahead, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had it programmed with some sort of tracking system too. Paranoia ran in his rich, control-freak veins.

I went to check what other contacts were in there, but nope—just his number. No social media apps, no games, nothing. Just a bare phone, waiting to be customized. So basically, I had work to do.

So, there I was, standing outside my university, staring down at the sleek, ridiculously expensive phone Aiden had just handed me like it was a pack of gum. The man had literally shoved the latest model from one of the most expensive brands into my hands like it was no big deal.

And here I was, still bitter over my lack of breakfast, but honestly? That grudge died the second he placed this little technological masterpiece in my hands.

I mean, was I dreaming? Had I been transported into some alternate reality where my stingy, no-nonsense husband was suddenly feeling generous? Because, let’s be real—this wasn’t just some cheap burner phone. No, no, no. This was the kind of phone that influencers flexed, the kind people sold a kidney for, and here Aiden was, acting like it was a standard morning transaction.

I was so stunned that I literally forgot to respond. No snarky comment. No sarcastic thank-you. Just a dazed nod as he rattled on about only calling him in emergencies.

I barely even heard the rest. My brain was still stuck on: Holy crap, this is mine.

It wasn’t until he drove off that the reality of everything really sank in. My husband—who I was still trying to tolerate—had not only forced me into this university nonsense but was also happy (yes, actually happy) that I had put his spoiled step-siblings in their place. So much so that he had cheered me on and set only one condition:

Don’t let it make the news.

The fact that he wasn’t mad? That he encouraged me? It was downright insane. And maybe a little concerning.

But, whatever. I had a new phone. And if that was Aiden’s way of bribing me into tolerating this ridiculous marriage, well... it was kind of working.

I barely had time to react before I was ambushed.

One second, I was minding my own business, contemplating my new reality as the reluctant Mrs. Timberlake, and the next—bam!—I was trapped in a forceful embrace by a very excited human hurricane.

And just my luck, it was none other than Lucy, the self-appointed best friend who had latched onto me ever since I’d put Eloise in her place yesterday.

"Oh my god, is that your phone?!" she gasped, practically snatching my hand to examine it. "It’s the latest one! I swear it hasn’t even hit the market yet! So you really are Mrs. Timberlake, huh? I mean, when the professor called you that yesterday, I thought maybe I misheard. You look too young to be married! And, and, what’s it like being married to Aiden? I heard he’s super cold and never smiles! Like, does he ever laugh? Does he—"

I swear, this girl had no off switch. She was firing off questions faster than my brain could process. Before I even had a chance to respond, she had already linked her arm through mine and was dragging me through campus like we were lifelong besties.

God only knew where we were headed, but I could only hope it was to my actual class and not some random spot where I’d be forced to answer an interrogation about my oh-so-glamorous marriage.

I barely had time to breathe, let alone respond, as Lucy continued dragging me across campus, talking a mile a minute. I was still trying to process my morning—the ice-cold wake-up call, the no breakfast injustice, Aiden casually tossing me a ridiculously expensive phone like it was a pack of gum, and now this whirlwind of a person attached to my arm.

"Lucy, do you even know where we’re going?" I finally cut in, trying to plant my feet on the ground, but the girl was strong for someone so tiny.

"Of course! We’re going to class! Well, your class. I checked your schedule!" she beamed proudly.

I blinked. "You checked my what?"

"Oh please, after what you did to Eloise yesterday, everyone was curious about you. So I may or may not have peeked at your schedule when Professor Grumpy Pants called your name," she admitted, not looking guilty at all.

Great. My life was officially a university gossip topic.

As we turned a corner, I noticed something odd—people were staring at me. Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire, students nudging their friends and not-so-subtly pointing in my direction.

"Is that really her?"

"She’s married to him?"

"She doesn’t look rich..."

"Maybe she’s pregnant. Why else would Aiden Timberlake marry a random nobody?"

I felt my eye twitch. Oh, for the love of—

Lucy scoffed and turned to glare at the whispering students. "Oh, shut up, you bunch of jealous trolls! As if any of you had a chance with Aiden Timberlake."

The murmurs died down slightly, but I could still feel the burning stares as we entered the lecture hall.

Just when I thought I’d finally get a moment of peace, guess who I spotted sitting in the middle row, flipping her hair dramatically like she was in a shampoo commercial?

Eloise.

And next to her, arms crossed, looking like he was personally offended by my existence—Sebastian.

Oh, perfect.

As soon as she saw me, Eloise’s lips curled into a wicked smirk. She leaned in close to her twin and whispered something before both of them turned their attention toward me. I could practically feel the incoming nonsense.

I sighed, already exhausted. Here we go again.

Lucy, bless her dramatic soul, gave me a reassuring squeeze. "Stay strong, Queen. The peasants are about to attack."

I barely had time to sit before Eloise’s sickly sweet voice rang through the room.

"Well, well, if it isn’t the little voyeur."

I raised a brow. "The what now?"

Eloise let out a fake gasp. "Oh, didn’t you tell everyone? You walked in on me and my boyfriend yesterday, gawking like a little perv."

I heard a few snickers from nearby students. Oh, she was trying it.

I rolled my eyes. "Sweetheart, if I had known what kind of horror show was behind that door, I would’ve run in the opposite direction." I tilted my head, pretending to be deep in thought. "By the way, I do hope the poor guy got checked for eye damage. I imagine those fake balloons you call boobs nearly suffocated him."

The room erupted into laughter.

Eloise’s face twisted in rage. "Why, you little—"

Before she could finish, she tried lunged at me but her twin hold her back. Oh, so we’re skipping straight to violence? Cool.

Then, I smirked. "Well, well... seems like the fake doesn’t stop at just your personality."

That did it.

Eloise shrieked like a banshee and lunged again, but before she could reach me, another presence stormed between us—Sebastian.

His glare was murderous. "You miserable little gold digger. I don’t know who you think you are, but trust me, you just made a powerful enemy."

Oh, how terrifying.

I gave him a once-over, unimpressed. "Wow. The male version of Eloise. Fantastic." I dusted off my shirt. "Look, sweetheart, if you’re here to defend her honor, you might wanna tell her to stop throwing herself at people first."

Sebastian clenched his jaw and stepped closer, eyes burning with warning. "I’m going to make your life hell, Mrs. Timberlake."

I crossed my arms, completely unfazed. "You can try."

Before things could escalate further, the professor stormed in, looking completely fed up with the classroom chaos.

"I don’t tolerate late arrivals—and I especially don’t tolerate childish bickering. Take your seats. Now."

A few pats on the back and an enthusiastic "That was legendary!" from Lucy later, I was finally able to sit down.

Lucy giggled beside me, whispering, "You’re so dead."

I shrugged. "Oh, definitely. But totally worth it."

One thing was for sure—this university was about to be a warzone.