How To Lose Your Billionaire Alpha Husband In 365 Days (Or Less)!-Chapter 71: Unhelpful...

JASMINE’S POV

After getting dressed, I didn’t go anywhere.

I stayed in my room, curled up in the corner of the window seat, legs tucked beneath me, wrapped in one of the old throw blankets I hadn’t used in months.

It smelled faintly of lavender and dust, an oddly comforting scent. In my hands was one of the half-finished novels I’d abandoned back when my biggest problem had been juggling investor meetings, billion-dollar contracts, and the endless tightrope of boardroom politics.

Funny how simple that all seemed now.

It was supposed to be a distraction. Something to pull me away from everything spiralling in my head.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

The words on the page blurred into meaningless lines, and my eyes skimmed entire paragraphs without actually registering a single sentence.

Still, I didn’t move. \

I didn’t flip the page, didn’t go back to reread, didn’t try to force myself to focus.

I just stayed there, motionless. Like maybe if I stayed still long enough, the world would stop moving too.

I wasn’t sure if I needed quiet, or if I just needed not to think.

Lyra, for once since her... appearance, had gone unusually silent.

No sarcastic remarks. No commentary. No unsolicited emotional feedback. Which, in theory, should’ve been a relief.

It wasn’t.

The silence felt heavy and uneasy, like waiting for a storm to hit. It was like holding your breath, sensing that something was about to happen, even if you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Then my stomach growled loudly, entirely inconsiderate of the moment.

I flinched.

"You should attend to that," Lyra finally said in a dry, clipped, and thoroughly unimpressed tone. "Unless, of course, we’re experimenting with starvation now. In which case, carry on."

I sighed and snapped the book closed with a soft thud. "This is definitely going to take some getting used to."

"Sweetheart," she replied, her voice like a wry smile wrapped in velvet, "you’ve got a wolf in your head and a mate in your kitchen. The learning curve just started climbing Everest."

I blinked. "Wait, he’s in the kitchen?"

"I don’t know. I guessed. But if he is, and you’re about to go downstairs looking like a half-starved emotional hurricane, may I humbly suggest brushing your hair first?"

"I’m not trying to impress him," I muttered, already walking barefoot toward the door.

"Sure. That’s why you picked the tank top that hugs your waist just right and those jeans that show off your post-wolf-glow-up curves. Totally coincidental."

I paused, catching my reflection in the hallway mirror. "You’re imaginary. You don’t get to sass me."

"I live in your head," she countered. "I’m literally sass given form. You made me."

I rolled my eyes and kept moving.

The house was silent, almost too silent. It had that heavy, uneasy quiet that wasn’t comforting at all, more like the silence in a creepy place or right before someone shares a big secret.

As I walked down the hall, every step echoed loudly against the floorboards.

I peeked into the sitting room. Empty.

Dining room? Also empty.

But just as I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I walked straight into a solid wall of muscle and radiant warmth.

I stumbled back a step, startled, letting out a quiet gasp as my hands went up automatically, and landed on someone’s chest.

Someone very warm.

Someone very Aiden.

He froze the same moment I did.

Our eyes locked, and something sharp pulsed between us. That same low hum of tension, electric and heavy, like static right before a thunderstorm cracks open the sky.

"Oh," I breathed. "Didn’t... see you there."

"Clearly," he said in a voice lower than usual, deeper and rougher. "I was just... getting water."

"Right. Water. Great. Essential."

We both stood there awkwardly, like two people pretending they hadn’t just collided chest-to-chest in a scene straight out of a slow-burn romance.

His gaze dipped down to my bare feet, trailing up over the curve of my jeans, pausing just a fraction too long at my collarbone before returning to my face. I resisted the very real urge to tug my tank top higher.

Lyra, naturally, had zero chill.

"Ohhhh, he smells even better up close. Like pine needles, bonfires, and very bad ideas. Why does he always smell like temptation in human form?"

"Lyra—"

"I’m just saying," she went on dreamily, "if he gets any closer, I might actually drool. Through you."

I stiffened, internally mortified.

Aiden cleared his throat, eyes searching mine. "Are you... feeling okay?"

I blinked. Words. Right. I needed to say words.

"I’m fine," I managed, probably too quickly. "Just... hungry."

He nodded slowly, stepping aside to give me space. "There’s soup in the fridge. I made too much."

"You cook?"

"Sometimes," he said with a small shrug. "Especially when I need to stop thinking."

That struck a chord. A little too familiar.

I opened the fridge and found the container. "I’ll just... heat this up."

He moved before I could, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. "Let me."

"I can—"

"I know you can," he said softly. "Let me."

His voice was steady and gentle. The kind of tone that didn’t ask for permission. It just offered... something else. Support? Control? I wasn’t sure. But I let him take over.

He ladled the soup into a bowl, then slid it into the microwave. The quiet that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of everything unsaid, pressing at the edges.

When the microwave beeped, he handed me the bowl with careful fingers. "It’s hot."

"Thanks," I murmured, and when our fingers brushed, neither of us pulled away.

Not right away.

Eventually, I moved to sit at the breakfast bar while he leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching me with something unreadable in his eyes.

"Lyra?" I asked in my head, desperate for a distraction.

"She’s busy," she replied unhelpfully. "Staring at his hands. Look at those forearms. Those veins."

"Seriously?"

"I never joke about forearms."

I sipped the soup, grateful for the warmth, the silence, and even the awkward tension. It was better than the storm in my head.

After a few more bites, I looked up at him. "So... this formal event. The Council thing."

He nodded once. "Tonight. Around eight. They’ll expect us both to attend."

"For appearances," I echoed, repeating his earlier words like they were stuck to my tongue.

His jaw tightened. "I shouldn’t have phrased it that way."

I raised a brow, challenging him silently.

He ran a hand through his hair and stepped closer, the space between us shrinking. "You don’t have to go if you’re not ready."

"I’ll go," I said, a little too fast. "I’m not about to let anyone think I’m falling apart."

He looked at me for a long second, eyes softening. "You’re not."

I looked down. "Feels like I am."

"I know," he said quietly. "But you’re not. I’ve seen what falling apart looks like. And it’s not you."

I didn’t reply. Just kept eating. Slowly.

He hesitated, then added, "I meant what I said before. I’ll protect you. Whether you trust me or not."

My eyes met his again. Steady. Challenging. "It’s not just about trust, Aiden. It’s about what else you’re not saying. About what else is still waiting to drop."

"I told you everything I needed to then."

"No," I said, sharper than I meant to. "You said everything you wanted me to know at that moment. Or did you tell me about the curse?"

Aiden went still.

His shoulders tensed, his gaze locking onto mine. And there it was, that brief flicker in his eyes. The one that came before someone tried to mask the truth too late.

"I—" he started.

But I’d already seen it. I stood up slowly, not breaking eye contact. "Right."

I carried the now-empty soup bowl over to the sink and set it down gently. It took everything in me not to throw it just to feel something crack.

Behind me, he finally found his voice. "H-how did you know about the curse?"

I turned, arms folded across my chest. "So there really is a curse."

He didn’t answer right away.

"Do you know what the curse is?" he finally asked.

"Not at all. I overheard a conversation about some curse but I didn’t wait to find out what it was, thinking you would be gracious enough to share that information. That I was married to a cursed alpha."

"I didn’t want to overwhelm you."

"Right," I muttered. "But, I’ve heard that before."

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jasmine," he admitted. "I thought I had time."

That stopped me.

I looked at him, really looked at him, and realised just how deep that guilt ran. He genuinely hadn’t planned for this. And maybe that was part of the problem.

"I’m not fragile," I said. "You don’t get to make that choice for me. About what I can or can’t handle."

"I know that now."

I didn’t answer. I just turned away and walked toward the door.

"I’ll be ready by eight," I said quietly.

And then I left.

He didn’t try to stop me.

Didn’t call out my name.

Didn’t follow.

He just stood there, still as stone.

As I climbed back up the stairs, Lyra stirred again. This time, she wasn’t being smug or teasing. She was just there, calm and aware.

"He still smells like temptation," she whispered. "Even though he’s keeping something from us."