Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 21

**The Long Didn’t Say by Mark Twain**

**Chapter 21**

**VENUS**

He took the only bag I had managed to pack in a hurry and placed it in the trunk of his car. The drive to his penthouse was quiet, filled with an uneasy tension that hung in the air between us. Upon arriving, he effortlessly carried my bag upstairs, his silence speaking volumes. I felt a whirlwind of emotions, still a bit shaken by the events that had transpired.

Aaron began to show me around his lavish penthouse, his demeanor oddly protective, hovering around me more than usual. Before he left for an appointment, he checked on me several times, asking if I was alright. “Make yourself at home,” he urged, his voice laced with concern. It was a stark contrast to the cold, composed Mr. Sinclair I was used to, and I found myself appreciating his tenderness, even if it felt foreign.

Later on, a stylist arrived to take my measurements for clothing that would suit this new chapter of my life. Once she left, I felt the urge to reach out to my mom and Gianna. I dialed Gianna’s number, and as soon as she picked up, I recounted the chaotic events of the past few days. True to her fiery personality, she launched into a tirade of graphic threats about what she would do to Billy if she ever had the chance. Her dark humor was a much-needed balm for my soul, making me laugh and momentarily lifting my spirits.

With a newfound sense of determination, I raided Aaron’s fridge, discovering a treasure trove of ice cream and cookies hidden in his pantry. If I had my way, I would happily reside in that kitchen for the rest of my days, indulging in sweet treats and culinary delights.

Aaron had told me to choose any room I liked, so I gravitated back to the one I had occupied that very morning. I fell asleep with a half-eaten bowl of ice cream resting beside me, surrendering to the exhaustion that had built up over the week.

A week has passed since then.

My mom has begun her chemotherapy treatment.

And Mr. Sinclair? He has been avoiding me as if I were carrying a contagious disease.

It has been a full seven days since I last laid eyes on him. The only evidence of his existence was an envelope I discovered on the table this morning. Inside, I found a sleek black card, its password scribbled on a note, along with a reminder of our wedding date. How romantic, I thought sarcastically.

I had never seen a black card up close until this moment, and I couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and confusion.

No, I haven’t returned to my old place. When I visited my mom on Monday, she inquired about Dain, which indicated he hadn’t visited her either. The silence from him has been deafening.

To be honest? I secretly hope it remains that way.

And no, I haven’t moved on from the events that transpired. I’ve just buried those feelings so deeply that I can almost convince myself they don’t exist. Right before he vanished, Aaron had offered to help me find a therapist, but I brushed him off, insisting I was fine. And just like that, he disappeared from my life.

I’ve been stuck in a rut, boredom wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. But then again, it’s only been a week.

The only glimmer of excitement on my horizon is Gianna’s return next week… though I dread how I will break the news that I married my insufferable boss.

We’re officially tying the knot at the registry this weekend.

I hadn’t even noticed him enter the room.

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled, leaving the book where it lay, unwilling to make a bigger fool of myself.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he replied, amusement tinging his voice.

“You finally decided to stop avoiding me?” I asked, pulling the book from my face and placing it on the table, sitting up straight. He lounged in the chair across from me, exuding an air of confidence as if he owned not just the chair, but the very atmosphere around us.

“Avoiding you?” He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

“Forget it.” Suddenly, I felt foolish for even bringing it up. He had no real reason to avoid me. “What brings you here?”

“Do I need permission to be in my own house?” His tone remained casual, but there was an undercurrent of something more.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” I replied, crossing my arms defensively.

“I have something important to discuss with you,” he said, his expression shifting to one of seriousness.