CHAPTER 92: HE REMEMBERS

Alexia’s POV

Stupid. Stupid. I am so fucking stupid.

Why the hell did I listen to that lying, cheating, inconsiderate, stupid Aiden?

He said he’d be home early. He said he had something important to tell me. He made it sound like it was urgent, like I should drop everything and rush home because my dear husband needed to talk.

Well, guess what? It was past 9 PM, and the bastard was nowhere to be seen.

I glared at the clock like it had personally wronged me, tapping my fingers aggressively against the table. My anger was simmering—no, it was at a full rolling boil. And to make it worse? I wasn’t just mad. I was disappointed. And that pissed me off even more.

Because why was I even disappointed? It wasn’t like Aiden and I had that kind of relationship. He could stay out all night for all I cared. He could go have a candlelit dinner with Liz at the fucking hospital cafeteria.

Whatever.

I just needed to stop thinking about him.

And what better way to do that than a little harmless rebellion?

I eyed his office door across the hallway. The very same office that Aiden had specifically declared off-limits to me.

Well, fuck that.

I stomped over, expecting it to be locked, because obviously, Mr. Secretive and Mysterious wouldn’t just leave his private sanctuary unprotected.

Except... the door swung open.

I blinked.

Was this a trap?

Did he leave it unlocked on purpose?

I peeked inside cautiously, my curiosity and pettiness warring against my self-preservation instincts. And then—screw it—I stepped in, making sure to close the door behind me because the last thing I needed was William catching me snooping.

The room was exactly what I expected.

Dark. Sleek. Broody.

Everything screamed Aiden. The dark mahogany desk, the charcoal walls, the dim lighting. Even the air smelled like expensive cologne and unapproachable billionaire asshole. Honestly, this man was obsessed with depressing aesthetics. Was color his mortal enemy? Did he think light shades would kill him?

I flopped into his ridiculously luxurious office chair and immediately spun around, because of course I did.

After a few satisfying twirls, I leaned back, pretending to be Aiden. I deepened my voice and gave my best brooding, emotionless glare.

"What do you want?" I muttered, scowling at an imaginary assistant.

I even picked up a random paper and stared at it like I was reading something important—just like I’d seen Aiden do a hundred times when he was trying to act all busy and mysterious.

A snort escaped me.

God, I need help.

But then my eyes landed on something unexpected.

A stack of parchment papers, neatly placed in one of the drawers. I frowned. Who even uses parchment these days? What, was Aiden secretly writing medieval love letters?

Curious, I pulled them out and flipped through them. My brows furrowed.

They weren’t letters.

They were drawings.

Wait. Aiden draws?

That alone was shocking. I never imagined the cold, calculated businessman having an artistic side. But the real shock came when I saw what he had drawn.

My breath hitched.

The first few sketches were landscapes—places that looked strangely familiar. Castles. Courtyards. A grand ballroom. A throne.

Then... people.

And that’s when I saw it.

Me.

Not just me-me, but the past-life me.

Princess me.

Regal gown. Crown atop my head. A smirk on my lips, eyes gleaming with arrogance.

My stomach dropped.

Fucking hell.

I flipped through more pages, each one making my panic rise. There was another sketch—of him. Not Aiden in his tailored suits and billionaire confidence, but him as he used to be. The servant. The boy who had once kneeled before me in defiance, the same fire in his eyes that refused to be extinguished even as I had him whipped.

My hands trembled as I clutched the drawings.

Oh. Shit.

He remembers.

................

Damn. Damn. Damn!

My hands shook as I stared at the parchment, my breath coming out in short, panicked gasps. He remembers.

There was no other explanation. This wasn’t just some random drawing. It was me—not the me of now, but the me of before. The princess. The ruler. The bitch who had once had him whipped and locked away in the dungeons.

And the worst part? The expression in the drawing—the smug smirk, the gleam of power in my eyes—was exactly as I had been back then. Cold. Arrogant. Untouchable.

I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

No. No way. Aiden couldn’t possibly remember his past life. It had to be a coincidence. Had to be.

But then why did this drawing exist?

My fingers trembled as I flipped through the other sketches. There were more. Some were vague—landscapes that looked eerily familiar, symbols I couldn’t quite place—but then... there was him.

Aiden.

Not in a suit. Not in his brooding, modern-day, millionaire glory. But in simple, tattered servant’s clothes. Kneeling. Beaten. Looking up at me with the same defiant fire in his eyes that he had back then.

I slammed the parchments back into the drawer, heart pounding.

Okay. Breathe. Think.

Maybe he didn’t fully remember. Maybe these were just weird dreams he had and he unconsciously put them to paper. Maybe—

My stomach twisted.

Or maybe he knew everything.

And if he did... what did that mean for me? For us?

Suddenly, the office felt suffocating. The air too thick, the walls too close. I needed to get out before Aiden came home and found me snooping through his memories.

I scrambled up from the chair, hastily shutting the drawer as quietly as I could. Then I bolted for the door, cracking it open just enough to peek out. Coast clear.

Good.

I slipped out, shutting it behind me, my heart still hammering in my chest.

I needed a distraction.

I needed answers.

And most of all?

I needed to figure out if Aiden really remembered—before he decided to make me pay for what I did to him in another life.

Was this what he wanted to talk to me about?

To ask if I remembered?

Panic surged through me as my mind raced for a solution. Deny, deny, deny. I had to pretend I had no idea what he was talking about. If he brought it up, I’d look at him like he was crazy, maybe even throw in a dramatic gasp for good measure.

"What? Past lives? Aiden, have you been watching too many reincarnation dramas?"

Yes. That was the plan. Gaslight him. Manipulate reality. Become the queen of I don’t know what you’re talking about, you absolute lunatic.

But then—fuck.

Fucking fuck.

I just remembered something that made my stomach drop.

The first time I met the Black brothers... I had told them. I had fucking told them.

Like an idiot. Like an absolute dumbass.

I had confidently introduced myself as Princess Alexia, their long-lost sister.

My soul nearly left my body.

Oh, I was screwed.

So. Screwed.

What the hell was I supposed to do now? March into Aiden’s room and demand he forget everything? Hunt down the Black brothers and erase their memories with sheer willpower?

I slapped my forehead. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."

I needed a plan. A real plan. Something more solid than just denying reality.

But my mind was blank.

The only thing running through my head was the sound of impending doom, like a drumroll leading up to my inevitable downfall.

What the fuck do I do now?

Was it too late for me to scum disappear?

Nah, who was I kidding? Aiden would find me in seconds with his ridiculous connections. Hell, knowing him, he’d probably have me flagged at every airport, train station, and convenience store. The man was like a bloodhound when he wanted something, and if his wife suddenly went poof? Yeah, I’d be trending on the news before I even made it past the city limits.

Worse? He could literally call the police and file a missing person’s report. Imagine that—getting arrested for trying to run away from your fake husband because he suddenly remembers a past life where you might have tortured him.

Jesus.

I started pacing. Think, Alexia. THINK.

I could fake amnesia. No—too dramatic. Plus, I was way too expressive to pull that off. One suspicious look from Aiden, and I’d break down like a cheap chair.

I could gaslight him into thinking he was imagining things. Also risky. The guy was annoyingly observant.

Maybe I should just... act natural? Play it cool?

Yeah. Yeah, that could work. I’d pretend I never saw the drawings, pretend I wasn’t internally screaming, and just go about my night like a normal, not secretly reincarnated wife.

Easy.

Except—what if he was planning to ask me about it? What if he came home, sat me down, and hit me with a dramatic "Alexia... do you believe in fate?"

I shuddered. No. Nope. Not happening.

I needed a distraction. Something to shift his focus before he could shift mine.

So what did I do?

I stormed out of his office, went straight to the kitchen—because let’s be real, stress-eating was my coping mechanism—and started aggressively making cookies.

Because nothing screamed I’m definitely NOT having an existential crisis over past-life torture like baking at 10 PM.