Chapter 212

Chapter 212
Clara: POV

Andrei's warm breath tickled my ear as he leaned in close, his chest pressing against my back. His lips grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine that I couldn't control.

"What are you doing, my beautiful wife?" he whispered, his voice deep and husky.

I turned my head slightly, offering him a small smile. "I'm picking out your clothes for today."

My fingers trembled slightly as I ran them over the row of crisp shirts hanging in his walk-in closet.

His hands settled on my waist, firm and possessive.

I could feel his desire pressing against me, and the realization made my cheeks flush.

"Shouldn't you be at the gym?" I asked, trying to sound practical despite the heat building inside me.

Andrei chuckled, the sound vibrating against my neck. "Why would I go to the gym when my wife has already worn me out this morning?"

"Asshole!" I gasped, turning in his arms to smack his chest playfully. My face burned with embarrassment.

He caught my hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips. "I'm just telling the truth."

I rolled my eyes, fighting to hide my smile. "You're impossible."

"Fine, darling," he conceded, still holding my hand. "The truth is I told my director I have a tight schedule today, so I'll work out during breaks on set."

His thumb absently stroked my lower lip, the simple touch making my heart race. I stepped back slightly, needing to create some distance before I completely lost my mind.

"Should I pick out your workout clothes too?" I asked, proud that my voice sounded almost normal.

"No need. I have workout clothes in my trailer." His eyes never left mine, dark and intense. "Have the staff move your things to our bedroom."

I froze. "Our bedroom?"

My mind raced. It had always been his bedroom.

I'd been sleeping in the guest room since we'd moved in together. That was part of our arrangement—separate spaces, separate lives, just a public performance.

"According to the contract, I'm supposed to stay in—"

"You're my wife," he interrupted, his tone firm. "You shouldn't be in a guest room. You belong in our room."

I studied his face, trying to understand this sudden change.

Was this part of some PR strategy? Maintaining his image as a devoted husband and respected film producer? Perhaps he worried the staff might gossip.

"Okay," I said quietly, not wanting to argue. "You should go shower before your shoot."

"Do I smell?" he asked with mock offense. "Is that why you're trying to get rid of me?"

"No! Of course not." I hastily backpedaled. "But—"

My words evaporated as his mouth covered mine. The kiss was deep and thorough, leaving me breathless when he finally pulled away.

"Even if I did smell, you're stuck with me, baby," he murmured against my lips. Before I could respond, he scooped me into his arms.

"Wait! Put me down!" I protested as he carried me toward the bathroom.

His laugh was wicked. "No, baby. You need to help me get clean so I smell nice for you." He stepped into the shower stall and turned on the water, still fully clothed, with me in his arms.

I squealed as the water cascaded over us, but Andrei's mouth was already on mine again, swallowing the sound.

His hands were everywhere, stripping away my soaked clothes, leaving marks of passion across my skin.

His lips traced a path down my neck, leaving red-purple blooms that I knew would take days to fade.

I'd have to wear high-necked shirts at the jewelry design studio. How professional would I look covered in love bites?

Andrei turned me to face the shower wall, his powerful body pressing against my back as he entered me from behind.

The intensity of our connection made my knees buckle, but he held me firmly, his grip unyielding as he drove us both toward ecstasy.

Afterward, I could barely stand. Andrei wrapped me in a plush bathrobe and carried me to the bed, tucking me in with unexpected tenderness before heading off to prepare for his shoot.

---

Hours later, I fidgeted nervously in the upscale Guadalajara shopping mall, adjusting my scarf and sunglasses.

I'd chosen a corner near the main entrance, trying to blend into the crowd while watching for Andrei's arrival.

I worried that someone might recognize me.

Today, I planned to go shopping with Andre at the most upscale mall in Guadalajara to cultivate his image as family-oriented and trustworthy, which was crucial for his career development as a producer in Mexico.

When Andrei's car pulled up outside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

Fans materialized from nowhere, rushing toward him as he stepped out.

Security tried to create a path, but the crowd swelled around him, reaching, calling his name, smartphones raised to capture his image.

Despite the chaos, his eyes scanned the crowd until they found me.

Something in his expression changed—softened—and my heart skipped a beat.

I hesitated, suddenly self-conscious.

Then I removed my scarf and sunglasses, offering him a warm smile.

His entire demeanor brightened, his gaze locked on me as if I were the only person in the crowded mall.

He moved with purpose, pushing past the fans, ignoring their outstretched hands. All he seemed to want was to reach me.

My face flushed under his intense stare. I took a step toward him, then another, but the crowd of Mexican fans was overwhelming.

They pressed around him, screaming declarations of love.

"Andrei, I love you!!!" shrieked a group of young women, their faces flushed with excitement.

I watched their adoration, remembering all the women who'd once surrounded Andrei—elegant, stunning women who'd graced his arm at premieres and parties.

One girl broke through the security line, nearly removing her top as she lunged toward Andrei, trying to kiss him.

My jaw dropped in shock.

The bodyguards quickly intercepted her, but the image stayed with me.

A wave of insecurity washed over me. Andrei was an internationally renowned film producer. He could have any woman he wanted—young, beautiful Mexican women without a complicated past.

‘Wake up, Clara. He's not really your husband!’

I swallowed hard, pushing down the pain that thought brought. I had a role to play—the devoted wife—and I would perform it flawlessly. I couldn't risk exposing my true identity to the public.