C7 7

By the time Chloe returned to Square Garden, it was already past midnight.

She pushed open the front door to find the apartment swathed in darkness. There was no "lived-in" feel to the place—no lingering scent of cooking, no warmth, just a sterile, echoing chill.

David must be truly busy, she thought. Always leaving early and returning late, or away on business. No wonder this place feels so cold.

Chloe did a quick sweep of the rooms to confirm he wasn't there. Since it was this late, she assumed he was likely staying overnight at his office. She double-locked the main door, but after a moment of thought, she began rummaging through the sparse furniture until she found a pair of his slippers.

She placed the men's slippers just outside the front door, then came back in and threw the deadbolt. She flicked off the living room lights and retreated to her bedroom.

She pulled a pair of pajamas from her suitcase, decided to leave the rest of her unpacking for the morning, and took a quick hot shower. Exhausted and drained, she collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

Meanwhile, at the Toronto Grand Hotel.

Surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards, David strode out of the luxury hotel owned by his family’s conglomerate. He had just finalized a massive deal with a major client, whom he had personally settled into the presidential suite. Remembering the wife he had just registered with that morning, he decided to head back to the apartment.

"Lord, shall we go to the Manor or the Hilltop Villa?" one of the bodyguards asked.

The Manor was the ancestral home of the Jones family, while the Hilltop Villa was David’s private residence where he spent most of his time, only returning to the Manor occasionally for family dinners.

"Go to Square Garden," David commanded in a low voice. As he stepped into the Rolls-Royce, he added, "And make sure my new BMW business van is driven over there for me."

The van was his "camouflage" for the secret identity he was maintaining. What was her name again?

"By the way... what is the Young Lady’s name?"

David couldn't be bothered to dig out his marriage certificate. He vaguely recalled his grandmother looking at it earlier and perhaps she hadn't given it back yet. Either way, he didn't have it on him.

The bodyguards went silent for a beat. "...The Young Lady's surname is Bishop, and her name is Chloe. She is twenty-five years old. Please try to remember it, Lord."

Their Lord had an impeccable memory for business, but when it came to people he deemed unimportant—especially women—he was effectively a blank slate. He could see the same person every day and still have no idea who they were.

"Mhm. Got it," David grunted.

From his tone, the bodyguards knew with absolute certainty that he would forget it again by tomorrow.

David didn't want to waste any more mental energy on the woman. He leaned back against the leather seat and closed his eyes to rest. The drive from the hotel to Square Garden took only ten minutes.

The luxury motorcade stopped just outside the gates of the complex. David swapped into the domestic BMW van and drove into the residential area alone. He might have forgotten his wife's name, but he certainly remembered the location of the apartment he had just purchased.

He reached the door of Unit 808 but froze when he saw a pair of familiar slippers sitting in the hallway. Are those mine?

Why are they out here? Did she throw them out?

David’s gaze turned icy, his handsome face tightening. He had initially felt a shred of gratitude toward the girl who saved his grandmother, but that goodwill had evaporated under his grandmother's constant praise and her insistence that he marry her.

He was convinced Chloe was a deeply scheming woman.

He had only agreed to the marriage to appease his grandmother, but he had already made up his mind: he would hide his identity and scrutinize her character. If she proved herself worthy, they would be a real couple. If he discovered she had manipulated his grandmother into this... she would regret the day she met him. No one who tried to play David ever ended up with a happy ending.

He pulled out his keys to unlock the door, but the lock wouldn't budge. Realizing the woman inside had deadbolted the door, his annoyance flared into genuine anger.

This is MY house!

I let her move in, and she locks me out?

In a fit of temper, David kicked the door. THUD! THUD! THUD!

Simultaneously, he pulled out his phone and initiated a Whatsapp voice call. This time, he had saved her contact as "Wife - Chloe" specifically so he wouldn't accidentally delete her again.

Inside, Chloe was jolted awake.

It was the middle of the night—who was banging on the door like they were trying to break it down? Chloe had a bit of a "bedhead temper"; she hated being woken up. She threw off her covers and stomped out of her room in her pajamas, fuming.

Her phone was still in her bedroom, so she didn't see the incoming call.

"Who is it?! It's the middle of the night! Why are you kicking my door?!" she shouted as she wrenched the door open.

The words died in her throat as she saw the man standing there. It took her several seconds to register who he was. Her angry scowl instantly vanished, replaced by a sheepish, awkward smile. "Oh... Mr. Jones. It’s you."

David’s temper was already at a boiling point from her not answering the call. He didn't even look at her; with a face as dark as thunder, he brushed past her and strode into the apartment.

Chloe poked her behind his back. The joys of a flash marriage, she thought.

She peeked into the hallway to make sure his shouting and kicking hadn't woken the neighbors. Seeing the slippers, she bent down, picked them up, and brought them inside before re-locking the door.

"When I got back at midnight, you weren't here, so I figured you weren't coming home. That’s why I locked the bolt," she explained as she followed him in.

"Also, since I’m the only woman here, I put your slippers outside as a safety precaution. If anyone saw a man's shoes at the door, they'd know there’s a man in the house and wouldn't dare try anything."

She may have trained in Kickboxing and wasn't afraid of thugs, but she was still big on home security.

David sat down on the sofa, his dark, brooding eyes fixed on her. His gaze was sharp enough to cut.

October nights were cool, but under his stare, Chloe felt like she had skipped autumn and gone straight into the dead of winter. It was freezing.

"Mr. Jones, I’m sorry." She walked over and placed his slippers by his feet, her voice soft with apology. She really should have called to check if he was coming back.

After a long, heavy silence, David spoke, his voice cold. "I told you that you didn't need to worry about me, but this is my home. Being locked out of my own house makes me very unhappy."

"I’m sorry, really. It won't happen again. Next time I'll call and ask if you're coming home before I lock up."

David remained silent for a moment before replying, "If I’m going on a business trip, I will tell you in advance. If I don't say anything, assume I am coming home every night. Don't call me to ask; I’m busy and I don't have time for pointless phone calls."

"Oh. Okay," Chloe replied.

His house, his rules, she figured. He's the boss.

"Mr. Jones, would you like a midnight snack?" she asked tentatively, thinking he might be hungry after working so late.

"I never eat at night," he snapped. "It'll make me put on weight."