Ch-18

•~•Aziel’s POV

We were currently thirty-something thousand feet in the air—at least, that’s what the pilot had said a few minutes ago.

Not that I really cared. All I could say was that Irene’s father had pulled out the big guns for our return home.

After my hospital discharge three days ago, the man had taken it upon himself to handle our journey back.

And judging by the sheer extravagance of this jet, he clearly wasn’t one to cut corners when it came to luxury.

I had flown in private jets before, but this?—This was next level.

Plush leather seats, gold-trimmed everything, a chandelier—yes, a freaking chandelier hanging above the sitting area.

There was even a personal chef and a doctor onboard, which honestly felt excessive, but I wasn’t about to complain.

I shifted my gaze to Irene, she was seated opposite me, staring out of the window.

She looked… lost. But not in thought. No, she looked like she was searching the sky for something she had lost—something only it could return to her.

“Are you still mad at me about the whole Shoshana thing?” I asked.

She didn’t react immediately. Instead, she slowly turned to me, a frown etching itself onto her face.

When she finally spoke, her voice was clipped, cool. “No.”

I nearly rolled my eyes. “That was the worst lie I’ve ever heard. You’ve been giving me the silent treatment since we left the hospital, and judging by your expression, you’re definitely still mad.”

Irene suddenly clapped—slow, mocking. Her lips stretched into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Wow. Best husband of the year goes to Nathaniel Grant, who, after three whole days of silent treatment, just realized his wife was still mad at him for letting his ex-fiancée practically spoon-feed him garlic mashed potatoes. Despite the fact that he hates garlic.”

She placed a hand on her chest, feigning admiration. “I’ll have my uncle arrange a golden cup for you the moment we land so you can receive your prize, Mr. Grant.”

Then, just as quickly, she folded her arms and turned back to the window.

I chuckled, amused by her reaction. She was oddly cute when she was mad—especially the way her lips jutted out like a sulking kitten.

Deciding to tease her, I smirked. “Okay, first off—how do you even know I hate garlic that much?”

Inwardly, I smirked to myself. I had brought this up on purpose because, technically, Nathaniel was the one who loved garlic.

Shoshana knew that because Nathaniel had spent more time with her than with Irene, while Irene had spent more time with me—Aziel—who was pretending to be Nathaniel to her.

As a result, she had learned that Nathaniel Grant despised garlic, when in reality, it was Aziel Grant who actually hated it.

This slip-up meant she was faltering in her act as Solane Blackwood—the woman she was pretending to be—who, in truth, wouldn’t know such a personal detail about her almost one-week husband.

It was a strategic move—a subtle reminder for her to play her game well.

I watched as Irene’s brows furrowed for a second, like she was mentally retracing her steps before she answered. “I did some digging on you after I found out you were the one my uncle wanted me to marry.”

I arched a brow. “Not many people know I hate garlic. Did you, like, hire a private investigator to spy on me?”

She shot me a glare. “Hey, don’t try to change the subject. I’m mad at you, remember?”

I smirked, knowing full well that she had just changed the subject herself.

“Okay, then I won’t change the subject. Let’s go back to that day at the hospital. If you were mad at me, you could’ve just told me. I would’ve apologized and found a way to make it up to you.”

Irene scoffed, finally turning back to face me, arms still folded. “Why would I tell you that I’m mad at you?”

I shrugged. “Uh… to avoid communication problems? That’s, like, Relationship 101.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So is knowing your partner’s mood without them having to spell it out for you.”

“I’m not a psychic, Solane,” I said, my tone light, teasing—though, judging by the way her glare sharpened, she wasn’t amused.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be married,” she shot back, her voice edged with frustration. “Because sometimes, you just have to have psychic abilities to guess your partner’s mood.”

“...It makes your partner feel like you care about them—which you don’t. Since all you’ve been thinking about is your ex.”

A low chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.

Irene’s eyes darkened instantly. “You must find my comment ridiculous, seeing how funny you find it.”

I shook my head, leaning back against the seat with an amused smirk. “It’s not that. I just find you being angry cute.”

She scoffed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Oh, I’m cute? And what, your ex is hot and gorgeous?”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. “I never said that!”

“You don’t need to.” She huffed, her arms tightening around her body. “If you were about to eat something you despise just to avoid making her effort feel unappreciated, it only means you still have unspoken feelings for her.”

"Geez, Solane, I was just being nice."

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

"I’m being honest here," I insisted, leaning slightly forward. "I never had feelings for Shoshana Bates. I never did."

She let out a dry laugh. "You were engaged to her for years. From what I’ve read, you two were together since university but kept it a secret. So how do you explain staying with someone that long without loving them?"

Frustration flared in my chest. "Because I was in love with someone else!" I snapped before I could stop myself.