Chapter Forty-four

Bummi. 

Ouch!

My head hurts.

Hangover.

It feels like someone is playing drums inside my brain. It's been ages since I last dealt with one of these.

What happened last night? How did I get home?

Everything is blurry.

I'm trying to piece together a scene, but it's all a chaotic blur.

It's making my heart hurt even more.

Jesus Christ…

Owww… my brain.

Yes… I think I'm starting to remember… about…

What was up with the fight in the bathroom? That part stands out.

Loud music, blurry faces… indistinct conversations… the clatter of glasses… and then in the bathroom…

The fight… Why did that happen?

Why does it feel like I was almost abused there?

"Finally regained consciousness?" A familiar deep voice cuts through my thoughts.

I turn my head toward the sound and see him sitting in a chair like a king on a throne, completely relaxed with a glass of champagne in hand. 

My vision is still too fuzzy to focus on his face.

I need to see him clearly.

I blink once, blink twice… he's still there.

What the hell! Running into him like this isn't a good way to start my day.

I glance around, noting the complications—he's shirtless, and my eyes can't help but be drawn to the huge dinosaur tattoo on his left breast, encircled like it's caged.

Thank goodness my clothes from last night are still intact.

"You know… prevention is better than cure. You know how bad you are with alcohol. Why go out last night and make a fool of yourself at the bar?"

Oh, don't you dare lecture me, Damian.

Why didn't I wake up to a picture frame instead of the real you?

Honestly, I feel like pouncing on him right now—hugging him and giving him a few punches on his chest for abandoning me these past weeks. "I was just trying to clear my head from stress, and FYI, whatever I do with my life is none of your business." I attempt to sit up a little.

"None of my business? You are my wife!" His voice nearly shook the walls. I stiffened at the sound. "So, I see that it matters, young lady."

Really? Does he want a fight? Fine, I'm ready for this. "Listen, I'm only your wife by contract. I'm not your legal partner, so stop raising your voice at me, Damian. I'd prefer you stay out of my private life."

He laughed at my words, as if I were just practicing my speech. But then his smile vanished, replaced by a cold stare. "Legally or not, you're still my wife. If you think your attitude will make me get rid of you, then you need to rethink your strategy." He stood and started to walk away.

He didn't say anything for a while. Just looking at me with no expressions on his face. "Okay, don't Damian. It's too early for a fight." I almost heard him mumbling to himself inaudibly. Now back to me. His cool expression changed. "If I hadn't called Maxwell yesterday, I wouldn't have known where you were or how you almost got assaulted by that parasite born of a woman and—" he stopped, cursing himself for speaking too much. 

But what was he talking about? I almost got assaulted? By who? A stranger in the bar?

His voice snapped me out of my daze. "And this is how you want to thank me?"

Whatever. It wasn't the first time someone took advantage of me without my knowledge. I didn't care about this whole 'hero saves the damsel' story.

I needed to stick to my plans and not fall for his smooth talk.

I opened the drawer and pulled out a couple of items. "Here," I said, placing a credit card and a car key in his palm. "Max is stubborn. I asked him to return some things, and he did. You might think I'm one of those girls who need your money to survive. So why don't you play the hero? But I don't need your belongings to meet my expectations."

I noticed a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he nodded faintly and closed his fingers around what I'd given him.

I expected him to burst out of the room instantly for being ungrateful or rather say something or even react but he just walk towards the bed, place the key and card on top of it and pulled out his phone from his back pocket. He started dialing something on his phone. 

The next thing I heard was my cell phone's notification sound. 

I didn't go to check it out because I was getting pissed by the silent aura he's giving me. 

And to make it more worse, he just left without saying a word to me or sparing a glance either. 

Asshole. 

I went to check out my phone after he had left the room. And what I saw almost send me screaming like horror. 

Mouth agape, I look at the already closed door and back at my phone. 

What the fuck! 

I'll find a way to reverse this later, but for now, I need to get dressed for work.

Once I was ready to leave, I bumped into Sofia in the doorway. She was holding a broom and dustpan, coming to clean the room. "Oh, good morning, ma. I was going to invite you downstairs for breakfast," she said with a smile.

"Don't worry, I'll pass," I interrupted before she could finish.

"Pass? But ma, you skipped dinner last night and now you're skipping breakfast too?" Why does she suddenly sound like my mother? "You've been skipping meals since you got here. If you don't like what we have, just let us know, and we'll make something else."

"I'm on a diet," I lied, forcing a smile. The truth was, I was angry and not in the mood today, which is why I wanted to skip breakfast.

"Okay," she said, giving in. "How about I pack it up for you? You can have it later at work—"

"No need, Sofia." I tapped her shoulder. "I'll grab something else at work."

Before she could say anything else, I hurried down the stairs, waving goodbye.

At the bottom, I collided with someone else—an older man in his mid-fifties.

Seriously? What is today?

A day of bumping into people randomly? Fantastic. I'm already late for work, and I don't want to waste any more time unless I run into that hedgehog again.

I noticed the old man was heading for the stairs too, just as I was trying to get out.

I didn't recognize him, but he kept staring at me, blocking my every move.

Who is he?

I stepped to my right, but he shifted to block me. I tried to go left, and he did the same.

What is his deal? Why is he obstructing me on purpose?

I paused, thinking we might just be moving at the same pace. "Sorry, you first," I said, hoping he would just go ahead so I could leave.

He grinned widely, and I wondered what was so funny. His hands were tucked into his pockets like a gentleman. "No, my dear. I'm not missing my pace." Oh really? So it's on purpose? "I'm simply captivated by the beautiful woman who has stolen my son's heart, time, and attention, wrapping him around her finger."

Oh my—holy sweet mother of Jesus Christ!

How did I not realize he was Damian's father?

I quickly lowered my head, embarrassed. "I'm… I… I'm really sorry, sir. I… I didn't know you were his—"

"Oh, come on. It's okay," he chuckled. What's so funny? "That boy is much more than a secret keeper, just like the rest of his brothers." He grinned. Why is he grinning? Then he pointed to the shiny ring on my middle finger. "He made me miss the wedding, and now he's going to redo it as part of his punishment. Offense number one."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I really need to get to work—I'm running late." I bit my lower lip, feeling the awkwardness rising.

"Hey, relax." He stepped into my path again. I won't lie; he's quite handsome—the spitting image of Damian. Adjusting his glasses, he continued, "I know you're in a hurry, but—"

"Dad, you're here?" Damian walked in, his gaze shifting between his father and me. I quickly averted my eyes, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation. At least he had a shirt on now. "You didn't tell me you were coming over."

"And you didn't tell me you were married," his father replied, fixing his gaze on me. I hated how he raised his eyebrows, making me feel exposed. "A little heads-up about your marriage wouldn't kill an old man, you know?"

Damian scratched the back of his head, the tension palpable. He was clearly scrambling for a way to navigate his father's questions. "Um… she's, um…" He cleared his throat, and what came next made my jaw drop. "She's one of my friend's wives—actually, he's out of the country, and his house is under renovation, so he asked her to stay with me for a while."

As expected, that was a blatant lie, one that could easily make anyone laugh. But not me; it was far from funny.

He just denied our relationship, my status—our contract marriage.

Seriously? Is this some kind of joke?

The old man almost doubled over with laughter, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Damian, really? What do you think I am, five? I wasn't born yesterday. Just imagine if I were in your friend's shoes—leaving your mother for another man I supposedly know? Isn't that ridiculous? Wouldn't it make more sense to rent her an apartment or buy her a house until he returns?"

"Dad, it's not—" Damian stammered, his words faltering as I wondered what he was afraid of. His father cut him off.

"You're having another wedding with her, Damian. I'll take care of all the preparations. It'll be a grand affair—in Paris. You can leave that to me."

I froze at the mention of that offer. My eyes shifted between the old man and Damian, who looked just as stunned. Neither of us could admit that our marriage was merely a contract.

Then the old man continued, "But before that, I'd like us to have dinner together with your mom. Just the four of us tomorrow night." He turned to me with a grin. "Right, angel? Your mother-in-law will be delighted to welcome such a beautiful daughter-in-law into the family."

Uh oh.

I gulped hard, anxiety rising within me.

I hadn't anticipated this heart-stopping surprise this morning. I had to think of something—some way to change these plans. I wasn't ready to meet his entire family. "Um, I don't think that would be necessary—I mean, that sounds like too much stress, right?" I gestured for Damian to back me up. I expected him to say something, but he stood there, frozen.

"Exactly." Thank goodness he wasn't entirely useless. "Pearl here has a lot of work piled up this week. A busy bee, you know?" He chuckled awkwardly, but his father's expression remained serious.

"Not too busy until 8 PM, right?" the man asked, looking directly at me. "Pearl?" I nodded, feeling trapped. "I love that name—'Pearl,'" he said with a wink, making it even more awkward.

Awkward, awkward, awkward. I squeezed between them, desperate to escape. "Sorry, I've got to go." And with that, I hurried away.