The Tycoon's Gutsy Wife

Chapter 32: Breakfast

The moment their eyes met, Adeline shrieked as her dress slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the floor. Silence enveloped the room, thick and suffocating, as the two of them froze—staring at each other, lost for words.

Darien’s gaze was unrelenting. He looked at Adeline’s nearly bare body, the only barriers between him and exposure being the matching red lacy bra and panties. His green eyes roamed slowly, assessing every detail. Her collarbones, sharply defined, caught the soft morning light. He moved downward, silently noting her breasts—perfectly shaped, neither too large nor too small, balanced in a way that made them seem almost sculpted. He couldn’t help the faint stirring in his chest, though he tried desperately to keep it in check.

His gaze wandered further, settling on her toned stomach. The flesh was firm, hinting that she was naturally fit, though not someone obsessed with working out. She looked stunning nonetheless, effortlessly. A glint of silver caught his attention; a small belly button piercing, delicate and subtle.

Darien’s throat tightened, and he forced himself to avert his eyes downward toward her red panties. It was supposed to be innocent—just the reality of sharing a room—but the way she looked standing there, half-naked, stirred something inside him he hadn’t anticipated. He felt the first warning of arousal creeping in, and with a quick, instinctive movement, he palmed his nose, desperate to regain composure.

Adeline, having emerged from her own trance, quickly lunged for her dress, fisting it around her chest. Her glare could ignite fires—raw, dangerous, and utterly unapologetic.

"Don’t you know how to knock?!!" she demanded, voice sharp and trembling with both anger and embarrassment.

Darien leaned back slightly, unfazed. "And why would I do that? This is our room, remember? We’re supposed to share it," he countered smoothly, his grin stretching as if he knew he had her flustered. "Besides...what are you doing here? I thought you were going to shower before I left," he added, his tone teasing, though carrying an edge of challenge.

Adeline opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.

"Don’t tell me..." he trailed off, eyes narrowing as they traced her flushed cheeks and lingering heat. "Were you trying to seduce me?"

Her eyes darkened instantly, the insult hitting her like a physical blow.

"I didn’t think the eldest daughter of the Donovan family would stoop so low as to seduce me. Are you that desperate?" His words were coated with mockery.

Adeline’s skin burned, her throat tightened, and swallowing became a deliberate, laborious act. Her hand clenched around the dress, knuckles whitening, and she forced herself to bite back a retort—anything inappropriate, anything that would escalate the situation further. Even though Darien had crossed every line, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She was not Lina. She wasn’t some woman who would flirt her way into someone’s arms, manipulate with her body. And even if he had been joking, it wasn’t funny.

Tears threatened to spring to her eyes, but she quickly averted her gaze, refusing to give him that satisfaction. She turned and marched toward the bathroom without another word with the dress fisted tightly against her chest.

Darien watched her go, his brow furrowed. He expected her to fight back, to snap at him, to deliver a stinging verbal blow. But she didn’t. His eyes lingered on her back as she disappeared into the bathroom, and a rare flicker of doubt crept into his mind.

’Did I just see tears in her eyes?’ he wondered, a twinge of unease crawling down his spine.

Somewhere in New York,

Theodore arrived at the Donovan mansion, prepared to pick up Ian for school. He could have asked the chauffeur to bring Ian, but this was more than a routine morning errand. He wanted to see Adeline.

He had tried calling her multiple times over the past week, but his calls went straight to voicemail. Texts remained unanswered. The last time he saw her had been months ago, after a misunderstanding at Ian’s school, and ever since, she had treated him as if he didn’t exist.

"Daddy!!" Ian’s small legs carried him swiftly toward Theodore as soon as he saw him standing at the door.

The butler handed over Ian’s backpack and lunchbox with a curt nod, his expression stoic and unreadable. Theodore, meanwhile, stretched his neck, scanning the opulent living room adorned with gold-trimmed lights and polished marble floors.

"Where’s Adeline?" he asked, tone sharper than intended, his gaze fixed on the butler.

"Ms. Donovan went on a business trip," came the flat reply.

Theodore’s brow furrowed. The butler’s formality grated against him—referring to Adeline by her family’s last name instead of his. They were still married, after all.

"What business trip? Where exactly is she?" he pressed, irritation seeping into his voice.

The butler hesitated slightly, then spoke evenly. "I only know she went on a business trip for Mr. Westwood. Beyond that, I have no information regarding her location."

Theodore’s eyes narrowed dangerously, a storm of frustration and confusion brewing. Before he could say more, Ian tugged on his jacket.

"We’re going to be late for school," he whined.

"Yes, of course, son. Let’s go," Theodore replied, though his gaze lingered on the butler. He made a mental note to find Adeline’s whereabouts and know what she’d been up to lately.

She hadn’t been running a business—at least none that he knew of—but she was competent enough to handle tasks for her grandfather’s company. Yet still, it didn’t make sense why she would disappear without telling him.

And then there was Darien. Seeing Adeline with Darien at Hazel’s birthday party wasn’t normal. Worse, their interaction hinted at familiarity that Theodore didn’t understand.

Back in London,

Adeline stirred awake to the shrill ringing of her phone. She fumbled to answer, still groggy, without checking the caller ID.

"Where are you?" the familiar voice demanded, instantly pulling her from her drowsiness.

She checked the name. It was none other than Theodore. For a moment, she stared at the screen, seething. If she had known it was him from the start, she would have ignored the call. His voice this early in the morning was an intrusion she didn’t need. She hung up immediately.

No sooner had she tried to shake off the frustration than her phone rang again. Theodore, once more. She hesitated, torn between ignoring him and ensuring Ian was safe.

"What is it?" she asked, voice sharp, her patience already fraying. "If it’s not about Ian, I’m hanging up."

"Wait," Theodore said quickly, taking a calming breath. "Where are you? I picked up Ian for school, and you weren’t home. The butler said you went on a business trip."

"And why are you suddenly concerned about my whereabouts? You don’t need to worry about me, Theodore. Your concern is Ian," she replied, tone clipped, as she restrained herself from launching into anger.

Theodore rubbed his temples, watching the children march through the school gates. The butler’s words had unsettled him enough to demand answers from Adeline, though he had already delivered Ian safely.

"Are you with Darien?" he asked, his voice sharp despite himself.

"Who I am with is none of your business," she spat back. "That’s all. Goodbye." She ended the call before he could respond, flinging the phone onto the bed and letting herself stew in anger and frustration.

Thinking that nothing else could ruin her morning, Darien suddenly barged in. He was immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, combed hair, and the faint scent of lavender surrounding him. A Rolex peeked from under his cuff, gleaming in the morning light.

"You’re not ready," he said flatly, eyebrow cocked, as if that explained everything. "Breakfast is almost ready. Hurry up—we leave for a party in an hour."

And just like that, he vanished, leaving Adeline blinking in disbelief. She had expected the morning to be peaceful. Instead, it was chaos layered over chaos. She glanced at the other side of the bed; it was pristine, unruffled. He hadn’t even slept here? A flicker of doubt passed through her mind.

Shaking it off, she forced herself to focus. Last night’s argument still burned in her mind—he had indirectly called her a slut, and she was still seething.

Downstairs, breakfast was a battleground of polite smiles and subtle jabs. Adeline’s eyes met Darien’s as he ended a phone call. She silently huffed and looked away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

"You look lovely, my dear. Did you sleep well?" Mrs. Heisenberg asked, eyes twinkling. "You seem a little tired—did Darien keep you up all night?"

Adeline froze. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she spoke, voice clipped. "I slept well, thank you," she said, deliberately ignoring the pointed question.

She noticed Darien walking toward the table, phone now pocketed. An idea formed in her mind, mischievous and satisfying.

"It was difficult," she added smoothly, "Since Darien was snoring so loudly, I feared the mansion would collapse."