Chapter 269

ALINA

I woke up slowly, the kind of lazy, sated wake-up that made me want to burrow deeper into the sheets and never leave.

My body ached in the best possible way — a delicious, full-body reminder of everything Alexander and I had done last night.

Multiple times.

Every muscle protested as I stretched.

Not painfully.

Just enough to remind me of exactly why I was sore.

My cheeks warmed.

Stupid memories.

Stupid husband.

I stared at the ceiling, letting the events of last night replay in my head like a very X-rated movie I definitely shouldn’t have enjoyed as much as I did.

Wait.

Where's the fucking anger? my subconscious demanded.

Good question.

Wasn't I supposed to be furious?

I sighed.

So...

Exactly how long am I supposed to stay angry?

My brain answered immediately, like it had been waiting for the question.

Long enough to make him suffer

A month. Minimum

A month?

Don't sound so disappointed. We had a plan, Alina.

A very good plan

You don't abandon a revenge itinerary just because your husband gave you a few Mind-blowing orgasm

I blinked.

That was a good point.

My heart, however, cleared its throat.

Counterargument...

He looked genuinely sorry though…

Those eyes.

That voice.

The way he said he'd cut out his own heart.

A little dramatic?

Sure.

But also... kind of romantic

My brain gasped.

Oh, don't start.

We're not handing out forgiveness like free samples at Costco.

At least make the man beg a little more

I bit back a smile.

True.

Justice has not yet been served, my brain continued sternly.

We go through with the plan.

There were bullet points. Tiny chair. Glitter. Public humiliation. Focus

Right.

Focus.

My heart, unfortunately, had already defected, and refused to be discouraged.

He looked devastated.

The man didn't sleep.

He panic-bought enough flowers to bankrupt a small nation.

He wore the pink suit.

A pink suit, my heart repeated.

Alexander Dimitri, feared by half the criminal underworld, walked around looking like an aggressively masculine flamingo because he thought it might make you smile

There was a long pause.

Even my brain seemed momentarily shaken by that one.

...The pink suit was pretty bad

Exactly

My heart seized.

Do you understand how much that man loves black?

He looked like an angry flamingo for us

My brain hesitated.

Okay, but—

No, buts

My heart was on a roll now.

The mafia kingpin wore bubblegum pink.

In public.

Voluntarily.

And let his men see him

My brain winced.

Fine.

Those are valid points

They are.

I smiled.

For approximately three seconds.

Then my brain recovered.

Counterpoint.

He lied

The smile immediately faded.

He apologized.

Wonderful.

Fantastic.

Gold star for basic human decency.

He also broke your trust.

Remember that?

The betrayal?

The crying?

The emotional devastation?

My heart deflated slightly.

...Yes.

My brain pointed triumphantly.

Flowers are not magical.

Neither is a pink suit.

And orgasms are not legally recognized forms of conflict resolution

I blinked.

Are you sure?

Positive

I checked.

When?

While you were busy making terrible decisions with your pussy last night

My heart sighed dramatically.

You're no fun

And you're an idiot

He's miserable

Not miserable enough, my brain replied immediately.

A man does not get to accidentally destroy your trust and escape punishment because he's handsome and emotionally constipated

But…

My heart tried again, the hopeless romantic refusing to give up.

Ok. He deserves to work for it. But maybe we can fast-track the suffering a little? Like… a week?

No. Two weeks? my brain bargained.

There was a tiny, vindictive pause in my head.

...we still haven't made him sit on the apology chair.

I smiled, slow and evil.

True.

He does deserve at least a few hours in the tiny chair. Maybe while wearing the pink suit again. For symmetry.

"OK.. fine" my heart gave up.

Satisfied with this extremely mature and reasonable compromise, I stretched again, wincing slightly.

“Ow.”

Worth it.

I rolled onto my side—

—and nearly launched myself off the bed.

"Jesus Christ!"

My entire body jolted like I’d been electrocuted.

"What the—"

I clutched the blanket to my chest so fast I nearly strangled myself with it.

Alexander was sitting in the armchair across the room, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Fully dressed.

Black shirt.

Black trousers.

Perfectly groomed.

Watching me with that quiet, unnervingly intense stare of his.

For God knew how long.

He didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

He just… watched me.

Calmly.

Like this was completely normal behavior.

I blinked at him.

“…How long have you been sitting there?” I demanded.

He glanced at his watch.

“An hour and Forty-three minutes.”

I blinked.

“…I’m sorry?”

“An hour and Forty-three minutes.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His mouth twitched — almost a smile.

“I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“For an hour and forty-three minutes?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

I eyed him suspiciously.

“Were you seriously just… watching me sleep?”

“I was.”

“That’s creepy.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

“I was admiring my wife.”

Fuck.

That was almost sweet.

I stared at him.

Completely speechless.

For once in my life...

Alexander Dimitri had managed to leave me with absolutely nothing to say.

Which was honestly terrifying.

Because this man had spent weeks making me argue with him purely through sheer arrogance, and now he had the audacity to say something that sounded almost sweet.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

I closed it.

Still nothing.

His eyebrow lifted.

"Did I make you speechless?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"Unfortunately, yes."

A small smile tugged at his mouth.

"I didn't know that was possible."

"Neither did I."

I pointed at him.

"You can't just sit there like some emotionally damaged billionaire gargoyle for almost two hours and then say something annoyingly romantic."

"Why not?"

"Because then I'm forced to reconsider my anger."

His smile deepened.

"Is that a problem?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I have a whole revenge plan."

He looked amused.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"What does it involve?"

I hesitated.

"That's classified."

"Wife?"

"No."

His shoulders shook slightly with silent laughter.

I glared at him.

"This is serious. I had a whole schedule."

"A schedule?"

"Yes."

I counted on my fingers.

"Morning: be angry."

"Afternoon: continue being angry."

"Evening: make you feel guilty."

He tilted his head.

"And now?"

I sighed.

"Now you're sitting there looking like a regretful supermodel watching me sleep, and ruining everything."

His smile became softer.

"Regretful supermodel?"

"Don't focus on the compliment."

"I noticed you gave me one."

"I absolutely did not."

"You did."

"I take it back."

"Too late."

I rolled my eyes.

"You're impossible."

"And yet..."

He leaned back in the chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"...you smiled."

I immediately wiped the expression off my face.

"I did not."

"You did."

"You imagined it."

"I've spent enough time studying your face to know when you're lying."

I stared at him.

"That is either romantic or incredibly creepy."

"I'll take romantic."

"Of course you will."

His smile didn't fade.

"You're welcome to keep pretending you're still furious."

I narrowed my eyes.

"I am furious."

"I know."

"Good."

"But you're also smiling."

I grabbed the nearest pillow.

"Keep talking and you'll be wearing this."

He looked at the pillow.

Then back at me.

"Violence before breakfast?"

"You're lucky it's only a pillow."

His smile widened.

"There she is..."

I hated that my heart did a tiny, traitorous flip.

Absolutely hated it.

“You talk in your sleep, by the way.”

Slowly, I turned my head toward him, dread already pooling in my stomach.

“…What did I say?”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

Oh no.

That smug, I-know-something-you-don’t smile that always meant trouble.

“Mostly my name,” he said casually.

My face immediately heated.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“I would never.”

“You also made several creative threats.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Threats?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of threats?”

He looked thoughtful, like he was trying to recall the exact wording.

“Something about hiding my expensive watches so I’d have to ask you for money like a kept man.”

“Okay, that sounds like me.”

His smile widened, turning downright wicked.

“And something about making me wear the pink suit again… while you rode me and called me your pretty little strawberry.”

My eyes widened in horror.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“No, I absolutely did not.”

“You were very passionate about it,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself.

“You kept saying ‘pink is your color, baby’ and ‘if you’re going to be my punishment, you’re going to look the part.’ It was… inspiring.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He simply nodded, looking far too pleased with himself, like he’d just won the lottery.

I grabbed the nearest pillow and covered my face with it, groaning loudly.

“Unbelievable. I take back every nice thing I said about you last night. You’re never allowed to bring this up again.”

Alexander laughed softly, the sound warm and low as he tugged the pillow away from my face.

“Too late, Your Majesty. I’m never forgetting it. In fact, I might commission another pink suit just to see if dream-you was onto something.”

I smacked him with the pillow.

“You menace.”

He leaned down instead, capturing my lips in a quick, teasing kiss.

“Yes. I am.”

I glared at him, but I was already smiling.

Absolutely unbelievable

My brain immediately panicked.

Stop smiling

I frowned.

I am not smiling.

You are

No, I’m not.

Alina.

A pause.

We had a plan

Right.

The plan.

My anger.

My carefully organised emotional punishment schedule.

Two weeks.

Minimum

He was supposed to suffer for two weeks.

Tiny chair.

Guilt.

Possibly more glitter.

Stay focused

I peeked at him through the edge of the blanket.

He was still smiling.

Annoyingly.

Ridiculously.

Infuriatingly handsome.

Traitor, my brain hissed.

Do not let the pretty face distract you

I looked away.

“I hate you.”

The words came out automatically.

His smile softened.

“You love me.”

I lowered the blanket.

“Debatable.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“You’re smiling while arguing with me.”

Immediately, my face fell.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I’m plotting your downfall.”

“While smiling?”

“Yes.”

“That seems less threatening.”

I pointed at him.

“Don’t test me.”

His smile grew.

“See?”

“See what?”

"My beautiful wife..looking gorgeous when shes flustered. "

My heart did an extremely annoying little flip.

My brain screamed.

NO.

Absolutely not.

We are not forgiving him before the scheduled punishment period.

“Two weeks. Right.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Wife.”

“I said nothing.”

“You just said two weeks.”

I froze.

Damn it.

“Is there a timeline for my punishment?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

“No.”

A small, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.

“Whatever you say, wife… but tell me, how are you feeling? Not too sore, I hope, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t start with that ‘Your Majesty’ bullshit,” I groaned, pulling the sheet higher like it could protect me from his smugness.

“I’m still deciding if I’m mad at you or just sexually satisfied. The two feelings are fighting for dominance right now and it’s giving me emotional whiplash.”

He chuckled, low and warm, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world.

“I’m happy to help you decide which one wins,” he said, eyes darkening.

“Repeatedly.”

I threw a pillow at him.

“Get out before I change my mind about the two weeks and make it two months.”

"Oh. So there is a two weeks timeline?"

Shut up."

"Never."

I peeked out from under the sheet, narrowing my eyes at him.

“You’re awfully cheerful for a man who was wearing a pink suit and getting slapped a few hours ago.”

“Worth it,” he said simply, eyes darkening as they raked over me.

“Every second.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t quite hide the small smile tugging at my lips.

Damn him for being charming even when I was trying to stay annoyed.

A few moments passed before the amusement faded from Alexander's face.

And suddenly, the man sitting across from me wasn't my annoying husband in a ridiculous pink suit.

He was Alexander Dimitri.

The dangerous one.

He stood and walked toward the bed, sitting on the edge beside me.

My smile faded.

“You need to pack.”