Chapter 5
One of the main reasons for Alaric’s poor mental state was chronic insomnia.
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His assistant told me that on many late nights, Alaric could only fall asleep holding my photo.
I didn’t ask where the photo came from.
The assistant visibly breathed a sigh of relief.
When I returned to Alaric’s side, I sat next to him, quietly watching him work. After a long while, his cars turned red, and the pen tip left an ink blot on the paper.
He put down the document, looked up, and asked, “Am I that good–looking?”
I nodded automatically, then remembered why I was here.
“Can I see the estate? The wedding suite you got us?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Why now?”
“Just want to get used to it. We’ll be there a while, right?”
Like always, he couldn’t say no to me. “Sure. Tell me if anything’s not perfect.”
Chapter 5
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Walking back into that elegant and noble estate hit me like a ton of bricks, bringing tears to my eyes.
Sunlight poured through those massive windows, dancing off the marble floors like scattered diamonds, wrapping me in warmth.
Nothing like the ice–cold tomb I remembered – back then, the chill had cut straight to my bones, making me want to run for my life.
My eyes caught that ornate wooden door at the end of the second–floor hallway, its brass lock throwing off a cold glint. Behind it, I knew, was a room packed with silver–framed photos and oil paintings – faces with those signature beauty marks at the corner of their eyes.
Following Alaric into the master suite, our feet silent on plush cashmere carpets. The blue silk bedding sprawled across the bed, a massive golden “Happy Wedding” symbol embroidered. right in the center, big as a throw pillow.
Standing there, staring at that fancy marriage quilt, my emotions went haywire.
I tugged his sleeve. “You really that eager to marry me?”
His throat bobbed, pulling at that scar on his neck. “Not up to your standards?”
“It’s perfect. Better than any dream.”
Chapter 5
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I pulled him down to sit beside me, running my fingers over the raised patterns. “When did all this start?”
“Last Tuesday.”
His perfect hand rested on my knee, manicured nails carrying hints of bergamot. He’d ditched the hair gel since I last complained, letting those soft strands fall naturally, taking the edge off his usual intensity.
Cedar scent drifted in from his study next door – the same room that once reeked of blood and metal.
Now he’s holding me close, chin propped on my head, looking like a satisfied big cat lounging in the sun.
Had fate really flipped the script this time?
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