Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 18

**The Long Didn’t Say by Mark Twain**

**Chapter 18**

**VENUS**

This might just have been the most rejuvenating sleep I’d experienced in what felt like an eternity. As I stretched languidly, rolling over onto a mattress that seemed to cradle me in its softness, I sank into the plushest pillow I had ever encountered.

But wait a minute.

Soft mattress? Fluffy pillow?

This wasn’t my bed.

My eyes flew open, and I shot upright, heart racing. What on earth was happening? I rubbed my eyes vigorously, trying to stitch together the disjointed memories of the previous night.

Mr. Sinclair and I had gone out together. We had been waiting for the car, and then I got inside… and somehow, I must have drifted off. By process of elimination, this had to be his place.

I glanced down at myself, still clad in the same dress from last night. No smudged makeup to betray my slumber, no wrinkled fabric, and thankfully, no unfamiliar aches in my body. He hadn’t touched me. I was certain of it. Mr. Sinclair didn’t even seem to like me. If there was one truth I could rely on, it was that.

My eyes roamed around the room. It was opulent, modern, and remarkably spacious—every inch of it exuded an air of wealth. It was larger than the apartment I had shared with my parents, perhaps even bigger than the entire floor.

With a cautious movement, I slid off the enormous bed, noticing my heels perfectly aligned beside it. I took a sip from the covered glass of water sitting on the nightstand—how considerate—and ventured towards what I hoped would be the bathroom.

First door? Nope. Just a massive, empty closet that seemed to mock me with its emptiness.

Second door? Jackpot! The bathroom was nothing short of breathtaking. It was larger than my entire room back home, adorned with marble counters and featuring a rainfall shower. The gleaming floors sparkled under the light, creating an atmosphere of excess that was utterly captivating.

I spotted a brand-new toothbrush tucked away in the cabinet, quickly freshened up, and made my way out, hoping to find my elusive host.

At the top of the stairs, I hesitated. Two stories. Of course, it would be grand. Following the sound of his voice drifting from downstairs, I traced it to a kitchen that resembled a showroom more than a space for cooking.

And then, there he was.

Aaron was standing by the counter, dressed casually in a white T-shirt and grey sweatpants.

Grey. Sweatpants.

The shirt clung to his body as if it had a personal vendetta against modesty. I had never seen him in anything other than impeccably tailored suits—always buttoned-up, always pristine. But this? This was almost criminal.

Aaron Sinclair could undoubtedly turn heads. Anywhere. Anytime. My heart did a little dance at the sight of him.

I unabashedly took him in—those broad shoulders, toned arms, and the quiet confidence radiating from him as he stood there. I quickly shook myself out of my reverie, rubbing my face. Oh God, please tell me I wasn’t drooling. That would have been a new level of embarrassment.

“Good morning,” I managed to murmur, my voice still thick with sleep.

“Coffee?” he asked, already busy loading beans into the machine with a practiced ease.

“Yes, please.” I watched him move, each action precise and calm, as if nothing in the world could disturb his tranquility.

“You didn’t take me home last night,” I said, my curiosity getting the better of me.

I grabbed a box, poured myself a bowl, and settled down to eat. As I chewed, I remembered my promise to Jude about having coffee with him today. I pulled out my phone for the first time and shot him a quick text, apologizing and asking for a rain check.

Just as I was about to close it, a notification flashed across the screen.

**AARON SINCLAIR AND A MYSTERY WOMAN?**

I clicked on the article, my heart racing.

The headline loomed before me, bold and unyielding. The accompanying photos were from the previous night. My face wasn’t visible, but Aaron’s unmistakably was.

Oh, crap. The flash I thought I’d imagined hadn’t been a figment of my imagination after all.

“Here. Change out of the dress and give it to me,” Aaron’s voice interrupted my thoughts. He stood there holding up what appeared to be a simple black T-shirt. “This is all I could find.”

He tossed it to me with a casual flick of his wrist.

“Thanks,” I replied, gathering my dishes and rinsing them before retreating back to the guest room. I changed into the T-shirt—it was soft and smelled faintly of him—and handed him my dress.

I brushed my hair and twisted it into a messy bun, trying to look at least somewhat presentable. That’s when it hit me.

Today was the day.

The day Mr. Sinclair was going to announce our engagement.