Who Knew My Enigmatic Wife Was So Close?

Inside an opulent hotel suite, Alison Conley gasped for breath, her head falling back as she clung to the man before her. Her fingers, trembling with passion, left trails of red on his back.

Then, like a wave retreating to the sea, exhaustion claimed her, and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was the sound of running water that stirred Alison from the depths of slumber. Her eyes fluttered open, memories from the previous night flooding back in disjointed fragments.

She had been drugged-that much she remembered-and then there was the man, a shadowy figure with a strikingly handsome face that seemed oddly familiar, though she couldn't quite place where she'd seen him before.

Just then, the water shut off, and the bathroom door creaked open. A tall man stepped out, his presence commanding the room.

A towel hung loosely around his waist, and droplets of water clung to his tousled hair, tracing a slow, tantalizing path down his sculpted abs before disappearing into the grooves of his V-line, each drop amplifying the magnetic allure he exuded.

Alison struggled to prop herself up, her body aching in protest. Her gaze locked onto his face, and shock slammed into her like a tidal wave.

How could it be him?

This wasn't just any man-it was her husband, Nicholas Bowman. The very same man who had moved abroad since the beginning of their marriage.

She instinctively recoiled, her voice barely a whisper as she stammered, "Last night, did we...?"

Nicholas approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate, eyes sharp as they bore down into hers. "How much do you want?"

The words cut through the air like a blade, leaving Alison stunned.

Even though she recognized Nicholas, it was clear he had no idea who she was.

A bitter laugh bubbled up inside her.

Alison had married Nicholas in her stepsister's place, filling in for Lindsay Powell.

Back then, when Nicholas' grandfather, Geoffrey Bowman, was on his deathbed, he was desperate to see his grandson married.

While it was Geoffrey's insistence had forced the union, Nicholas himself had loathed the idea of a wife being thrust upon him. He even sent his assistant, Joshua Fletcher, to handle the marriage registration, avoiding Alison throughout the whole process.

As soon as the marriage became official, Nicholas left for a business venture abroad, leaving Alison with nothing but a promise-that they would get a divorce after two years.

Two years had passed. Alison had caught wind that Nicholas had returned from abroad, but never expected their first encounter would be in bed.

"Keep your mouth shut, take the check, and leave." Nicholas' cold, detached gaze slid over Alison as he reached into the bedside drawer. He pulled out a check, flicking it onto the sheets in front of her as if he were swatting away an annoying fly.

A check to dismiss her? Alison fumed. Who did this jerk think he was insulting?

She had caught glimpses of Nicholas on TV over the years, always untouchable, like a noble who considered the world's concerns beneath him. His expression was a mask of unshakeable indifference, no matter the situation.

After Nicholas had left right after their hasty marriage, Alison had become the town's laughingstock.

That humiliation had burned deep, stoking a fire in her that she refused to let die. And now, as she looked at the man before her, a reckless idea took hold. She wanted to shatter his facade and watch him crumble in embarrassment.

With a defiant glint in her eye, she threw off the covers and reached for a robe. The silk fabric draped over her as she moved with purpose, snatching up the check and tearing it in half with a dramatic flourish. She let the pieces flutter into the trash like discarded confetti.

Nicholas' eyes darkened, a dangerous glint taking over his features.

His lips curled into a mocking smile, though his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "What? Not enough for you?"

Alison's laughter bubbled up, sharp and mocking. "What happened last night was just a little fun between consenting adults. I don't need your hush money."

She paused, letting her smile turn wickedly seductive. "What's the matter, sir? Can't handle the heat?"

Nicholas' gaze turned icy, his jaw tightening as a flicker of anger danced behind his eyes.

He was known for his ruthlessness and his ability to crush anyone who dared to cross him.

The thought sent a shiver down Alison's spine, but a sense of newfound boldness surged within her. She stepped closer, poking his chest with her finger, her voice dripping with mockery. "Honestly, I was quite satisfied with your performance last night. How about we make it a regular thing? Name your price."

For two long years, Nicholas had completely ignored Alison's existence, and the resentment that had simmered within her had now reached a boiling point. The opportunity to strike back was finally in her grasp, and she didn't hesitate to seize it.

Sure enough, the second the last word left her lips, a wave of vindictive satisfaction washed over her.

"Are you asking for trouble?" The cool, unshakable facade Nicholas had so carefully maintained cracked, allowing a sliver of his true emotions to seep through. But the next second, a chilling aura radiating from him sent shivers down her spine.

Without warning, Nicholas lunged, his hand clamping around Alison's wrist like a vice, and in one swift motion, he pinned her against the wall.

The force of his actions sent her bathrobe slipping from her shoulder. With her bare curves exposed, it was a sight that left nothing to the imagination, and the sudden rush of vulnerability stirred something primal in Nicholas.

His heartbeat thundered in his chest, betraying the control he prided himself on. A deep frown etched itself onto his face as he tore his gaze away from her, forcing himself to focus. "Put your clothes back on," he commanded, his voice a strained growl.

But Alison wasn't done playing with fire.

Ignoring his order, she pressed closer, rising onto her tiptoes so her breath could wash across his ear. "Did you enjoy last night?"

After all, this man had kept her up for hours, venting his desires.

Nicholas' eyes narrowed, his intense gaze locking onto hers, searching for any hint of weakness.

Last night, when the woman before him had thrown herself at him, he had surprised his own self by not pushing her away.

Her beauty was undeniable-an intoxicating blend of innocence and allure that ensnared men without effort, those beguiling eyes daring him to make the next move.

But her good looks didn't give her the right to be so defiant.

With that thought, Nicholas tightened his grip on her wrist. "If you have a death wish, keep pushing me," he growled, the threat in his voice unmistakable.

Yet Alison met his gaze head-on, a fearless spark dancing in her eyes as she parted her lips. "I'm afraid you're the one who can't handle it, sir."

Just as the tension between them reached a fever pitch, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the moment. Nicholas' eyes flicked toward the source of the noise, his jaw tightening with frustration. He released her with a huff and turned away, stepping out to take the call on the balcony.

As he moved, he grabbed a robe, draping it over his shoulders. The neckline fell open just enough to reveal the hard lines of his chest.

There was no denying it-Nicholas' physique was nothing short of perfection. Every inch of him screamed raw masculinity.

Alison listened quietly as his voice took on a sharp, icy edge. "Yes, I've made up my mind. I promised Grandfather two years, and that time is up."

After a while, he added, "Don't concern yourself with it. There's no need for me to meet her. I'll handle it. She should have received the divorce agreement by now."

Alison's expression slowly hardened, and she tore her gaze away from him to get dressed.

So, her suspicions had been correct-Nicholas had returned for a divorce.

She couldn't help but wonder how he would react if he discovered that she was the wife he had never met. His reaction would undoubtedly be something to savor.

For a moment, she considered revealing herself then and there, just to see the look on his face. But on second thought, it would be far more entertaining to let him discover the truth when they got their divorce.

With a final glance around the room, Alison gathered her belongings and slipped out quietly. She might as well consider it a free night with a man who was, in every sense, top-tier.

Minutes later, Nicholas ended his call and returned to the room, his eyes scanning the now-empty space.

His gaze settled on the bed, where a vivid red stain marred the center of the pristine sheets.

So, it was her first time? The thought intrigued him.

Her demeanor had been anything but shy. In fact, she had been unexpectedly bold. Did she know who he was?

As the question lingered, Nicholas' fingers idly traced the rim of his glass, a sardonic smile curling his lips. Perhaps they would meet again.

Outside the hotel, Alison's phone buzzed incessantly. She glanced at the screen and frowned when she saw the caller ID-her mother, Amy Powell.

A cold shiver ran down her spine as she put two and two together.

Last night's drugging hadn't been a mere accident; someone had deliberately orchestrated it, meticulously setting the stage for her to end up in bed with Nicholas.

Alison tilted her head back as she exhaled a long, weary sigh. The thought that her own mother would go to such devious lengths against her felt like a slap in the face.

"Why haven't you been answering my calls?" As soon as the call connected, Amy's voice cut through the quiet like a knife, her tone sharp and accusatory.

Alison hesitated, just long enough for a hint of tension to settle between them. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with a biting chill. "Are you calling to find out if I ended up in Nicholas' bed last night?"

The memory of last night played vividly in Alison's mind. She had been at a banquet, representing the law firm she worked for while entertaining a significant client.

The evening was drawing to a close when she stumbled upon Amy, who feigned affection and handed her a glass of orange juice, claiming it would help her sober up.

But after a few sips, Alison felt an unnatural heat coursing through her body, a feverish flush that warned her of what was to come.

What followed was all too predictable, like a scene straight out of a TV drama.

Amy, however, showed no hint of embarrassment at being caught. Instead, she cleared her throat with a fake cough. "Nicholas is back to finalize the divorce. As your mother, I have to look out for you."

"Too bad your plan failed. Nicholas isn't interested in me. He tossed me out without a second thought." Alison's lips curled into a mocking smile, her words dripping with sarcasm.

There was no way Alison would let her scheming mother know the full truth, since she had no idea what Amy might do next.

"Impossible..." Amy's voice faltered, disbelief seeping through her words.

Alison cut her off, her tone sharp and unwavering. "You offered me up like some sort of sacrifice!"

"Alison, Isaac's company hasn't been doing well lately." Amy's voice softened, taking on a pleading edge as she mentioned her husband, Isaac Powell. "Can't you help us out here? Nicholas is an outstanding man. Women from prestigious families would give anything to marry him. I'm doing this not just for myself, but for you as well."

"For me?" Alison nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. "I thought marrying Nicholas two years ago already settled my father's debt to Isaac."

When Alison was fifteen, her father passed away, and her mother remarried Isaac soon after. Later, when Isaac's business met financial troubles, the Bowman family ended up being roped in to save him. Geoffrey had only agreed to help if an old marriage arrangement between their families was fulfilled.

And so, Alison had become their bargaining chip, a pawn trapped in a loveless marriage for two agonizing years. She thought she had repaid every last bit of their debt.

Amy's voice wavered as she pleaded, "If Isaac falls on hard times, what will become of me and Samuel? Aren't you worried about us?"

Alison's thoughts drifted back to the time after her father's death. Amy had remarried Isaac in less than a month, and within seven months, Samuel Powell had been born.

The timeline was clear enough-Amy had likely been unfaithful when Alison's father had still been alive. But Alison didn't care to dwell on that any longer.

"Where's the divorce agreement?" she asked in a flat, detached tone.

"You..." Amy's voice trembled with barely restrained fury. "Come home for dinner this weekend, and I'll hand it over then."

Alison's expression hardened, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you really think you can dangle that agreement in front of me like a carrot and expect me to play along?"

"If you don't show up, you'll never get your hands on it!" Without waiting for a reply, Amy hung up, leaving the line dead.

Alison sighed, rubbing her aching temples.

She had assumed the divorce would move along without any hitches, but she had underestimated just how low Amy would stoop to keep her on a leash.

She needed a plan to get the divorce agreement back.

Alison stood by the roadside outside the hotel to hail a taxi, ready to head home.

As she stood there, a familiar figure caught her eye. Emerging from the hotel's entrance was Damien Harding-a client from the law firm, notorious for his sleazy advances.

Seeing him approach, Alison steeled herself, forcing a polite smile. "Mr. Harding, what a coincidence."

Damien, the heir to Harding Group, had pestered Alison relentlessly in the past, though his interest in her far from welcome.

"What brings you to a hotel so early in the morning?" Damien sauntered over, his gaze lingering on her breasts for a little too long.

"Just handling some business," Alison replied, keeping her tone light.

"Who're you trying to fool? Look at those hickeys on your neck! So, you keep rejecting me because you've been busy fooling around with someone else, huh?" His gaze sharpened, zeroing in on the faint red marks on her skin.

Alison's smile didn't waver. "Mr. Harding, as it happens, I'm married. Surely it's not a crime to enjoy a date with my husband?"

Damien's sneer deepened, skepticism etched on his face. "Married? Who would believe that? Where is this supposed husband of yours? Why don't you introduce us?"

Thinking quickly, Alison pointed to a sleek Rolls-Royce parked nearby.

"That's his car," she said smoothly, before striding confidently towards it. Damien followed closely, suspicion darkening his eyes.

As they approached, they noticed a man about to get in-Nicholas.