Aiden POV: 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

After that little banter with Alexia, she finally shut up. Though, knowing her, she was probably scheming some way to get back at me. I’d have to stay on guard—her pinches still hurt. Seriously, where does she get that strength? She’d better not try that again.

I focused on the road, speeding toward the best boutique in town. This stop was necessary; her wardrobe needed an upgrade, and I wasn’t about to endure another fiasco like this morning. As I drove, I kept checking my rearview mirror, scanning for any lingering paparazzi.

I hate those pests. They’re like flies—always buzzing around, feeding off scraps of drama, and refusing to go away until you squash them. If I weren’t so used to this lifestyle, I’d probably lose it. They didn’t just follow you; they hounded you, desperate to capture any moment they could twist into a headline.

It didn’t help that Alexia unknowingly fueled their interest. Her fiery attitude and unfiltered antics made for great tabloid fodder. They’d already be speculating about that staged "kiss." Fantastic. Just what I needed: another layer of chaos to this charade.

Pulling up to the boutique, I parked and glanced at Alexia. She was glaring out the window, her arms crossed. Great, she was still fuming.

"Let’s make this quick," I muttered, stepping out of the car.

This shopping trip couldn’t end fast enough.

Dragging Alexia into the mall felt like leading a reluctant puppy to the vet. She sulked, scowled, and muttered under her breath, which I pretended not to hear. This shopping trip wasn’t just a luxury—it was damage control. If she was going to parade around as my fiancée, she needed to look the part. No more shabby hoodies, ancient sneakers, or wrinkled SpongeBob pajamas.

Walking into the boutique, I braced myself. Alexia change was immediate and sharp contrast to how she was sulking earlier, now she was practically bouncing with excitement, her eyes lighting up as though this place was some magical wonderland. I, on the other hand, was mentally drafting a checklist. Official gowns, cocktail dresses, designer bags, and—ugh—nightwear. If we were doing this charade, she needed to look the part.

The boutique was lavish, as expected, with rows of clothing that screamed "wealth" and "power." Perfect.

"Wow," she said flatly, eyeing a display of tailored blazers. "This place looks like a rich person exploded in here."

I rolled my eyes. "You’re welcome," I said, brushing past her and heading straight to the racks. "We’re not leaving until you have everything you need."

"You mean everything you need me to wear," she shot back, trailing behind me.

Ignoring her sarcasm, I began selecting clothes. First on my list were gowns and formal wear. If Alexia was going to accompany me to official events, she needed to look stunning. I picked out an emerald green gown with a sleek silhouette that I knew would compliment her figure. Then a midnight blue dress with subtle sequins that caught the light just right.

Alexia darted straight toward a rack of casual wear. Hoodies, jeans, and—was that a T-shirt with a cartoon chicken on it? Seriously?

"Oh my gosh, look at this!" she squealed, holding up a pastel hoodie covered in sparkles and a random motivational quote. "Isn’t it adorable?"

"It’s hideous," I deadpanned, not even glancing up from the sleek black gown I was examining. The neckline and subtle embellishments screamed sophistication. Perfect for a charity gala or a corporate dinner.

"Excuse me, it’s cute," she retorted, hugging the hoodie like it was a prized possession. "You wouldn’t understand."

"You’re right," I replied. "I wouldn’t."

"You can have as many hoodies as you want," I said, waving dismissively. "Just don’t expect me to care."

She gasped theatrically. "You mean you’re giving me free reign over the casual wear section? Be still, my heart!"

I ignored her and moved on to selecting office-appropriate outfits—sharp blouses, pencil skirts, tailored trousers. Alexia, meanwhile, was gleefully plucking out sweatpants, ripped jeans, and casual dresses, tossing them into a growing pile.

"You’re like a kid in a candy store," I muttered as she cooed over a particularly vibrant hoodie.

"And you’re like a robot in a suit store," she shot back. "Do you even own a single piece of clothing that isn’t gray, black, or navy?"

Touché.

While she twirled around in front of a mirror holding up some floral sundress, I moved through the store like a man on a mission. Gowns with flawless tailoring, dresses with elegant lines—everything screamed wealth and status. Each item was more expensive than anything she’d probably ever seen, and I made sure they were all in her size.

As long as she wasn’t wearing those old rags again, I didn’t care what she picked from the casual section. Hoodies, jeans, sweatpants—fine. She could prance around in those when no one important was looking. But for official events? That was my domain, and I wasn’t about to compromise.

Midway through my search, I caught sight of her tugging on a stretchy pair of yoga pants with star patterns. "Are those for actual exercise?" I asked dryly.

"No," she said, sticking her tongue out. "They’re for being comfortable. You should try it sometime."

"Comfort is overrated," I muttered, tossing a midnight-blue gown into the growing pile of selections.

She rolled her eyes and wandered off again. I sighed, following at a distance to ensure she didn’t sneak any fashion disasters into the pile.

After what felt like an eternity, we finished up at the boutique. I arranged for everything to be delivered to my place, leaving Alexia with only the clothes she was wearing. That should’ve been the end of it, but no—there was one more stop on my list.

My real mission wasn’t just about her day-to-day clothes or formal wear. Something had to be done about her sleepwear and under garments. The memory of her this morning, wearing that faded SpongeBob pajama set, was burned into my mind. It wasn’t just embarrassing—it was unacceptable.

I gestured for her to follow me out of the boutique, much to her confusion.

"Where are we going now?" she asked, clutching her pile of casual wear.

"To solve another problem," I said cryptically.

Victorian Secret.

The moment we stepped inside, Alexia froze. "Uh... Aiden? What is this place?"

I smirked. "Women’s undergarments."

Her jaw dropped. "What?!" She spun around, looking like she was ready to bolt.

"Don’t even think about it," I warned, grabbing her wrist before she could make a run for it.

"Nope. No way. I’m not doing this!" she protested, trying to wiggle free.

"Absolutely not," she said, backing away. "Nope. No way. Not happening."

"Relax," I said, grabbing her arm before she could bolt. "It’s just a store."

"It’s a lingerie store!" she hissed, her face turning an impressive shade of red.

"Stop being dramatic," I said, dragging her further inside.

She tried planting her feet, but I was stronger. "Why are we even here?" she hissed, her face already turning red.

"Because you’re not going to keep wearing those," I replied coolly. "And don’t even think about pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. Those ragged, faded things you probably bought in high school? Yeah, no. Not happening."

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Finally, she resorted to covering her face with her hands. "This is so embarrassing," she mumbled.

As we continued stepping in, her embarrassment was palpable. She kept her head down, hands covering her face, while I walked confidently to the nearest display. If she was going to act like a shy teenager, fine. I’d handle this myself.

Ignoring her, I began browsing the racks. "What’s your size again?" I asked, scanning the labels.

"I’m not telling you!" she squeaked, peeking at me through her fingers.

I sighed. "Fine. I’ll guess."

Her eyes widened in horror as I held up a lacy set. "This looks about right."

"Aiden!" she yelped, yanking it out of my hands and shoving it back on the rack.

I smirked. "Relax. I’ve been shopping for clothes all day. This is just more fabric."

"Fabric?" she echoed, incredulous. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"What do you think of this?" I held up a sleek satin nightgown in a soft blush color.

Her hands parted slightly as she peeked through her fingers. "I think I’m dying inside."

"Good to know," I said, tossing it into the basket.

Every time I picked something—lace, satin, silk—Alexia let out a little squeak of protest. When I held up a matching set that was particularly bold, she nearly fainted.

"No way," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "I am not wearing that."

"You’d rather wear SpongeBob?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely," she declared, crossing her arms.

I smirked, leaning in slightly. "Do you really want to explain to the paparazzi why you’re wearing cartoon characters to bed because those guys can get photos of you in your sleep when they get the opportunity?"

She groaned, burying her face in her hands again. "You’re the worst."

"And you’re impossible," I replied. "Now pick something, or I’ll do it for you."

By the time we’d gone through a dozen options (and by "we," I mean me selecting while she alternated between glaring and hiding her face), her embarrassment had reached its peak. She kept muttering about how this was "beyond humiliating" and how she’d "never forgive me for this."

"Oh, stop complaining," I said as I handed her a soft silk nightgown. "You’ll thank me later when you realize what real clothes feel like."

She snatched it from me, her face still burning. "You’re the worst."

"And yet, here you are," I shot back.

By the time we left the store, I thought I could finally breathe. Wrong.

"This is your fault," she muttered as we walked back to the car.

"You’re welcome," I replied, opening the car door for her.

She climbed in, sulking. "You think you’re so clever, don’t you?"

I smirked, getting into the driver’s seat. "No. I know I am."

"Stop complaining. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?" I told her.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Oh, I’ll stop complaining—right after I burn that ridiculous lingerie you bought."

"You do that, and I’ll buy ten more sets," I said, smirking.

Back in the car, Alexia let out a dramatic groan. "I’m starving."

I frowned. "What are you talking about? You ate a stack of pancakes this morning that could’ve fed a small army."

"That was hours ago!" she whined, clutching her stomach.

"It’s been two hours."

She turned to glare at me. "Do you want me to starve?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to muster patience. "Fine. I’ll take you to get food. Just stop nagging."

"I’m not nagging," she shot back. "I’m making a perfectly reasonable request. Unlike you dragging me into a lingerie store, by the way!"

"You’re never going to let that go, are you?" I muttered, pulling into the nearest restaurant.

"Nope," she said cheerfully, already perking up at the sight of food.