POV: Alex |
She's been here for seven hours and nineteen minutes. Not that I'm counting.
I watch from the top of the staircase, perfectly hidden in the shadows of the east wing corridor. Ava—now officially Ava Ren, as the marriage certificate reminds me—is holding a tray of banana bread like it's a winning lottery ticket and practically skipping down the hall.
She trips.
Again.
She doesn't fall this time, but it's a near-miss. Her long black hair whips over her shoulder, nearly decapitating one of the houseplants. She twirls like she meant to do it. Laughs to herself. Then continues her mission to charm every living creature within a ten-meter radius.
She's wearing pink. Again. Flowy, sparkly, too-happy pink.
I press my fingers to my temple.
"Mrs. Ren," Jiang, one of the guards, says flatly as she approaches.
"Jiang!" she beams, as if they're lifelong friends. "Do you want some bread? I made it with the chef. I mean, I helped. Sort of. Okay, fine, I stirred the bowl once and got flour on my nose. But it smells edible, doesn't it?"
Jiang blinks. Takes the bread. Takes a bite. Nods once.
"You like it!" she gasps.
"It's not terrible," he replies.
She pumps her fist. "YES! Not terrible is my new five-star review!"
I close my eyes. I thought she'd be annoying. I didn't realize she'd be a walking exclamation point.
This was supposed to be simple. We marry to fulfill a promise made by our grandmothers. She keeps a low profile. We stay out of each other's way. I work. She… exists. Quietly.
Instead, she's made friends with every single staff member in the house—including two drivers, the head maid, and my goddamn gardener. They adore her. All of them.
And I can't even blame them.
Because when she talks, it's like she means it. Like she actually cares about the names of people no one usually asks about. She's the kind of person who remembers birthdays and writes cards in glitter pen and apologizes to coat racks.
(I saw that happen. I'm still not recovered.)
She's chaos. She's sunshine.
And she's my wife.
The thought is so surreal I lean back against the cold marble wall and stare at the ceiling. Married. To Ava Chen. No—Ava Ren now.
The girl who used to follow me around campus in middle school, always hiding behind the hallway pillars with a lunchbox twice her size. I remember her. Not because she stood out—but because she always looked at me like I was something more.
And I remember what it did to me.
What I felt when I caught her staring. How I pretended not to notice. How I did notice.
Now, she's here. In my house. In my world.
And she talks too much. Smiles too much. Feels like too much.
She laughs again from downstairs, probably having just discovered the koi pond. I hear the bodyguard say, "Be careful," and her reply: "I was born careful! Well… I was born, anyway!"
I sigh.
This isn't going to be simple.
This isn't going to be quiet.
And for some reason I can't name, that realization makes my chest feel uncomfortably warm.