JASMINE'S POV
I woke up alone.
Not that I was surprised, but I still frowned a little at the empty side of the bed, the sheets barely disturbed where Aiden had slept.
If he even slept.
I rolled over, dragging the covers higher as the soft morning light spilled through the tall windows. A glance at the antique wall clock told me it was almost 9 a.m.
Saturday.
Thank God.
I reached for my phone, the screen lighting up to reveal a series of missed texts—none of which were from Aiden. Typical. I scrolled past them and hit Call on the one person who would answer half-asleep and still bring chaos.
Sophia.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Well, well, well," she crooned. "If it isn't Mrs. CEO slash Mrs. Billionaire."
I groaned into the pillow. "Don't start."
"Oh, honey. I already started the moment your name popped up on my screen. So, how's married life with Mr. Brooding-and-Rich?"
"Annoying," I muttered, face still half in the sheets. "And don't call him that."
"Why? Because he probably kisses like a god and smells like danger wrapped in Armani?"
I pulled the pillow over my face and groaned. "Why do I even bother calling you?"
"Because I'm your best friend, and your life has suddenly turned into a K-drama with werewolf-level tension."
I sat up straight. "What?"
"Nothing. You said it, not me."
I narrowed my eyes at the phone even though she couldn't see me. "You are insufferable."
"And yet, here we are."
We laughed, the kind that shook the last of the morning fog from my brain. It was weird, but hearing her voice made everything feel a little less… complicated.
After a few more minutes of teasing, gossip, and her threatening to show up with champagne and face masks, we ended the call. I tossed my phone aside, padded to the bathroom, and took my time brushing my teeth and washing my face.
Then I headed downstairs.
The scent of fresh coffee and something warm—eggs, maybe?—drifted through the halls as I made my way toward the kitchen-slash-dining area that probably had more square footage than most apartments in the city.
As I entered, I spotted Aiden and Greg seated near the patio doors, deep in conversation over steaming mugs of coffee. They looked entirely too relaxed, especially Aiden, who had rolled his sleeves up again like he knew exactly what it did to my equilibrium.
The moment he saw me, he stood and crossed the room in a few strides.
"Good morning, wife," he said smoothly, then—the audacity—he leaned in and kissed me. On the lips. Long enough to count as extra. Then once on my nose. Then on both cheeks.
I blinked up at him, absolutely aware that my brain had short-circuited for half a second.
He was enjoying himself. That smug spark in his eyes told me he was loving every second of this public display of marital bliss.
Two could play this game.
"Oh, you're in a good mood," I said, voice sweet and dangerous. "How precious."
He chuckled under his breath and kissed the top of my head, like I hadn't just spoken a threat laced with honey.
"I was just about to come get you," he murmured before steering me toward the breakfast table. "You hungry?"
"Starving. For vengeance," I mumbled, but he either didn't hear me—or he did and was foolishly choosing to ignore it.
Greg greeted me with a nod and a smile that said he absolutely heard.
Breakfast was pleasant. Croissants, scrambled eggs with herbs, fresh fruit, and dark roast coffee that hit exactly right. Greg kept the conversation neutral, and Aiden kept glancing at me like he was waiting for a shoe to drop.
He wasn't wrong.
"I'm heading out with Grandpa," he said as he set his cup down. "We have a few errands to run."
"Oh?" I smiled sweetly. "So I have the house to myself?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You'll behave, right?"
I widened mine. "Would I do anything else?"
His gaze narrowed further. "Jasmine…"
"Go. Have fun. Bond," I said, waving a hand. "I'll be here. Absolutely harmless."
I could feel Greg watching us, thoroughly entertained.
The moment the front doors clicked shut behind Aiden and Greg, I dropped the innocent housewife act like it was a silk robe and cracked my knuckles.
"Alright, showtime," I said to no one. "Time to make Mr. Smug wish he never messed with me."
I turned in a slow circle, surveying the luxurious hall in front of me. Warm wood. Tasteful art. Every inch of the mansion screamed restraint and old money.
It was practically begging to be rearranged.
But before that, let's do a quick tour of this mansion.