Alexander
I made something simple. Stir-fried noodles with vegetables, eggs, light seasoning. It didn't look like much, but when I set the plate down in front of her, she dug into it like she hadn't eaten in days.
Which is practically true.
I sat across from her with my own plate, but I didn't eat. Not really. I just watched her.
There was something about the way she ate, like she'd finally found a moment of comfort in the middle of chaos. Her head was slightly down, her hair falling in loose strands over her cheek. And my white shirt hung off her like a borrowed cloud. Too big, sleeves rolled up, the hem brushing against her knees.
She looked adorable.
Infuriating. Stubborn. Sharp-tongued.
But adorable.
And then she looked up at me, eyes hesitant. "Can I keep going to college?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"I won't do anything reckless again," she added quickly, her tone softer, almost pleading. "Just please don't take that away from me."
I opened my mouth to say no. That was the plan. Control the damage. Minimize exposure.
But then she hit me with those damn puppy eyes.
I sighed.
"You can go," I said finally. "On two conditions."
She straightened in her seat.
"One: you'll wear the clothes I choose for you. No more of that ragged, worn-out rebellion look."
Her face twitched in protest, but I continued before she could argue.
"And two: I'll drop you off and pick you up every day."
Her eyes widened, like I'd just offered to take her on a luxury vacation.
"You ? you'll drive me? Every day?" she asked, almost disbelieving.
"Yes, You're my wife. That's the bare minimum a husband should do."
Her expression changed. I couldn't place it exactly.
She looked down at her empty plate, then slowly back up at me. "Why are you being so sweet?"
I took a deep breath and said,
"I regretted what happened yesterday , I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that. It wasn't your fault. You were thrown into this just like I was."
I paused. That part wasn't easy to admit.
"It's just I don't know how to talk to people, Evelyn. Not when it's not business. I've spent most of my life alone. I'm thirty now, and I still don't have a single real friend."
She stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
"Wait, you've never had friends?
"Not the kind that check in on birthdays or call you drunk at 2 a.m.," I said flatly. "I never saw the point."
She opened her mouth again, then hesitated.
"Okay. Then girlfriends?" she asked,
I looked her straight in the eye. "Never had one."
Her jaw dropped.
"You're telling me that you're thirty, you look like that, you're a literal billionaire, and you've never dated anyone?"
I gave a small shrug.
"I never had time. And I don't like games. Most people I met either wanted the name or the lifestyle but not me. So, I didn't bother."
She blinked at me, still processing.
And for the first time, I realized something strange.
I'd just told her more about myself in five minutes than I had told anyone in the past ten years.
And somehow it didn't feel awful.
Evelyn
After that night, after the quiet confessions and midnight noodles, something shifted between us.
Alexander, true to his word, started driving me to college every morning. He'd wait in the car, dressed in his usual crisp suit, looking like he was born to be behind the wheel of a luxury car.
And then, without fail, he'd be there again in the evening, leaning casually against the car, arms crossed, sunglasses on, drawing curious glances from every student on campus. He looked completely out of place in the chaotic college parking lot, like some billionaire bodyguard who'd lost his way.
But he always waited.
And I always went to him.
At first, it was awkward. Silent rides but slowly something melted.
He'd ask me if I had any tests. I'd ask him if his meetings went well.
He'd point out if I forgot my water bottle. I'd nag him to stop drinking so much black coffee.
We still fought sometimes over stupid things.
Like how I call instant noodles a proper meal and woke up too late to college , how I forgot to sleep in the bed at night and instead sleep at my desk. But even those arguments became familiar. They didn't sting.
And without fail every time we fought he'd make up for it in the same way.
Noodles.
He'd silently disappear into the kitchen, grumble something about how he doesn't owe me anything, and twenty minutes later, I'd be eating his "I'm-sorry-but-I'll-never-say-it-out-loud" cooking with a stupid smile on my face.
It wasn't love. Not yet.
But for the first time, this didn't feel like a forced marriage.
It felt tolerable, warm and safe.
Two months.
That's how long it took for the chaos to settle into something soft and manageable.
Alexander and I had grown into a strange routine. Not quite lovers, not just strangers either. There were still walls between us, but we'd started leaving windows open.
He never said much, but he showed things.
Like how he always waited till I entered the college building before driving away.
Or how he made sure my favorite snacks were always in the fridge.
Or how, when I fell asleep on the couch, he covered me with a blanket and left without a word.
Then one evening, my phone buzzed . My heart sank at the name on the display.
Mikhail Martinez.
I stared at the screen for a while, debating whether to ignore it.
But some part of me needed to know what new manipulation he was cooking this time.
I answered.
"Still playing house with your prince?" he sneered "Enjoy it while it lasts. You do know he'll throw you away the moment you stop amusing him, right?"
Same song. Different day.
"If he does, that's his choice," I replied "I don't care anymore."
There was a pause.
"Oh?" he said, suddenly intrigued. "You finally growing a backbone, girl?"
I rolled my eyes.
My exams are almost done. Graduation is in a few weeks. I've already applied for a job. It's small, but I'll earn enough. I'll save. I'll open my bakery. I don't need to entertain him anymore.
" You think I'll let you go that easily?"he shouted this time.
"I don't care what you let, Mikhail, I'm not afraid of you anymore. Your threats won't work."
Another pause.
I could hear the anger simmering on the other end. That smug, greasy confidence of his slipping just a little.
And it felt good.
Because for once, I wasn't trembling under his words.
Let Alexander leave, if he wants. Let this marriage fall apart, if it must.
I finally had a plan that didn't involve surviving someone else's decisions.