Chapter 9: The Agreement

Charlotte's POV:

Richard Kingsley seemed extremely angry as he fixed his piercing gaze on the butler, Morris, and demanded, "Where is Alexander? Why isn't he back yet?"

"Sir, the Mr.Alexander isn't answering his phone," Morris replied with his customary deference.

Richard struck the hardwood floor forcefully with his cane. "He is asking for trouble!"

Just then, the sound of a powerful engine broke the tense atmosphere. Through the window, I saw a gleaming black Mercedes pull up. Alexander stepped out, wearing a perfectly tailored suit, his expression remaining cold as ice as he walked into the living room.

Before Richard could speak, Victoria stood up, her face adorned with a carefully crafted yet fake smile.

"Alexander," she said, her tone full of insinuation. "You spent last night with Karen, why didn't you come back together this morning?"

I watched as Alexander dispassionately glanced at Karen Barrett, who was sitting elegantly on a nearby sofa, then his gaze fell on me. Today, I was wearing my usual comfortable home clothes, feeling like a misplaced outsider in this environment of luxury.

Alexander showed no intention of explaining; he seemed content merely observing the drama unfold.

"Morris, please show our guest out," Richard commanded, his expression growing darker. "It's Alexander's first day as a newlywed. He and Charlotte need to visit the memorial hall to pay respects to their mother. We can't accommodate outsiders today."

Karen rose gracefully. "Uncle Richard, I'll visit another time then."

"Dad, Karen isn't an outsider," Victoria protested, "her family has had connections with ours for decades—"

"What, do you also want to leave the Kingsley household?" Richard's sharp gaze made Victoria flinch. "If you want to go, no one will stop you. Morris, escort our guest out!"

Morris approached Karen, ever loyal to Richard. "Miss Barrett, please."

Karen gave Alexander a lingering look, clearly hoping he would intervene. But apart from his initial glance, his gaze never returned to her, and she had no choice but to leave.

Back in our room, the space contained only Alexander and me once again. Finding ourselves alone together, I reminded myself: If he doesn't provoke me, I won't provoke him. If he does, I'll certainly return the favor.

Alexander stood with his back to the window, his silhouette looking extra intense against the light. "You walk in and suddenly it reeks in here," he said, not bothering to hide how much I got under his skin.

I wasn't about to back down. "Last I checked, we're sharing the same planet. And I plan on sticking around, so maybe the big shot boss of Kingsley should blast off to Mars if my stink is too much for your delicate nose."

He squinted and stepped closer. "Charlotte Cole, I can't stand the sight of you."

"Donate those eyeballs then, buddy. Guaranteed you won't have to deal with this face ever again," I fired back, chin up like I owned the place.

He looked me up and down with an ice-cold smirk. "So, this is the real you, huh?"

"Nah, this is just the preview version. The full package? You haven't earned that access yet." Despite him towering over me, I locked eyes and didn't flinch.

His expression underwent a subtle change—still smiling, but a chill penetrated me.

"Very well," he said deliberately, each word as cold as ice forming on a winter pond.

My heart raced, but I refused to show any sign of fear.

Morris's knock on the door rescued me just in time, and I hurriedly averted my gaze, afraid that if we continued, my eyes would betray my unease.

"Your acting is mediocre," Alexander commented, with a hint of amusement in his voice, as if he had seen through my pretense.

"Good enough for what I need." I answered briefly, then turned toward the closet, taking out a simple black outfit from my still-unpacked suitcase.

After the memorial service, we returned to our suite. I stood by the window, gathering my thoughts, then called out to Alexander as he prepared to leave.

"Can we talk?"

He turned, eyebrows raised. "What, your father sent you to talk to me already?"

"My father?" I couldn't hide my confusion. "What about my family?"

A flicker of confusion and uncertainty passed through his eyes before he changed the subject. "What do you want to talk about?"

I took a deep breath and organized my thoughts. "Just two things," I explained. "First, when we visit my family, let's try to act normal. If my parents discover that we can't stand each other, they'll demand a divorce, which would go against your father's wishes. I don't know what threats he used to make you marry me, but if I start demanding a divorce, you'll be affected too."

Without waiting for his reaction, I continued: "Second: let's move out. Victoria and I don't get along, and staying here will only deepen your family's internal conflicts. If we live elsewhere, I won't interfere with your whereabouts. You can spend nights with Miss Barrett, and if necessary, I can even cover for you."

I looked directly into his eyes. "These two suggestions benefit us both. What do you think?"

Alexander gave me the squinty once-over. "Charlotte Cole, what makes you think I'd play ball with your little scheme?"

"Because it's basically a gift basket for you," I fired back, keeping the upper hand. "Need to sleep on it?"

He invaded my personal bubble, and I instinctively backed up. "Whoa, dude. If it's a yes, say yes. If it's a no, say no. Why you all up in my grill?"

"You're too vertically challenged to be throwing down terms with me," he smirked, looking down at me like I was a garden gnome.

"I..." I glanced at my legs, then up at his skyscraper frame. "If you wanna bail, just bail! No need to come for my height, man!"

Next thing, his face cracked into this smug grin like he'd just scored the winning point. But it didn't last—he fake-coughed twice, killed the smile, and grabbed his fancy jacket off the couch, headed for the exit.

"Rocking a jacket in this scorcher? You'll be sweating buckets!" I hollered after him. "That's what you get for dissing my short legs!"

As he left, I caught the slight upward curve of his lips—he was still mocking me! This realization infuriated me somewhat, and I vowed to win our next argument.