The CEO's Contractual Wife

Chapter 199

Olivia

“You’re quiet,” Alexander observed, watching me with those perceptive eyes that always seemed to see too

much.

“Just enjoying my fish,” I lied, stabbing at the golden batter with more force than necessary.

“Liv.”

“What?”

“You’re massacring your dinner.”

I looked down at my plate, where I’d reduced the perfectly crispy fish to shreds. “I’m just hungry.”

Alexander reached across the table, his hand covering mine. “She means nothing to me. That night was years ago and completely forgettable.”

“Didn’t seem forgettable to her,” I muttered, then immediately regretted it. I sounded petty and jealous, which was ridiculous because we had an arrangement. A business deal. His past hookups were none of my concern.

“Sophie has always had trouble accepting that not everyone falls at her feet,” Alexander said dryly. “Her husband is evidence of that. She collected him like a trophy and treats him like furniture.”

“She’s married and still throws herself at other men?” I asked, genuinely appalled.

“Some people view marriage as a social status rather than a commitment.”

Unlike us, I wanted to say. We’re doing this for business reasons but at least we’re honest about it. Except I couldn’t say that out loud in a crowded pub where anyone might overhear.

“Eat,” Alexander urged, gesturing to my demolished fish. “Before you reduce it to paste.”

I managed a small smile and took an actual bite this time. The fish was delicious, crispy on the outside and flaky on the inside, exactly as he’d promised. But the encounter with Sophie had soured my appetite.

We finished our meal in relative silence, the easy banter from earlier replaced by something heavier. Alexander kept glancing at me like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. When the waitress brought the check, he paid quickly and stood.

“Come on,” he said, offering his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, the evening air had cooled considerably. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I’d brought a warmer jacket.

his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders before I could protest. The fabric carried his warmth and

pulling it

was ready to return to the hotel. The streets of London were alive with evening activity. People spilled out

going?” I

walking. Unless

I said quickly. “Walking is

found mine, fingers

street, away from the main thoroughfares. The buildings here were older, their architecture more ornate. Gas lamps lined the sidewalk, their warm glow

said, breaking the silence. “Different

building has a story. Some of these

centuries.”

“Tell me one.”

“One what?”

About one

pointed to a narrow townhouse with ivy climbing its brick facade. “That’s where Oscar Wilde supposedly

“Really?”

“I have no idea. But it sounds good, doesn’t

despite my lingering bad mood.

“I prefer creative.”

up increasingly ridiculous stories about each one. A bakery became the site of a Victorian bread riot. A bookshop was supposedly haunted by the

said, looking pleased

“What is?”

smile. It’s been

river. The water was dark and smooth, reflecting the lights of the city. Boats glided past,

that bad,” I

stab Sophie with

“I was not!”

got that look in your eyes. The one you get when

don’t have a

do. It’s terrifying and

him, making him

his voice dropping to something

clenched. “I’m

“Then what are you?”

entirely a lie. “She was disrespectful. To both of us. And

that’s