Chapter 20 – The Unexpected Pillow

The soft glow of morning spilled into the master bedroom, streaks of gold and white cutting through the heavy curtains. Elena stirred, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she blinked herself awake. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. Then the thunderous weight on her chest reminded her.

Her gaze darted downward—only to freeze.

Adrian Blackwell, billionaire, CEO, and the coldest man she had ever met, was sprawled half across her body. His head rested firmly against her breast, one arm draped over her waist as if it belonged there.

Elena’s breath caught in her throat.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

“Unbelievable,” she whispered, her voice sharp but quiet. “Of all the beds, of all the pillows in this house… you pick me?”

She shifted, attempting to slide out from under him, but Adrian didn’t budge. His weight was solid, heavy, and his face—God help her—looked annoyingly peaceful.

Elena glared at him, cheeks heating. She gave his shoulder a firm shove. “Adrian. Get. Off.”

Nothing.

He didn’t even stir. His breathing was steady, deep, almost content. Elena’s jaw dropped. Content? The man who lived on five hours of restless sleep was knocked out cold on her chest like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Are you kidding me right now?” she hissed. “You sleep like the dead when you’re on top of me?”

She gave him another shove, this time harder. He only tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her slightly closer.

Her mouth fell open. “Did you just—?!”

This had to be a cosmic joke.

For five solid minutes, Elena debated whether she should smack him awake, scream in his ear, or roll him onto the floor. But then, against her better judgment, she paused. His face was so close she could see the faint dark circles beneath his eyes, the subtle lines of exhaustion carved into his features. But now, in sleep, those lines softened. His jaw unclenched, his expression stripped of its usual steel.

He looked… human. Vulnerable.

Her irritation faltered, just a little.

“Fine,” she muttered, glaring at the ceiling. “Use me as your personal mattress. But only this once.”

Of course, her heart didn’t listen. It thudded madly in her chest, each beat echoing against his temple. She was half convinced he could hear it even in his sleep.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Adrian stirred. His lashes flickered, and then those gray eyes—sharper than any storm—opened slowly.

For a brief, disorienting second, he seemed to forget where he was. Then realization dawned. His head was on her chest. His arm around her waist. Their bodies tangled together in a way no marriage of convenience was supposed to allow.

Elena braced herself for his usual cold retreat.

Instead, Adrian blinked once, twice… and remained exactly where he was.

“Good morning,” he said flatly, as if nothing were amiss.

Her jaw dropped. “Good morning? Good morning?! Adrian, get off me!”

He finally sat up, unhurried, running a hand through his tousled hair. “You move too much in your sleep,” he said simply.

Elena nearly choked. “I move? I move?! You were the one treating me like a pillow!”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile, though it vanished before she could confirm it. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

Her face flamed. “I minded plenty!”

“Hmm.” He stood, already composed, already reaching for the cufflinks on his dresser as if he hadn’t just used his wife’s chest as a headrest for eight hours. “You could have pushed me off.”

“I did!” she snapped, scrambling out of bed after him. “You’re built like a tank. You didn’t even move.”

He glanced at her in the mirror, his gray eyes calm but with a glimmer of something she couldn’t place. “Then perhaps you didn’t push hard enough.”

Elena threw up her hands. “You’re impossible!”

“Go get dressed. Breakfast in twenty minutes,” was all he said, adjusting his cufflinks.

She gaped at him. That was it? No apology, no explanation, no awkwardness? The man acted like falling asleep on her chest was as ordinary as checking the stock market.

Storming into the bathroom, Elena muttered under her breath the entire time she washed up. “Infuriating… arrogant… thinks he can just—ugh! Unbelievable!”

By the time she joined him in the dining room, she had rehearsed at least three different speeches to put him in his place. But Adrian, seated at the head of the long mahogany table, didn’t even glance up when she entered. He was already scanning a morning report, his coffee steaming beside him.

The staff moved quietly around them, serving breakfast with practiced discretion. Elena slid into her chair, arms crossed tightly.

“You’re really not going to mention it?” she demanded finally.

Adrian turned a page, calm as ever. “Mention what?”

Her jaw clenched. “You know what.”

He looked up then, the faintest spark of amusement dancing in his otherwise cold eyes. “That you’re surprisingly comfortable to sleep on?”

Elena nearly choked on air. “You—!”

But his gaze was steady, unreadable again, as if he hadn’t just made the most dangerous statement of the morning. He sipped his coffee without another word, leaving her fuming, her face hot, her heart annoyingly unsteady.

She stabbed at her toast with unnecessary force.

Adrian set his report aside at last, leaning back in his chair. “Eat properly. You’ll need your energy.”

“For what? More unsolicited cuddling?” she shot back.

One corner of his mouth curved upward—barely there, but enough to make her pulse skip. “Perhaps.”

Elena gaped at him, speechless. And for the first time since marrying Adrian Blackwell, she realized she might be in far deeper trouble than she thought.

Because this wasn’t just a battle of control anymore.

This was the beginning of something far more dangerous..... maybe romance?