Kazia
I move my hand across the bed, searching for Aidan but the empty space beside me feels cold. He's gone—and judging by the chill, he's been gone for a while. I open my eyes and glance around the room, hoping to see him but he's nowhere.
I try to get up, but the soreness between my legs stops me. I clutch the duvet tight to my chest as I recall last night's activity. My face flushes at the memory.
It was my first time. It was painful at first but after a while my pain was replaced with pleasure.
"Stop it," I mutter, lightly tapping my cheeks as they grow warm with embarrassment.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
I gasp and look toward the nightstand. Aidan's voice! But it isn't him—it's a voice message from a device sitting on the nightstand. My initial fear shifts to amazement.
Oh my! How thoughtful of him to leave a message. But how did this gadget work? How did it know when I woke up? I've never seen anything like it. I wish he's here in person.
A loud growl from my stomach reminds me of my hunger, I didn't eat last night. Ignoring the soreness, I slide out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen. To my surprise, breakfast awaits me on the counter. Aidan must have prepared it before leaving.
Grinning, I take a seat and dig in. Two sandwiches and a cup of steaming tea, Gosh! I feel more like myself again. My husband truly is the best. If I had known marriage would feel this good I would have married as soon as I turned eighteen.
After breakfast, I head back to the room. The bed is a mess—remnants of last night still evident. My hair is a tangled disaster, and I feel sticky all over.
A hot shower was all it took to fix my physical discomfort, washing away my soreness and leaving me refreshed. I change the sheets, then lie back on the freshly made bed.
With no phone to occupy me, I decide to browse the internet using the TV. Thank God for modern technology. I don't even need a phone to stay connected.
As I scroll through the news, a headline stops me cold: "Businessman Johnson Armani's son Involved in a Fatal Accident With His Wife." Beneath the headline is an image of Aidan's car, flipped upside down.
My chest tightens. That bridge… it's the tallest in Accura City. How did we survive?
I click on a video accompanying the article. The footage shows the scene of the accident—a short clip focusing on the emergency exit beneath the car. An emergency exit? Beneath a car? I've never heard of such a thing.
The door creaks open, and I quickly turn off the TV. Aidan walks in, removing his jacket and hanging it neatly on the coat rack.
"I missed you," he says, his voice warm as he leans down to kiss me.
"Did you eat breakfast?" he asks, removing the rest of his clothes.
"Yes. Thank you," I reply.
"How are you?"
"Hmm?"
"Down there… does it hurt?"
Heat floods my face as I realize what he means. "A little," I mutter, barely audible.
"Do you want me to kiss the pain away?" he teases, his voice laced with mischief.
"No!" I say quickly, my embarrassment growing.
I watch as he changes into casual clothes—simple yet stylish. Compared to the formal attire he wore earlier, this look is more relaxed.
"I saw the news," I venture cautiously. "Does your family know we're okay?"
"I don't care if they know or not," he says flatly. "It's not like they've ever cared about me."
His words leave me at a loss. Even if Aidan is indifferent, I feel the need to reach out to his father, It seems only polite to let him know we're safe.
"We've been gone for days," Aidan continues, "yet no one has put up missing posters. My father probably cares more about the company than his incompetent son."
I don't know what to say. I don't understand the complicated relationship between Aidan and his father, so it's not my place to judge. Still, it feels odd. If I went missing, my father would turn the city upside down to find me.
"That day…" I begin hesitantly, "how did we survive? That bridge is so high, yet here we are, barely injured."
"The car had a protective shield," Aidan explains. "It's a custom model, one you can't find on the market."
"So only you have this type?"
"Exactly."
Wow. I can hardly wrap my head around it. Such advanced technology must be outrageously expensive. Aidan's father doesn't even have one. How did Aidan afford it? I dont believe his father would pay him a fortune for doing absolutely nothing, especially given their strained relationship.
"I'm heading out. Want to come along?" Aidan asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
"No," I reply. I feel very weak right now.
The door opens and closes behind him, and just like that, he's gone again. A wave of sadness washes over me. This isn't the 'first time' I expected. Don't get me wrong—last night was amazing, but the aftermath leaves me feeling hollow.
I had imagined us spending the whole day in bed, cuddling and talking about the experience—just like in the movies. But that didn't happen. Should I have asked him to stay? No. I was the one who initiated things last night, I don't want to come across as desperate.
Clutching the duvet to my chest, I fight back the tears threatening to fall. Why am I so emotional over this? I should focus on more pressing matters—like the lack of an investigation into the accident. Why hasn't there been more coverage? The internet has nothing beyond that one news report I read earlier.
I think I will leave that aside for now, I need to get dressed—I've been on bathrobe since morning.
I rummage through Aidan's closet, searching for something comfortable to wear. As I pull out some clothes, I hear a soft click. I must have touched something by mistake.
I look towards the source of the sound and find a hidden compartment; its opened.
My breath catches in my throat as I sight the four guns neatly arranged inside the compartment, along with strange-looking bullets. They aren't like anything I've seen before.
The clothes in my hands drop to the floor. My body trembles as I stare at the weapons.
What is he doing with these? Why would Aidan need guns? My mind races, as fear begins to creep in.