ISLA
My hands paused and gripped the blanket I was holding, eyes darting cautiously to the bed where he was already lounging under the sheets—with one arm bent behind his head.
Did he…
just invite me to his bed?
Alistair wanted to share his bed with me?
That was another unexpected milestone I had uncovered from him so far.
Who would have thought I’d end up sharing a bed with the mighty and insanely famous CEO of New York City!?
To many, it might have felt like a dream come true.
But to me, it was nothing short of a horrible nightmare!
The tone of his voice was authoritative, but to my ears, it sounded so awkward.
I didn’t move an inch.
My body seemed frozen for what felt like thousands of years.
“What are you standing there for?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes locking on mine.
“I…
uhh…
I—I’ll sleep on the couch,” I declined nervously, fidgeting with the blanket in my hands.
I didn’t know what else to say!
And I certainly couldn’t keep myself from feeling so nervous.
He frowned in displeasure, clearly running out of patience.
“Are you planning to stand there all night?”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I looked away.
But no words came to me.
“Don’t worry,” he drawled, letting his gaze skim lazily down my covered frame.
“You’re dressed like you’re about to file taxes.
I think I’ll survive the temptation.”
Anger and embarrassment tangled together inside me.
But to be honest, I was tempted by his offer.
The bed was far more comfortable than the couch.
Under his hard, unwavering gaze, I finally conceded.
That look alone told me there was no room for refusal.
I reluctantly moved and sat at the edge of the bed, wary.
He didn’t say another word, already absorbed in his phone.
Taking advantage of his silence, I lifted the covers quietly, then slid in—as far from him as physically possible.
The bed was ridiculously wide.
Somehow, I felt a bit eased—knowing there were five pillows and a king’s ransom of space separating us.
I turned my back to him and wrapped the comforter tightly around myself, like it could form some kind of force field between us.
Thank goodness!
Or else I would really die right here of a heart attack.
My heart was still racing nonstop.
I kept on high alert all the time, but he didn’t make a sound anymore—only the faint sound of his steady breathing.
Was he asleep?
I didn’t try to look back.
I kept my eyes shut tight, even though my entire body was tense.
Every second was like a torture.
Still, part of me thought…
the distance should be enough.
I was safe.
Right?
Right?
1
Morning came quietly.
I stirred slightly as something heavy draped over my waist, and a familiar scent reached my nose—clean and cool, like cedar and mint.
It lingered faintly in the air.
I inhaled again, groggy and half-asleep, frowning at how close it was.
It was oddly comforting.
Then my nose bumped into something—hard.
And warm.
My brows furrowed as my lashes fluttered open—still dazed from sleep.
The first thing I saw was skin—firm, fair, and smooth.
What the—
My eyes traveled up slowly, only to land on a partially opened collar—exposing a broad chest.
My breath hitched.
Oh no!
I tilted my head upward in horror.
And there, I completely froze.
He was staring—sharp gray eyes met mine from just inches away, cool and intense.
Alistair was wide awake—watching me intently, while his strong arm draped over my waist in a most casual way.
I nearly screamed in panic.
“A-ah—!” I yelped, jerking back instinctively and nearly falling off the edge of the bed.
“W-what—when did you—how did—?!”
I was about to push him away, but his arm was strong enough to ground me.
I couldn’t move an inch.
And he just lay there, only an inch away from me—one arm folded beneath his head like nothing was wrong.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” he said, unfazed.
“Y-you were supposed to stay on your side,” I blurted, clutching the blanket to my chest like a shield.
“You didn’t even move last night!”
His sword-shaped brows knitted together.
“So, you’ve been spying on me while I was asleep?”
”Of course not!” I denied almost immediately, my face starting to burn from embarrassment.
I caught his smug expression.
“Well…
I sleep better in the middle,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
I gawked at him.
“You—what kind of—who just—” My words scrambled out of order.
“You moved while I was asleep?!”
His eyes squinted dangerously.
“It’s my bed.
You’re not in the position to order me on what I should and shouldn’t do.”
His tone was cold, but his handsome face showed smugness—which infuriated me already.
I had the sudden urge to throw a pillow at his face.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t, because no matter what, he’s my husband now.
And I’m contracted to the Montgomerys—to him, precisely.
I don’t have a way out.
My body stiffened the moment he leaned closer, until our noses almost touched.
His cool breath splayed all over my face, making my heartbeat become unstable again.
“Should I…
remind you who you are to me now?” His voice sent electric waves through me.
My hair stood on end, but strangely, I felt a sudden and inexplicable jolt inside me.
I stared at him with wide eyes, trying to digest what he had just said, but my brain refused to cooperate.
What do I even say to that?
“I—uh—you…” I stammered, cheeks on fire.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, finding my flustered look.
And then, without another word, he shifted his weight and casually got off the bed, making his way to the bathroom—nonchalantly.
I lay there, still trying to gather my dignity—and knowing one thing for sure…
…Sleeping in his bed was far more dangerous than I had ever imagined.