7. Adelaide
SEVEN
ADELAIDE
I had no choice but to say yes.
There really was no other option. I could beg Harry, but despite always succumbing to peer pressure, my dignity refused to be dismantled.
It refuses Harry but not Christian? Make it make sense.
I still had a couple of hours to think, but desperate times never empathised with my overthinking abilities. All it did was leave me with concrete, indestructible choices, which was devastatingly, marrying Christian.
Nausea bubbled in my chest.
It hadn’t been twenty-four hours since we saw each other after seven whole years, and now I was going to marry him.
It’s not like I didn’t want to get married—I did. One day. With Christian? I wasn’t the girl he wanted to marry; he made it abundantly clear. Arranged marriages worked, love marriages worked, but a marriage of convenience with my first love and ex-boyfriend? We’re screwed.
There was a line between stupid and delusional and I was on both sides. My legs were spread wide into a split and I couldn’t get up.
My bank accounts were blocked.
My position had been revoked.
An inhuman groan thrusted out of my lips.
His money and power would unfortunately help.
On the wall-mirror across from the bed, my reflection stared back at me. Hair came undone from its knot and cascaded down my back. Dead ends glared at me, stiffened and straight, ready to attack at any given moment.
If I could travel back in time, I would tell my aunt that making me CEO was her most vacuous feat.
Boredom interlocked with my insecurities. To which I decided it was time to scour Instagram for Christian’s name.
Christian had the old money aesthetic, which appeared more attractive than I’d like to admit. Buildings. Shoes. Suits. Faceless pictures. The list went on.
My body burned.
The Christian I remembered had a lithe, lanky body. Cardio was his worst enemy and ten-pound weights were too heavy for him.
This Christian was not the Christian from my memories.
Tall and monstrous build with shorts riding low on his hips.
Christian pummelled through the punching bag with intense ferocity. My stomach flipped watching his muscles ripple with each hit. His abs clenched with each hit, droplets of sweat dripping down. Brown hair clung to his forehead. When the video reached the eight second mark, he paused on the punching and stopped the bag with both his hands. His chest heaved with each panting breath. Then turned his head to look at the camera.
My heart thundered against my chest.
He’s unbelievably hot.
Despite knowing the pure, hazel colour of his eyes or the way he stared down on me. The nerves and the anxiety didn’t allow a good look at him. Here though, my lips salivated at his unprecedented glow up.
Looking up from the screen, I crossed my leg over the other.
My skin was flushed .
Rosy hues gravitated from the tops of my cheeks to right above my breasts. Heat seared through my cheek. I bet he knew exactly how to use his hands, his fingers. Christian had the body that demanded a female’s attention.
I knew I should’ve lowered the temperature before bed.
My phone started ringing.
Unknown caller.
Brows furrowed. “Hello?”
Rough, gentle, and low. The recognizable voice forced butterflies with broken wings to fly south to the centre of my core.
“And here I thought you’d still have my number saved after all these years.”
My fingers sunk into the bedsheet before I— very stupidly —threw my phone across the bed. Eyes desperately hitched onto every corner of the room. I didn’t summon him, right?
Staring down at the vicious block, hoping it would disintegrate on its own and leave me to wallow in shame.
“You there?” His voice travelled through the speaker.
Deep breaths, Addie. It’s just a call.
With another glance at the mirror and trembling hands, I smoothed my hair before grabbing the torture device.
“What do you want, Mr. Hayes?”
“I’ll take that as we’re still being formal.”
“It’s late.”
He chuckled.
My thighs clenched.
God, be so for real right now, Adelaide.
“I know.”
“Do you have a reason for calling me this late?”
“You tell me, Ms. Mikael.” His voice darkened. “Did you decide on marrying me or is stalking my Instagram page a part of your nighttime routine?”
No.
The video.
Of him.
Shirtless.
Kill me now.
“It was an accident.” I croaked out.
This had to be the most humiliating moment of anyone’s existence. I liked my ex’s post. Not just any post, but one of him half-naked. This was the new low.
A notification pinged on my phone.
“Then that was also an accident.”
Embarrassment quieted a moment while I clicked on it.
A picture of me on a yacht, fully laughing with my hair blowing in the wind.
Liked by Christian.
Tingling sparks stampeded along the lines of my veins, straight to the irresponsible pump in my chest.
The straps of my nightgown stressed from each mindless pull. Was he lounging in bed like me? Was he shirtless?
Rolling to the side, I desperately fanned my face.
Why was it so freaking hot in here?
“I called to hear your answer,” he croaked. He shuffled around, something on his end creaked.
That’s why he called. This wasn’t a second chance love story. If it ended bad the first time around, it would be highly irresponsible to believe it could work the second time. Not that it meant I was thinking about second chances or anything crazy like that. Whatever familiar feelings arose were reminiscent of the past and I simply missed it. Not him. Never him.
“Do I have a choice other than yes?”
Silence. “It’s good that you know.”
Curdled milk tasted better than the sudden thickened tension between us.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll forward the contract to you.”
“Okay.”
“Sign it by the morning.”
“Sure, whatever.”
“That’s it?” He bit out.
“What do you want me to say?” That my heart’s hammering against my chest, that I’m involuntarily turned on by a shirtless video of you and your husky voice? That I’m trying to ignore the fact that seven years ago I was on my knees begging for you to take me back but all you did was stare down at me like a stranger ?
“Nothing. Goodnight, Ms. Mikael.”
“Goodnight,” He hung up the phone. I released a tight breath, “Christian.”