Chapter 8 Back To Wilson Estate

Gentle shafts of moonlight seeped past the blinds, tracing faint, shimmering patterns along the walls.

Aidan's steps softened instinctively when he spotted Nicole curled up in sleep, small and defenseless beneath the covers on sofa.

Drawn by something he couldn't quite name, he crossed the floor in slow, hushed strides.

Nicole, lost in dreams, seemed almost unrecognizable-her fierce spark gone, leaving behind a quiet softness, so delicate it felt breakable.

His eyes drifted across the pristine room; every object sat perfectly in place, untouched, as if she'd never left her mark here at all.

Out of nowhere, his recalled his grandmother's words. A tightness gripped his throat as he forced down a breath, the dim glow catching on the distant, inscrutable light in his eyes.

He lingered there for a beat before quietly retreating, deciding not to break the delicate peace of her sleep.

When dawn crept in, Nicole stepped into the hallway, already composed, every trace of disorder erased before she crossed the threshold.

As she rounded the corner, she ran into Aidan.

Wearing a white shirt with the top buttons left open, he stood there with calm, easy confidence.

Sharp, tailored trousers framed his long legs, and there wasn't a crease out of place. He radiated that signature, untouchable calm-cool, remote, impossible to read-yet magnetic enough to turn heads.

Looking at him now, no one would suspect he was wrestling with anything beneath the surface.

She tilted her chin, voice steady. "I need to visit Wilson resident for a while."

Without missing a beat, Aidan replied, "I'm coming with you." His tone left no room for protest-utterly matter-of-fact, quietly commanding.

The words caught her off guard. Nicole hesitated, momentarily stunned by his initiative. In the end, she was just the stand-in bride-a placeholder, never meant to matter.

The reality stung enough to make her pause. "Really, it's fine. I can handle it myself," she said, her voice soft but resolute.

Aidan didn't waver. "Grandma arranged this. If you've got a complaint, take it up with her," he snapped, not bothering to sugarcoat his words.

A strained smile curled at the corners of Nicole's mouth-she wouldn't dare do it. "Let's not turn this into a whole thing," she replied, her voice deliberately light, letting the comment slide off as if it didn't touch her at all.

Breakfast passed in a flash of awkward silence, neither of them reaching for conversation before heading out together.

Aidan settled into the car, body angled just enough to signal his disinterest, head leaning back against the leather headrest. He closed his eyes, exuding a silent but unmistakable warning to keep her distance.

His right hand moved absently, thumb tracing slow, familiar circles along the polished surface of the emerald ring that gleamed on his left thumb.

The emerald gleamed, vivid and immaculate, catching the sunlight with a brilliance that turned every facet into a tiny flame.

Nicole's eyes locked onto the ring, her features sharpening with a sudden, inward intensity. It dredged up memories she'd buried for years-a ring just like this, impossible to forget. Rarer than any promise, priceless in a way that still hurt to remember.

Back when freedom was a memory, she'd hidden her own emerald ring deep inside a bank's safety deposit box. Yesterday, she'd sent her assistant to collect it, expecting a quiet reunion. Instead, the news blindsided her: Cathy had already claimed it, brandishing faked medical documents and insisting she was unfit to manage her own property.

A pulse of anger twisted inside Nicole. Her hand tightened, knuckles pale. No matter what it cost, she was getting that ring back today.

Forty tense minutes later, the car eased up the long drive to the Wilson estate, tires crunching softly over the pavement.

Aidan and Nicole exited the car together, their silent resolve carrying them forward.

Carl Sampson-the Wilson family's butler for decades-stood rooted on the steps, startled into stillness. His eyes darted from Nicole to the tall, impassive man beside her, thinking that this might be her husband.

Recovering, Carl hurried forward, clearing his throat. "I'll let everyone know you've arrived."

Nicole waved off the suggestion, her tone breezy and dismissive. "No thanks. Just go on with your day."

"Alright." Carl simply nodded, offering no argument.

The villa felt sterile-bare walls, not a single sign of celebration, not even a wilted bouquet to suggest a wedding was on anyone's mind. Every corner radiated cold indifference, as if her impending marriage didn't warrant the slightest acknowledgment.

Aidan's footsteps echoed behind her, his presence carrying a sharper edge with every stride. The stark pallor of his face, coupled with those frosted eyes, made him seem more apparition than man-dangerous, distant, untouchable.

A cluster of maids lingered at the end of the hallway, their gazes flicking to Aidan with open curiosity. A current of whispers rippled between them, eyes wide as they watched the enigmatic Moore family's heir stride by before their eyes.

Nicole and Aidan passed through the front garden's manicured paths and into the icy quiet of the living room.

From deep within the villa, Cathy's shrill voice cut through the silence. "Finally, that headache's out of my hair. Now this place can actually breathe."

"Don't say that, Mom. Nicole's had it rough," interjected Marissa, her words dripping with sickly-sweet false concern.

"How can you possibly defend her after yesterday? I told you-treat her like she's already gone. The moment she stepped out, you lost your sister."

Brody's reply came cold and measured. "Right now, the only thing that matters is making sure the Moore family never hears about her past. If that gets out, we're finished."

From the edge of the room, a smooth, unfamiliar voice sliced through the tension. "What kind of past could be so disastrous you'd rather erase your own family than face it?"

Cathy jolted, startled by the intrusion. She turned around, only to freeze as her eyes landed on Aidan.

She hadn't even known what he looked like. Now, confronted with a tall, sharply handsome figure radiating cold composure, she felt completely thrown. He was nothing like the fragile, dying man she'd imagined.

Her confusion deepened, but her mouth outran her thoughts. She jabbed a finger at Nicole, voice trembling with fury. "You shameless brat! Sneaking out with your lover and parading him here-have you lost your senses? Do you want to drag this family down with you?"

A dry, almost mocking laugh slipped from Nicole. Cathy, clueless as ever, actually managed to insult Aidan.

Nicole's eyes glittered with amusement as she muttered to herself, "This was about to get interesting."

Marissa's stare lingered, locked onto this stranger. She scanned him from head to toe-tall, impeccably put together, with the kind of silent strength that could shift the atmosphere of a room.

Aidan didn't bother to speak; he didn't need to. His very presence commanded the space, towering over six feet, and the sharp, sculpted lines of his face only made his cold eyes more intimidating.

Marissa gasped sharply, her chest tightening. Every inch of him pulsed with lethal realism.

She forced her lips into a sympathetic curve and let her voice drip with fake concern. "Nicole, now that you're married, you can't keep acting like a single woman. No husband would stand for that, you know."

Nicole met Marissa's gaze with a flash of annoyance, recognizing the jab for what it was-an accusation dressed up as advice. Marissa's words landed like a slap, painting Nicole as unfaithful in front of everyone.

Without missing a beat, Nicole let her eyes drift to Aidan, reading nothing from his impassive features but the familiar chill lurking beneath his calm.

A slow, knowing smirk lifted the corner of Nicole's mouth. "So you're saying the man beside me has turned into a disgrace? Weren't all of you the ones who arranged this marriage? Or am I supposed to believe my husband's somehow turned into an unspeakable shame overnight?"

Marissa's mask faltered. For a moment, her polished composure splintered-leaving her at a rare and wordless loss.