CHAPTER 11

KIMANI

KIMANI

The next morning, I decided one thing: I was not going to think about Alaric’s stupid half-smile. Nope. Not at all. I was going to live my billionaire-housewife life in peace. Well, until it's time for me to go back to work.

So of course, the universe laughed in my face.

Because when I came downstairs, instead of finding the dining table set with my usual solitary breakfast, Alaric was already there. Sitting at the head of the long table, crisp in another one of his immaculately tailored suits, coffee cup in hand.

We don't usually eat together. And that is because by the time I'm awake, he is definitely already at his office, I wonder why he is waiting this morning.

I froze mid-step, clutching the banister like I’d seen a ghost. “Oh no. Did I sleepwalk into the wrong mansion?”

His eyes lifted to mine, calm, unreadable. “You’re late.”

“Late?” I blinked. “It’s not like I clock into your office, Alaric. This is breakfast, not a shareholders’ meeting.”

His gaze lingered on me for a beat too long, then dropped back to his coffee. “Sit.”

Something about the way he said it, quiet, controlled, with just the faintest undercurrent of command—had me marching over before I even realized it. I dropped into the chair beside him, crossing my arms.

“What’s this? Husband-wife bonding time? Did Evan put you up to this? Blink twice if you need rescuing.”

No blink. Of course.

Instead, a plate of pancakes slid in front of me, warm, golden, stacked high, with a neat swirl of butter melting on top. My stomach betrayed me with a loud growl.

I glanced from the pancakes to him suspiciously. “You ordered pancakes for me?”

His hand paused on his cup. “Do you not like them?”

I narrowed my eyes. “No, I love them. Which is exactly why I don’t trust this.” I stabbed a piece with my fork and took a dramatic bite, chewing exaggeratedly. “Mm. Okay. Fine. They’re delicious. You’re safe… for now.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I swore I saw his lips twitch again. Twice in two days? Someone call the news outlets. Alaric Walker might actually have facial muscles capable of smiling.

We ate in silence, well, I ate, he sipped his coffee like he was fueling his soul with bitterness. And then, as I was halfway through my stack, he spoke.

“You’ll be joining me at an event tonight.”

My fork clattered against the plate. “An event? Like… with people?”

He didn’t even flinch. “A gala. Business and politics. Everyone will be there.”

“Hold on.” I held up both hands. “You want to parade me in front of the city’s elite after only a week of marriage? Alaric, I’ve barely memorized the way back to my bedroom without getting lost. And you want me to survive a billionaire gala?”

His eyes locked onto mine, steady and cool. “You’re my wife. They’ll expect you at my side.”

Oh, no. That tone. That unshakable authority. He wasn’t asking.

I groaned, dropping my head dramatically onto the table. “This is how I die. Not from heartbreak, not from stress, but from social suffocation in a room full of snobby people in overpriced outfits.”

“Kimani.” His voice dipped lower, softer, almost like he was trying not to laugh. “You’ll be fine.”

I lifted my head, glaring at him over a pancake. “Easy for you to say. You were born looking like a Bond villain. I, on the other hand, need prep time. A makeover. A fairy godmother. Possibly divine intervention.”

“Evan has already arranged for a stylist,” he said simply, taking another sip of coffee.

I froze. “Wait. You planned this already?”

His silence was my answer.

I slumped back in my chair, stabbing my pancake like it had personally betrayed me. “I knew it. I’ve been trapped. Lured in with pancakes and now sold off to society like some shiny new toy.”

Alaric set his cup down with deliberate calm. “You’re not a toy. You’re my wife.”

Something about the way he said it—low, certain, final—made my fork pause midair.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. My heart gave an unhelpful little thump, and I quickly stuffed my mouth with more pancake before my mouth could betray me with words I wasn’t ready to admit.

"Okay, then. I will be ready for tonight." I smiled. He looked at me but said nothing.

~~~~~~~

It was already 4 p.m., and I was sprawled like royalty on a chaise in one of the many sitting rooms I had “discovered” during my daily explorations, can you believe it, four extra sitting rooms minus the main one. Who needs that much sitting room. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, golden and warm, and I lazily sipped on a cold drink while flipping through a magazine I’d stolen from the library earlier. Honestly, life wasn’t bad when you ignored the iceberg of a husband looming in the background of it all.

That was when Danielle appeared at the doorway, her usual calm but firm expression in place. “Madam, the stylist has arrived.”

I groaned, dramatically covering my face with the magazine. “Tell them I drowned in the pool. I'm not ready for this."

“Madam.” Danielle’s voice held the patience of a saint but the firmness of a drill sergeant. “You must prepare for the gala. Mr. Walker has instructed...”

“Of course he has,” I muttered, rolling my eyes before setting my drink aside. “Fine, fine. Let the fairy godmothers in. I don't get paid enough for this kind of torture."

Minutes later, two women and one man swept in like a glamorous storm - stylists, makeup artists, hair professionals, the whole glittery cavalry. Their eyes lit up when they saw me, as though I were some raw material they couldn’t wait to polish.

“Oh, she’s stunning already,” the man said, already circling me like I'm a chick and he is a hawk. “This will be fun.”

I sat obediently, letting them poke and prod, tug and curl, dab and paint. My hair was twisted into an elegant updo with soft strands framing my face, my makeup a perfect balance of subtle and striking. They pulled out gown after gown until one finally made even me gasp.

It was a deep emerald silk dress, sleek and regal, hugging in all the right places but flowing like liquid at the hem. I slipped into it and stared at my reflection, barely recognizing the girl in the mirror.

“Wow,” I whispered, fingers brushing over the fabric.

“Perfect,” the stylist declared, stepping back with a proud smile. “Mrs. Walker, you’re ready.”

The title still made me twitch a little, but when I turned and saw my reflection again, I almost believed it.

And then, as if on cue, the door opened.

Alaric stood there, tall and devastating in his black tuxedo, his tie perfectly knotted, his cufflinks gleaming under the chandelier light. His eyes landed on me, sharp and assessing as always, but this time… they lingered.

For a long, charged moment, the room went silent.

I lifted my chin, forcing a smirk. “Well? Do I pass the billionaire-wife inspection?”

Alaric’s jaw tightened, but his gaze softened in a way that made my stomach flip.

“You look,” he said slowly, his voice low, deliberate, “like you were made for tonight.”

My cheeks warmed, and I quickly masked it with a laugh. “Careful, Mr. Walker. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

His lips curved—just the faintest hint again, but it was there. “It was.”

And suddenly, the gala didn’t feel quite as terrifying anymore.

Alaric held the door for me like some gallant knight in Armani, and I stepped into the sleek black limousine waiting outside. The gown swished elegantly around my ankles, and for a second, I felt like Cinderella on her way to the ball, well minus the glass slippers, fairy godmother, pumpkin turned carriage and talking mice. Also I was going with a prince, not running from the prince. Or King. Whatever.

Inside the car, I sank into the plush leather seat, pretending not to notice how ridiculously close Alaric sat. The scent of his cologne, clean and sharp, filled the small space.

“Relax,” he said, noticing how I fiddled with the edge of my clutch.

“Relax?” I scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You grew up in this billionaire circus. I’m the outsider about to get roasted alive by women who probably iron their napkins and men who drink champagne like it’s water.”

His lips curved in that almost-smile of his. “You’ll be fine.”

“That’s easy to say when your biggest problem tonight is deciding which bored socialite to ignore.”

He chuckled low, and I swear my heart skipped. Determined not to get lost in that sound, I took a deep breath and turned to him.

“Alright, Kimani, pep talk time,” I muttered to myself. I sat up straighter, channeling every motivational YouTube video I’d ever watched. “You are not a sacrificial lamb. You are a lioness. A queen. A walking, talking emerald goddess. You will smile, wave, and if anyone tries you, you will blind them with your dazzling gown and sharper wit.”

I nodded firmly at my reflection in the tinted window. “Yes. You’ve got this.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Alaric staring. Amusement flickered across his face, though he tried to hide it.

“What?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” he said, his tone smooth but teasing. “Just… that was the most unusual pep talk I have ever heard."

“Oh, please. You love it,” I shot back.

He didn’t answer, but the way his gaze lingered on me was louder than words.

The limo slowed, and the glow of golden lights spilled through the windows. My stomach tightened. I peeked outside and nearly choked. The gala venue was a palace masquerading as a hotel, with paparazzi swarming like vultures, cameras flashing nonstop.

The driver pulled up to the entrance. A red carpet stretched ahead, lined with photographers shouting Alaric’s name.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whispered, gripping my clutch like it was a life vest.

The car door opened. Alaric stepped out first, tall and commanding, the crowd roaring at his presence. Then he turned and held out his hand.

My heart thudded. I placed my fingers in his, and he helped me out of the limo. The cameras exploded in a storm of light, and gasps rippled through the crowd.

For once, no one was looking at him. They were looking at me.

Kimani Walker, the “nobody” girl from nowhere, walking the red carpet on the arm of the city’s most untouchable billionaire.

I straightened my spine, plastered on my brightest smile, and whispered under my breath, “Lioness, baby. Lioness.”

Alaric’s lips twitched, like he’d heard me. And together, we stepped into the dazzling chaos of the night.