Chapter 30: Boyfriend Or Wife ?

9:00 PM – Alessio's Penthouse

The clock ticked softly in the background.

Alessio stood by the large floor-to-ceiling window, buttoning the last of his black tailored blazer. He wore a deep black silk shirt beneath, the open collar revealing the smallest glimpse of his defined collarbone and that infamous chain he always wore. His black slacks were sharp, hugged his legs just right, and the matte leather belt with a gunmetal buckle glinted under the dim light.

He looked every bit the mafia king he was rumored to be—dangerous, powerful, composed. His reflection in the window was like a phantom of his darker self. The one that made men disappear. The one that ruled entire syndicates without blinking.

A knock.

A quiet one.

Alessio turned.

And forgot to breathe.

Noah stood there.

Wearing red.

A deep crimson silk shirt, slightly oversized and tucked perfectly into high-waisted black pants with a thick, statement belt. The deep V of the shirt collar exposed his delicate collarbones, his neck long and flushed. His sleeves were pushed slightly up to his wrists, and his waist was cinched just enough to drive a man insane.

But what truly made Alessio pause was his face.

Noah had makeup on.

Just a little—soft, barely-there blush across his cheeks, and his lips stained a deeper pink that made them look full, inviting, kissable.

Fuck.

Alessio's throat worked hard. He had never seen Noah like this. Not like the boy he dragged from the auction. Not like the trembling figure in oversized clothes who refused to look him in the eye.

This Noah—

This was someone else.

Adorable. Devastating.

His heart stuttered once before falling back into rhythm, heavier now.

Noah walked in slowly, noticing Alessio's long stare.

"What?" he asked softly, eyes flicking up to meet his.

Alessio blinked and looked away, pretending to fix his watch.

"Nothing. You look... fine."

"Fine?" Noah raised a brow. "That's all you have to say?"

"Don't push it." Alessio smirked.

Noah pouted just a little, then stepped closer. His gaze scanned Alessio from head to toe.

"You're wearing all black?" he frowned. "Shouldn't we... match or something? I mean—we're married now. Even if it's just a fake marriage, your parents will still judge us. What will they think?"

Then his eyes dropped.

"Where's your ring?"

Alessio stilled.

Of course, he hadn't worn it.

Because this wasn't a marriage. Not in the way people thought. Not in the way that made your heart race when you looked at your partner.

His parents knew this. They knew Alessio wasn't the type to fall in love. They knew this was all for duty, for power, for the heir. A calculated move to prevent chaos.

But he didn't say that to Noah.

Instead, he reached into his drawer, pulled out the same ring, and slid it on his finger without a word. Then, without hesitation, he walked past Noah.

"Wait. What are you doing?"

"Changing."

And he did.

Fifteen minutes later, Alessio returned. He had swapped his black shirt for a deep, wine-red one—smooth and elegant, a color that mirrored Noah's. He didn't say anything as he adjusted the cuffs and buttoned it just low enough to reveal the curve of his chest.

Noah looked surprised. "You... changed?"

Alessio shrugged, grabbing his keys. "Didn't want you whining all night about fashion."

Noah followed him down to the private elevator. The tension between them was thick but unfamiliar. It wasn't like the hostility from before. It wasn't even the icy detachment. It was... electricity. A pull neither wanted to admit.

Inside the sleek black car, Alessio started the engine with a smooth twist.

Noah fidgeted beside him, hands clasped, knee bouncing.

His cheeks were flushed again—not just from the makeup.

"You're sweating," Alessio teased, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear.

"I'm not."

"You're acting like my girlfriend. Nervous to meet her boyfriend's parents."

Noah scowled. "I'm not your girlfriend or Boyfriend. I'm your wife."

He turned, eyes sharp, then added in a lower, dramatic voice—

"And wives outrank girlfriends, husband."

Alessio's grip on the wheel tightened slightly.

He didn't respond.

Didn't need to.

The word husband hung in the air like a lit match.

He could see Noah shift uncomfortably, embarrassed at his own words. But it was already said. And it was the truth.

Fifteen minutes later, the car pulled into the long, winding driveway of the Romano mansion.

Noah's heart was thumping now. Louder than ever.

Tall gates opened without a word, and the moment they did, a small army of guards came into view—stationed at every corner, armed, precise, emotionless.

Alessio didn't flinch.

This was his world. He ruled it.

As soon as the car stopped, he stepped out first.

And in that instant, his entire aura changed.

Gone was the slightly amused man who had let himself match his fake spouse.

Now, he was King.

Cold. Sharp. Deadly.

His black shoes clicked against the marble tiles like the march of a conqueror returning home. His eyes were unreadable, mouth set in a straight line.

Noah stepped out too—but slower.

And Alessio didn't wait.

Didn't look back.

Didn't offer a hand.

He simply walked ahead—into the lion's den.