Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 29

**The Long Didn’t Say by Mark Twain**

**Chapter 29**

**VENUS**

As I emerged from the depths of sleep, I found myself cocooned in a blanket that felt foreign against my skin. Sunlight streamed through the living room, casting lazy, golden ribbons that danced across the floor. A dull throb pulsed in my head, and my throat felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. So this is what a hangover feels like, I mused, a charming experience indeed.

With great reluctance, I pushed myself into a sitting position, squinting against the hazy blur that enveloped my surroundings. That’s when my eyes landed on it—a glass of water, two pills lying beside it, and a sticky note perched nearby, taunting me like a cheeky dare.

“Drink me,” it read.

Even in written form, his arrogance seeped through. Of course it did. Yet, I knew I had to drink it; otherwise, my brain would surely start leaking out of my ears.

With a resigned sigh, I downed the water and pills, feeling the cool liquid slide down my throat. Then, I sank back into the couch, wrapping myself in the blanket that carried a faint scent of cedar and spice, letting the medicine work its magic.

The next time I stirred from my slumber, the headache had dulled to a manageable ache. I didn’t even bother searching for Aaron; he was likely off somewhere being cold and dangerous, charming numbers, intimidating boardrooms, or ruining someone’s career with just a glance.

I had somewhere far more important to be.

Now, I found myself seated across from my mother in her hospital room. The lavender candle flickered gently on the windowsill, struggling valiantly to mask the harsh, sterile scent of antiseptic that filled the air. She lit it every time, insisting that it helped her feel like herself again, as if the flickering flame could chase away the shadows of illness.

Thirteen days had passed since her first round of chemotherapy.

And today… today marked the beginning of something painful. Her hair had started to fall out.

With delicate fingers, she ran them through her hair, moving slowly, as if she were afraid of startling the strands. A few strands broke free and fell into her palm. She didn’t shed a tear, nor did she flinch. Instead, she let out a soft sigh, set the loose hairs aside, and met my gaze with a steady look.

“You look healthy,” she remarked, her voice calm and soothing. “Lighter. Happier. It suits you.”

I blinked, taken aback by her observation. A wave of guilt surged within me, an overwhelming tide threatening to pull me under.

She didn’t mention Dain. Not even once.

And that silence—the mercy of it—cut deeper than any question could ever hope to.

I reached for the scissors resting on her nightstand. She regarded me with unwavering eyes, still and steady.

“Are you ready?” I inquired, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her acceptance a quiet strength.

There was no ceremony, no tears. Just the soft, deliberate sound of metal gliding through the strands that had once framed every cherished memory I held of her. She closed her eyes as I cut, surrendering to the inevitable, letting me take what the chemotherapy had already begun to strip away.

My hands trembled slightly as I worked.

When I finally finished, she reached up to touch her head and smiled softly at me.

“Do I look like a warrior now?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with a mix of humor and defiance.

“Yeah,” I lied, forcing the words out. “I did.”

She squeezed my hand tightly, her grip warm and reassuring.

“Thank you, Venus. For staying. For everything,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

“Mom, please—” I started, but she cut me off.

“No, listen.” Her tone sharpened slightly, though it remained warm. “I want you to be happy. I want you to find someone who’ll love you fiercely. Someone who’ll protect you. You deserve that, honey. You can’t stay alone forever.”

And that’s when the guilt hit me, sharp and brutal, coiling tightly around my ribs.

Because she didn’t know that in just two days, I would stand before a man I barely knew. That I would don a white dress and recite vows I didn’t believe in. That I was doing it all for her, not for myself. That I hadn’t told her because I couldn’t bear to see disappointment flicker in her eyes.

She looked at me as if I still had time. As if the choice were still mine.

So I smiled, nodded, and said nothing.

Because at this moment, her peace mattered more than my honesty.

And some truths…

They would have to wait.