The Don's Unwanted Bride

CHAPTER 22

Hayden’s POV

Donovan’s name flashed across my phone for the second time in fifteen minutes.

I finally answered.

“She’s not home yet,” he said before I could even greet him.

I looked at the time—10:47 PM. “She said she’d be home by nine.”

“Exactly. Her driver said she insisted on going alone. Again.”

I clenched my jaw. “Of course she did.”

Silence.

Donovan didn’t have to say what he was thinking. I already knew. Alyssa was unpredictable. She could be at the mall, or she could’ve taken the next flight out of the country without telling a soul. I wouldn’t put it past her.

“Alright,” I muttered. “I’ll find her.”

I hung up and leaned forward. “Drive around. Let’s see if we can spot her car.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver replied.

I sat back, watching the city lights blur past as we moved. It was ridiculous, this whole situation. We were only married for what—a few days? A week? And already, I was playing the obsessive husband hunting for his elusive wife like some noir detective.

Pathetic.

But then again, this wasn’t just anyone. This was Alyssa.

We were almost at the end of the next street when the driver suddenly slowed down, then came to a full stop.

I raised a brow. “Why are we stopping?”

“Sir,” he said, pointing to the left. “That’s Madam’s car.”

My eyes snapped to where he was pointing.

Sure enough, parked discreetly near a 24-hour diner, was her sleek black Benz. No mistaking it. Personalized plates. Her style. Her attitude all over it.

“Are you sure?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“Yes, sir. Positive.”

I stared at it for a moment.

She came here?

To this kind of place?

I opened the car door. “Stay here.”

“Yes, sir.”

The cool night air hit me as I stepped out, my mind already racing. Why here? And more importantly, with who?

I stalked toward the diner, shoved the door open, and paused at the entrance.

The smell of greasy fries and fresh coffee hit me first. Then I saw her.

She was at a booth near the window, across from some guy. Some smiling, laughing, far-too-comfortable guy.

My heart kicked up in my chest. My hands clenched.

She was laughing at his joke.

Her face was brighter than it had been around me in days. Her eyes sparkled in a way I hadn’t seen since we got married.

I stepped back, instinct telling me to turn around, to walk out and pretend I never saw anything. To shove the image into the dark recesses of my brain and lock it there.

But I couldn’t.

Jealousy boiled beneath my skin like lava. I stalked forward, each step deliberate, my presence cutting through the light chatter in the diner.

I reached the table.

Neither of them noticed me at first.

Then I grabbed a chair and dragged it back with a screech, sitting down at their table like I’d been invited.

Alyssa’s head snapped up. She froze. Her companion blinked in surprise.

I leaned back, arm slung casually over the chair, and smirked. “Dining without me, love?”

She stiffened like I’d slapped her.

The guy frowned, clearly confused. “Uh… who are you?”

Before Alyssa could open her mouth, I looked him dead in the eye and said, “Her husband.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re married?”

The table went quiet. Alyssa said nothing. She just stared at me, eyes burning with a rage so intense it should’ve scorched me on the spot. I gave her a wink.

The guy pushed back from the table, mouth still open. “Are you serious right now?”

Again, she said nothing. Didn’t defend herself. Didn’t explain. She just kept staring at me. That silence was worse than any outburst.

Finally, the guy stood. “Wow. I feel like an idiot. You should’ve told me.”

He looked at her one last time, disappointed, then walked out. Alyssa’s chair screeched as she stood. Her hands were clenched into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed.

I shrugged, leaning back like I owned the whole damn diner. “What? I was hungry. Thought we could share a meal. Husband and wife.”

“You had no right—”

“I had every right.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re my wife.”

She snorted. “Oh, now the title matters?”

“It does when you’re out on a date, laughing like a damn schoolgirl with some guy I’ve never seen before.”

Her nostrils flared. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the one sneaking off to diners at night like a teenager.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She slammed her purse on the table. “You don’t get to police me.”

“I’m not policing. I’m reminding.”

“Reminding what, Hayden? That this is all fake?”

I stood up, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t test me, Alyssa.”

She stepped into my space, eyes wild. “Or what? You’ll drag me home like you dragged that chair?”

“If I have to.”

“Go to hell.”

She turned and stormed toward the door.