Chapter 4: First Night Jitters

“Married life of my kind starts with silence, i think.”

If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be spending my first night in a billionaire’s house as his wife, I would’ve laughed maybe cry in disbelief.

But here I was, Mrs. Adrian Kingsley standing awkwardly in the middle of a living room so big holding a toothbrush I’d just bought from a convenience store.

The night stretched out in a quiet tension. The city lights sparkled through the tall windows like silent witnesses. Adrian hadn’t said much since the paperwork was done just the occasional, perfectly polite question about dinner or allergies. He didn’t need words to fill a room; his presence did that on its own.

“Do you usually look that tense when you’re standing still?” he asked suddenly, his tone so casual it made me jump.

I turned to find him leaning against the doorway, jacket off now, tie loosened, sleeves rolled.

“I’m not tense,” I lied quickly, clutching the toothbrush like a weapon. “I’m just… processing.”

His lips curved slightly, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Processing what?”

“That I’m married. That I live here now. That my husband is probably a control freak who doesn’t know what small talk is.”

He laughed then softly, but genuinely and for a second. “You might be right about that last part.”

I blinked. “You admit it?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. “I don’t lie about who I am.”

That was… oddly honest. And disarming.

I shifted my weight awkwardly. “So, um… about sleeping arrangements?”

He arched an eyebrow, just the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his gaze. “What about them?”

Oh no. My brain short-circuited instantly.

“I mean—you know! Where I’m sleeping. Not—sleeping with you, obviously. Just sleeping, in general. Like, location-based sleeping!”

He let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Relax, Elena. I’m not that kind of man.”

My cheeks burned. “Good,” I muttered. “Because I wasn’t planning to be that kind of woman either.”

He crossed the room, moving with that unhurried grace that made me so aware of every heartbeat. He stopped a few feet away close enough that I could see the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes.

“I’ll sleep in my room,” he said quietly. “You can take the guest suite. It’s down the hall, second door on the left.”

“Oh.” Relief and disappointment hit me at the same time. “Okay. That’s… good.”

He studied me for a second longer, as if he wanted to say something but changed his mind. Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway.

And just like that, I was alone again with my toothbrush, my nerves, and my racing heart.

The guest suite was absurd.

A queen-sized bed, Egyptian cotton sheets, and a view that looked like a movie backdrop. Everything smelled nicely c expensive cleaning products.

I set my things down on the dresser, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Same me, same messy hair, same confused eyes but something about the way I looked tonight felt… different.

Was it guilt? Fear? Or the strange thrill of being somewhere I didn’t belong?

I sighed and flopped onto the bed, the sheets swallowing me whole. My thoughts tangled in every direction.

Adrian was a mystery.

And yet, I couldn’t deny the magnetic pull I felt toward him. The kind that made me want to understand him, even if I wasn’t ready to.

I tossed, turned, tried to sleep, failed miserably. Eventually, I gave up and wandered out of the room, barefoot, following the faint hum of the city below.

The living room was bathed in moonlight. Adrian was there, sitting on the sofa with a glass of something in his hand. He didn’t notice me at first or maybe he did and didn’t care.

His tie was gone now, shirt slightly open at the collar. He looked… different. Softer. Human.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, not looking at me.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, folding my arms. “Your sheets are too perfect. It’s like trying to nap in a luxury store.”

He smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I hesitated, then sat down across from him, hugging my knees. “You’re up late too.”

“Work,” he said simply.

Of course. The eternal excuse of the busy and mysterious.

We sat in silence for a while. It wasn’t awkward, though it was… comfortable.

I glanced at his glass. “Is that whiskey?”

“Scotch,” he corrected. Then, with a small tilt of the glass: “Want some?”

I shook my head. “I’d rather not forget more of tonight than I already have.”

That made him look at me fully, eyes dark, unreadable. “You really think you’ll forget this night?”

I didn’t have an answer.

Because even if I tried, I knew I couldn’t.

Minutes passed. Or hours I wasn’t sure. The city felt like it was holding its breath around us.

Finally, he spoke again, voice low, almost tender. “You don’t have to be afraid, Elena.”

I blinked. “Afraid? Who says I’m afraid?”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Your eyes do. Every time you look at me.”

The words hung between us. my chest tightened, my throat went dry.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered. “I’m just… afraid of what comes next.”

His expression softened just barely. “So am I.”

And that more than anything shook me.

Before I could respond, he stood, setting the glass down with quiet precision. “Get some sleep, Mrs. Kingsley. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

He walked away, leaving me staring after him, my pulse still racing.

When his door closed, the silence returned but it wasn’t the same. It was heavier now. Charged.

I lay awake until dawn, eyes tracing the faint reflection of his silhouette through the wall that separated our rooms.

And for the first time, I wondered if I had made a mistake or I’d just stumbled into the one story I wasn’t meant to forget.