Aiden POV:
No, I don’t like her. No, I don’t care about her in
that
way. But I care in the sense that she is my
wife,
and I have an
image
to uphold—one of a happy, loving marriage.
With that said, let me explain why I went to her school today with a sandwich and a bottle of juice.
This morning, I had completely
forgotten
about the media coverage scheduled regarding the
rumors
of my sudden wedding. The board wanted me to clarify the situation and ensure the public that this wasn’t some
publicity stunt
or an arranged deal—well, technically, it was, but
they
didn’t need to know that.
So, I went in without much preparation but with one goal in mind: to sell the image of a
perfect couple.
It didn’t take long for the questions to start.
One reporter—clearly fishing for drama—asked if my wife only married me for my
money.
Well, technically,
yes
, she did. And no, she doesn’t love me. That would have been the
honest
answer.
But again,
not for the public to know.
So, I looked the reporter dead in the eye and said, "No, she did not marry me for my money." And then, because I knew just denying it wasn’t enough, I spun a
perfectly crafted
story.
"I was the first one to get interested in her," I began, keeping my expression
soft but firm.
"And when I learned she
hated
rich men, I had to hide my identity. I approached her as just an
ordinary
guy with a normal job, just someone who wanted to know her. She rejected me
several
times—" I paused, chuckling slightly, as if recalling fond memories. "—but I kept pursuing her. And when I finally proposed, she agreed. But the moment I revealed my true identity, she
canceled
the engagement on the spot."
Gasps filled the room.
I
almost
laughed.
"But," I continued, "eventually, she accepted both
me
and my wealth. And yes, it was a challenge." I let out a small sigh, as if recalling the
hardships
of winning over my
one true love.
"But in the end, she didn’t marry me for my money. She married me because we
chose
each other."
A wave of
applause
erupted.
A few
awed
reporters exchanged looks like they had just witnessed the most
romantic love story of the century.
Yeah,
right.
If only they knew the
actual
reality.
Then came the next question.
A
jealous-looking
blonde reporter, arms crossed, lips pursed, asked with a slight sneer, "If your love story is
so
beautiful, then why didn’t you two go on a honeymoon? You resumed work after
one
day of marriage. That doesn’t exactly scream
love-struck newlyweds.
"
Now
that
was a
tricky
one.
I couldn’t exactly tell them the truth—that we
barely tolerate
each other and a honeymoon was the
last
thing on our minds.
So, I smoothly replied, "My wife is an incredibly intelligent woman, but unfortunately, she didn’t have the opportunity to attend university due to certain circumstances. As a
wedding gift
, I ensured she got admitted to one of the
best
universities. And because the academic year had already begun, I didn’t want her to fall behind."
I let that sink in before adding, "So, we made a mutual decision to
postpone
our honeymoon until her first semester break, so it wouldn’t disrupt her studies."
Another round of
applause.
Another wave of
soft sighs and dreamy looks
from the reporters.
If they only knew the
hell
I go through every morning just to
drag
her out of bed, they’d feel
sorry for me.
But again,
not for them to know.
The
blonde reporter
, clearly out for blood, wasn’t done with her interrogation. She crossed her arms, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her notepad, and asked,
"If your love story is
so
touching, then why did you settle for a
small civil wedding
instead of the
grand
and
lavish
wedding that your wealth could
easily
afford?"
I clenched my jaw, feeling my patience
wear thin.
This woman was
testing
me.
I turned my gaze to her, my expression hardening just enough to remind her
exactly
who she was dealing with.
With a calm but
icy
tone, I responded,
"As I already mentioned,
Miss,
my wife is
not
as materialistic as you seem to be."
That shut her up for a second.
I continued, "She didn’t want an extravagant wedding.
She
was not happy about the idea of a
huge
ceremony filled with unnecessary grandeur.
She
was happy to marry someone she
loved
and who
loved her back.
"
I let those words hang in the air, watching as a few reporters
nodded approvingly
, buying the
perfect love story
I was selling.
The blonde, though, looked like she had swallowed a lemon.
Good.
Maybe next time she’d think twice before
challenging me.
The
press conference
had been dragging on for a while, but the reporters seemed to be getting
more comfortable
, more familiar with probing into my personal life. Questions about my plans for the future, my
relationship
with Alexia—things I was prepared to handle with a
charming smile
and a rehearsed answer.
And then, out of nowhere, one reporter decided to ask a question that almost made me spit out the water I was drinking.
"
Mr. Timberlake,
when can we start expecting an heir?"
An heir.
What in the world? These people were really getting ahead of themselves. If only they knew that
Alexia
and I weren’t even sharing a bed yet.
No heirs in sight
, my friend.
I had to compose myself before I choked on my drink and ended up looking like an idiot.
I leaned back, set my glass down carefully, and met the reporter’s gaze with a composed smile.
"As much as I would love a little version of my wife running around here," I began, making sure to emphasize the
love
part, "a kid right now isn’t really our focus."
I let that statement settle in for a second before continuing, "My wife has her studies to focus on, and I don’t think I’m ready to share her attention and love with my child just yet. Let me
enjoy
her for a while before I start sharing her."
The room broke into laughter, and the chuckles were a bit louder than I expected. A few whispered to each other, probably amused by the
honesty
of it all.
And
why wouldn’t they?
It wasn’t about being cruel; it was about putting on the right show for the cameras. I wasn’t ready for
kids
, and I wasn’t about to pretend I was.
I flashed a smile that could rival any Hollywood actor’s, knowing I had just served up the perfect answer, and mentally patted myself on the back.
And you ask why I’m successful?
Because I know how to play this game.
As soon as the press conference wrapped up, I knew one thing for sure—the world would be watching our
every
move now. The media had eaten up my answers like it was
gourmet content
, and from this moment forward,
Aiden and Alexia Timberlake
would be the couple to watch.
And what better way to solidify the
perfect husband
image than by paying my
darling wife
a visit?
Before leaving, I made sure to drop one last statement to the press:
"You’ve all made me talk about my wife so much today... now, I think I need to go see her."
And
oh
, did they eat that up. The collective
awws
and approving murmurs were enough to tell me I had them right where I wanted them.
That was how I found myself in my car, personally heading to Alexia’s university, with a
sandwich
and a
bottle of juice
in hand.
Why? Because apparently, my
adorable wife
had left the house without breakfast, and even though she drove me
insane
, I figured I should at least keep her alive.
Also? The
cameras
would
love
this.
I
did not
expect to not find her where she
ought
to be.
Alexia
wasn’t
in class.
Yeah,
she ditched
.
And just this morning, I had
lied through my teeth
about how committed she was to her studies.
Perfect.
I clenched my jaw, exhaling slowly. I was
so
close to storming into the lecture hall and calling her out, but I reined myself in. No need to alert the professor that my wife was playing
hooky
.
But I knew exactly where to find her.
If Alexia wasn’t
snoring
, she was
eating
. And since she didn’t eat breakfast this morning—thanks to her unnecessary dramatics—there was only one place she could be.
The cafeteria.
With calculated steps, I made my way there, already
seething
. I was
so
ready to drag her back to class, but the moment I stepped inside, my irritation took a backseat.
Because, of
course
, my
darling
wife wasn’t just peacefully enjoying a meal.
Nope.
She was
right in the middle of yet another mess
.
And
worse
? My
stupid
step-siblings were there, too.
Great. Just
great
.
At least my timing was perfect.