Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 82

Chapter 82

VENUS

The kitchen was still when we stepped in.

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Golden light filtered through the tall windows, painting soft amber stripes across marble countertops and gleaming black appliances. It should’ve felt cold. Clinical, almost. Like the kind of kitchen people only toured in catalogs.

But this morning… it didn’t.

It felt warm. Settled.

It felt like us.

Aaron moved through the space with a quiet case, like this was about breakfast, then actually making it-shirtless and barefoot

new. Like waking up next to me, hearing me murmur was his usual routine.

But we both knew it wasn’t.

“Toast or pancakes?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep, not looking back as he opened the fridge.

I blinked, watching the muscles shift in his back. The way his sweatpants hung low, lazy on his hips. “You make pancakes?”

I knew he cooked-I remembered that night he made dinner-I was just in the mood to tease him.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I cook, Venus. Of course I make pancakes.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

His smirk was slow and lethal. “Sit down. You’ll see.”

I slid into one of the high stools at the island, tucking my legs beneath me. The cool granite pressed against my arms as I leaned forward and watched him.

There was something grounding about it. The rhythm of his movements. The clink of bowls and measuring cups. He wasn’t the Aaron who commanded boardrooms or silenced rooms with a stare.

Right now, he was just… him.

Quiet. Intentional. Mine?.

“What?” he asked after a beat, still focused on the batter.

I blinked, catching myself staring. “Nothing.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you look at me like I’m a puzzle you’ve almost solved.”

I smiled. “Maybe you are.”

He finally looked at me, brow lifted. “And what if you don’t like the answer?”

I held his gaze. “Then I’ll ask a better question.”

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He paused, spatula hovering mid-air, then nodded once slow and sure. “Good answer.”

I looked away not because I was shy, but because my chest was full. Swollen with something soft and terrifying.

A few minutes later, he slid a plate in front of me. Pancakes, stacked and golden, butter melting in slow spirals.

I stared. “Okay. That’s illegal. You made these?”

“Told you.” He leaned back against the counter, coffee in hand. “make excellent pancakes.”

I took a bite.

Paused.

Closed my eyes. “Holy shit.”

His chuckle was low. “I’ll take that as a win.”

“Are you trying to seduce me with carbs?”

“I don’t need pancakes to seduce you.”

My cheeks flamed before I could help it. I focused on the food, pretending his words hadn’t just unraveled something low in my stomach.

The silence that followed was comfortable. Familiar.

But yesterday hadn’t left me. Not completely. The unease was still there, coiled in the shadows of my thoughts.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

I hesitated, then pushed the plate slightly aside. “Someone followed me yesterday.”

He went still. Entirely still.

“What do you mean followed?”

“I dropped Mom off after the hospital, decided to walk a bit. I kept feeling it, that itch, like I was being watched. I turned a corner and saw someone. Tall. Hoodie. I couldn’t make out a face. But they kept reappearing, like they knew where I was going.”

His jaw tightened. “Did you tell anyone?”

“I bumped into Dorian at HQ. Told him. He pulled surveillance, but… nothing showed up. Whoever it was, they knew the blind spots.”

His knuckles whitened around his mug.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me last night?”

I swallowed. “Because I wasn’t sure it was real. Everything’s been heavy lately-Mom, work, you and me–and then… last night happened. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

He stared at me, unreadable. “You think telling me someone’s stalking you would’ve ruined it?”

“No. I just… needed one night to feel safe. To feel like myself again. I needed you.”

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Something shifted in his face. His grip on the mig eased. He set down.

“Next time.” he said, voice even, “you tell me. No hesitation.”

“I will,”

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He nodded and turned back to the stove, flipping another pancake like he needed the motion to bleed off the tension. But I saw it. In the rigid line of his spine. The coil in his shoulders.

He wasn’t angry at me.

He was furious at whoever dared make me feel unsafe.

“You shouldn’t have been alone.”

“I didn’t expect anything to happen.”

“You don’t have to expect danger for it to find you,” he muttered Then, quieter: “Sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you.”

I studied him. “You think it’s Richard? Or Caroline? Maybe Dorian?”

His mouth twisted. “Could be. Could be someone else entirely. But I’ll find out.”

I believed him. Down to my bones, I did.

But that didn’t stop the cold that curled in my stomach.

“I’m not fragile,” I said.

His eyes locked on mine. “I know.”

“Then stop treating me like I’ll break.”

“I’m treating you,” he said quietly, “like I don’t want to lose you.”

I froze.

“That’s… a lot, coming from you.”

His lips curved, faint and dry. “Get used to it.”

I reached for his hand, and he let me take it.

Just like last night. Just like waking up in his bed. It didn’t need to be labeled or boxed or perfect. It just needed to be.

But even as we sat there, fingers laced and pancakes cooling between us… I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Something was coming.

And whoever that figure in the hoodie was?

They weren’t done with me.