Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 50: No Funny Business

Chapter 50: No Funny Business

The moment we stepped outside, the cool night air hit us. Vanessa shivered against me, her fingers curling into the fabric of my suit jacket. I tightened my grip, adjusting her weight in my arms as I strode toward the car. She nestled her face against my shoulder, her breath warm on my neck. Desire jolted through me.

"You’re a menace when you’re drunk," I muttered.

"Menace to society," she slurred, her words slow and syrupy. "That’s me." Her fingers traced idle patterns against my chest, and I sucked in steadying breaths. The barest touch of her skin against mine was enough to make me shudder.

Malone opened the car’s back door, and I ducked inside, stretching across the red leather seats to carefully deposit my passed-out bride. She slumped back, her eyelids fluttering as I buckled her in.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

I paused, my fingers lingering near her collarbone. "Where do you want to go?"

"Wherever you are," she said on a sigh. Then her head lolled to the side, her body surrendering to exhaustion.

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to look away. Wherever you are. Those words shouldn’t have hit me like a punch to the gut. But they did.

The engine purred to life as Malone pulled away from the venue. The city lights blurred past us, streaks of gold and white against the black sky, but I barely noticed them. My attention was fixed on Vanessa, her head lolling slightly against the seat as she dozed.

There was something painfully intimate about watching her sleep—the way her lips parted slightly, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers curled loosely in her lap. Even her little pig snore, ridiculous as it was, made my throat tighten with affection.

Her lashes cast delicate half-moon shadows on her cheeks, and in the dim glow of passing streetlights, she looked almost ethereal. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, trusting—made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t explain.

My pulse thrummed unevenly, warmth spreading through me as I studied every detail: the way her hair spilled over her shoulder, the faint flush on her skin from the champagne, the tiny crease between her brows.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I brushed a stray curl from her forehead. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft, and the simple contact made my pulse race.

"I only have you in my heart," I murmured, the words slipping out in a whisper so quiet I barely recognized my own voice. The moment I said it, my stomach twisted—part fear, part longing. What if she heard?

What if she didn’t?

Her breathing remained steady, her body limp. My words stayed a secret.

By the time we reached my penthouse, Vanessa was dead weight in my arms. I carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind me before heading straight for the bedroom.

Gently, I laid her down on the mattress, then hesitated. She was still in her dress, her heels dangling precariously from her toes.

"Vanessa," I said softly, shaking her shoulder. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

"Baby, you need to change into...." I trailed off. The realization hit me then—this was the first time Vanessa had slept in my bed. We didn’t live together, not yet, but after everything that had happened, it had felt completely natural to bring her here. To guide her through the front door, up the stairs, and into our bedroom.

Our bedroom.

The thought lingered, unfamiliar yet strangely right. But no—it was just my bedroom. At least, it always had been. Until now.

I glanced around, suddenly hyper-aware of the space. The sheets were rumpled from where she had shifted in her sleep, her presence already leaving an imprint. My usual solitude felt different with her here, like the air itself had shifted to accommodate her.

She’d never stayed the night before, never needed to. Which meant she didn’t have any spare clothes here. The best I could offer was one of my T-shirts—something simple, oversized, but undeniably mine. The idea of her wearing it sent a quiet thrill through me, a possessive heat I hadn’t expected.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. This was new territory, uncharted and fragile. But as I watched her sleep, the tension in my chest eased. Maybe it didn’t have to be complicated. Maybe, for now, it was enough that she was here.

"Neenie? I need you to cooperate."

She groaned, swatting at my hand. "Go away."

I exhaled, rubbing my temples. Right. Drunk Vanessa was stubborn Vanessa.

After a brief internal debate, I decided practicality won over propriety. I carefully slid her heels off, then reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.

The second my fingers made contact, her eyes flew open.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, suddenly very awake.

"Helping you," I said dryly. "Unless you want to sleep in that very uncomfortable evening gown."

She narrowed her eyes, then flopped back onto the pillows. "Fine. But no funny business."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

Oh, yes I would.

In fact, I would do a lot more than dream. But for now, I unzipped her dress, keeping my touch clinical as I helped her out of her clothing, leaving her in a mouthwatering set of lacy black underwear and bra.

I was not going to take off the bra—because I didn’t want to be accused of seeing her boobs without her permission.

But man, did I want to peek.

Then I grabbed one of my shirts from the closet and handed it to her. "Here."

She took it, her fingers brushing mine. For a second, neither of us moved. Then she yanked the shirt over her head.

I turned away before she could see my smile.

By the time I returned from changing into sweatpants, Vanessa was curled up under the blankets.

I slid in beside her, keeping a careful distance. I did not trust myself around her. Not when I remembered what it was like to touch her. Kiss her. Thrust into her.

Nope. Do not think about fourth life sex. Do not think about fourth life sex. Do not think—

"I’m cold," she mumbled into the pillow. Then she wiggled her way across the bed and draped herself over my body. My body liked this very much. Too much.

"We should sleep further apart," I said through gritted teeth.

"No."

"You’re killing me, you know that?"

"Mmm."

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her tight against me. She sighed, her body relaxing into mine. Within seconds, her breathing evened out again, her body going limp against mine.

I stayed awake longer, mostly to think calming thoughts so I didn’t give in to my baser needs. Finally, I slipped out of Vanessa’s arms and the comfy bed to take a shower.

A very cold, very long shower.

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, and I winced before I even opened my eyes.

Vanessa was gone.

The sheets beside me were cold, the indent of her body already faded. I sat up, running a hand through my hair as I scanned the room. No note. No text. Really?

I dragged myself out of bed, the events of last night replaying in my head—Vanessa drunk and defiant, Fiona’s possessive grip, Carver’s stupid lollipop.

I should’ve thrown him out a window.

The acrid smell of food burning assailed me before I reached the kitchen.

I rounded the corner to find Vanessa standing at the stove, a pan of charred... something in front of her. Her hair was piled into a messy bun, my shirt hanging off one shoulder, and she was scowling at the smoke.

"Are you cooking or committing arson?" I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

She didn’t turn around. "A little of both, although I was making breakfast."

I pushed off the wall and moved behind her, peering into the pan. "What was it supposed to be?"

"Eggs."

"Hmm." I reached around her to turn off the burner. "Looks more like a crime scene."

I caught her wrist, turning her to face me. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked pissed. And adorable. "How about I take you out to eat?"

"In this T-shirt? Or the evening gown that smells like champagne and shame?"

I pulled my phone from the pocket of my sweatpants and called Malone. "Get me a selection of dresses in size small. Half an hour."

"Wow. You are so rich."

"You are, too."

"I’m Belmont rich. It’s not the same as Jang rich."

"You’re my wife, so you are also Jang rich."

She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, my phone rang. I answered, "Malone, this better be good. I’m taking my wife out to breakfast."

"Sir, we have a problem. There’s been an incident at the office ... with Fiona