The Don's Unwanted Bride

CHAPTER 11

Hayden’s POV

Now I know what was wrong with me.

It wasn’t indigestion or stress from the cartel meetings. It wasn’t paranoia or even simple curiosity. It was her–Andrea. I was attracted to her. And not just physically, though God knows her curves could bend the will of a priest. No, this was more.

It was the way her brown eyes narrowed when she was angry. The way her voice trembled, yet still held fire. The way she looked at me like she wasn’t afraid to call me out, like she didn’t give a damn who I was.

I hated it.

But I craved it.

When I asked her to sleep with me, I thought maybe, she would hesitate, second-guess herself, maybe even blush and stammer like most women around me.

But no.

Instead, she looked like she wanted to murder me. Her eyes burned, and the word “No” shot out of her mouth like a loaded bullet before she stormed out of my room, her shoes clicking with purpose, spine straight, rage radiating off her.

And I?

I laughed.

A deep, guttural chuckle rolled out of my throat as I leaned back against the wall. The tray she’d dropped earlier still lay shattered on the floor. Coffee stained my shirt, but I barely noticed. I couldn’t get her expression out of my head.

She’s different.

Too different.

That kind of reaction wasn’t fake. It wasn’t some damsel-in-distress act or calculated seduction. She was genuinely pissed.

And I found that… intriguing.

No—addictive.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling she was hiding something. No woman waltzes into a mafia household with eyes like that, attitude like that, and no damn secrets.

Another knock came at the door, this time soft, but sure.

“Come in,” I said, turning away from the window.

The door creaked open, and Donovan walked in, his usual calm composure intact. He took one look at my shirt, then at the floor.

“Do I want to ask?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” I answered flatly and walked over to the sofa. I slouched down, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“You’re not going into work today?” Donovan asked as he stepped over the broken pieces of ceramic.

“I’ll work from here.”

“You… never work from home,” he said slowly.

“Today’s different.” I said to him with indifference.

He nodded slowly, then sat down across from me. “You’re watching her, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer immediately. My eyes narrowed as I leaned back into the cushions, arms folded. “Not anymore.”

Donovan tilted his head. “No?”

“No. You’re going to watch her now.”

He blinked. “Me?”

“Yes. And I want to test her.”

“Test her how?”

“I don’t know.”

“You think she’s lying about something?”

I turned my head to face him fully. “I don’t think so. I know.”

There was a pause. He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to decide if I’d lost my mind or if this was just another one of my obsessive tangents.

He cleared his throat. “Okay. “You really think she’s a spy?”

I shook my head. “No. I thought she might be one. That’s why I hired her. But now... I’m sure she’s not.”

Donovan looked confused. “Then why—”

“Because she’s hiding something else,” I cut in. “I just don’t know what yet.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “So... you hired her because you thought she was a spy, and now you’re keeping her because she might be something else entirely?”

“Exactly.”

He exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jesus, Hayden. Have you ever considered therapy?”

I laughed. “Don’t start.”

He sighed. “Fine. What’s her full name again?”

“Andrea Mathew.”

He stood up and straightened his jacket. “Okay. I’ll get started on her background.”

“No,” I said. “I want everything.”

He raised a brow. “Everything?”

“From childhood to present. I want school records. Family connections. Old addresses. Medical history. The full damn story.”

He whistled. “That’s a tall order.”

“I don’t care. I want the file on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.”

Donovan nodded, his expression shifting into something more serious. “Done, boss.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. “You sure this isn’t just… you being distracted by her? Because, no offense, but you look like a man who just got punched in the face by a pretty girl.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I picked up the half-empty coffee cup she’d brought earlier and stared at the dark liquid.

“She’s different,” I said finally. “I don’t know why. But she is.”

Donovan nodded once and walked out, closing the door behind him. I sat there in the silence that followed, the scent of her perfume still lingering in the air. I wasn’t sure what Andrea Mathew was hiding. But by tomorrow morning, I’d know everything.