'I Do' For Revenge-Chapter 71: Give Them A Performance

~LAYLA~

I was still half-asleep when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. The morning light filtered through my curtains, and I squinted at the screen to see Erica’s name flashing.

"Have you seen the news?" she asked breathlessly as soon as I picked up.

"No, what’s up?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and trying to shake off the fog of sleep. "It’s barely seven in the morning."

"Check online. Now." She hung up abruptly, leaving me confused and slightly alarmed.

I grabbed my phone with both hands, my heart already starting to race as I navigated to the news sites.

The first headline made my blood run cold: "TROUBLE IN PARADISE? Sources close to the power couple suggest all may not be well in the O’Brien household."

I scrolled down, reading every word with growing horror. They were questioning our marriage, pointing out that we were rarely seen together outside of business functions, analysing our body language in photos. My stomach twisted into knots.

"Seriously?" I whispered to myself, re-reading the article. "This is what people do with their time?"

But as I continued scrolling through the comments, seeing strangers dissect my personal life, the gravity of the situation hit me. This wasn’t just idle gossip; this could seriously damage both our reputations and our business.

I tied my silk nightgown tighter around my waist and dragged myself out of bed, my bare feet padding across the cold hardwood floor.

I needed to find Axel immediately. We needed to discuss how to handle this before it spiralled out of control.

He wasn’t in the kitchen, where I’d expected to find him with his morning coffee. His home office was also empty, although his laptop was open and documents were scattered across his desk.

I walked toward his bedroom, feeling nervous with every step I took. I knocked once on his door. "Axel?"

No answer.

I knocked again, louder this time. "Axel, we need to talk!"

Still nothing, but I could hear his voice, muffled and distant, coming from inside. Was he on a call? Maybe he was already dealing with this mess.

I pushed the door open slightly, intending to just peek in and see if he was busy.

But my breath caught in my throat.

Axel was standing there, fresh from the shower, completely naked, his back to me.

Water droplets still glistened on his bronze skin, and he was holding his phone to his ear, pacing slightly as he talked to someone about quarterly projections.

But for a moment, I was completely paralysed, taking in the sight of him—his broad shoulders, the defined muscles of his back, the narrow taper of his waist, and lower still... oh God.

There was nothing to shield him. Every inch of him was on display, from the strong curve of his thighs to the part of him I absolutely, definitely should not have seen.

Heat shot up my face so fast I thought I might combust. My stomach flipped, my breath caught in my throat, and all I could think was oh no, oh no, oh no. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Then reality crashed back, and I screamed, clapping a hand over my mouth.

He spun around, startled, and our eyes met for one mortifying second before I bolted, my face burning with embarrassment. I slammed the door behind me and practically sprinted back to my room.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," I muttered, diving face-first into my pillow.

My heart was racing, and my traitorous mind kept replaying the image: the way the morning light hit his skin, the sculpted lines of his body, the sheer size of...

Nope. Not thinking about that. Absolutely not.

I buried my face deeper into the pillow, muffling a strangled groan.

"Stop it, Layla," I told myself firmly. "You’re a grown woman. You’ve seen a naked man before. Get it together."

But the memory refused to fade, and I could feel heat creeping up my neck every time I thought about it.

A soft knock on my door made me jump. "Layla?" Axel’s voice was calm, but I could almost hear the amusement underneath. "You okay in there?"

"I’m fine!" I called back, my voice muffled by the pillow. "Just... give me a minute!"

"I’ll be in my study when you’re ready," he said, and I could practically hear him smirking. "We should probably talk about whatever had you so worked up."

His footsteps faded down the hallway, and I groaned into my pillow again.

How was I supposed to face him after this? How was I supposed to have a serious conversation about our public image when all I could think about was...

"Cold shower," I muttered, dragging myself toward my bathroom. "I need a very cold shower."

The icy water helped, but not as much as I’d hoped. I threw on a professional-looking blouse and slacks, trying to armour myself in respectability, and spent extra time on my makeup to hide the flush that still lingered in my cheeks.

Twenty minutes later, I stood outside his study, taking deep breaths and trying to compose myself. I could handle this. I have handled business deals and all before. I could have a mature conversation with my husband about a PR crisis without thinking about his naked body.

I knocked on the door, still avoiding direct eye contact, when he called, "Come in."

He was sitting behind his desk, fully dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks, thank God. But his knowing smirk told me he was perfectly aware of how flustered I was.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice warm with barely contained laughter.

I nodded, afraid my voice would betray me if I spoke.

"I was about to call you anyway," he continued before I could respond. "I need your help finding a file. There’s an error in one of our finance reports, and the SEC wants it reviewed ASAP. I signed off on it without double-checking like I usually do, so we need to find the mistake and grill the finance team about how this happened."

I nodded gratefully, relieved to have a professional distraction. "Of course. What kind of error are we looking for?"

"Miscalculations in the quarterly projections. The numbers don’t add up, and they’re questioning our accounting methods."

I settled into the chair beside his desk, and we dived into the spreadsheets and documents.

For the next hour, we worked in comfortable synchronisation, tracking down discrepancies and cross-referencing data. It was easier to focus when we were both looking at numbers instead of each other.

"There," I said finally, pointing to a column of figures. "Someone transposed these numbers. The decimal point is in the wrong place, which threw off the entire calculation."

"Brilliant," Axel said, making notes. "You’re a lifesaver, Layla. Sharp as ever."

I managed a smile, though I was still careful not to meet his eyes directly. "Just doing my job."

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with obvious curiosity. "So what was so urgent that you burst into my room this morning? Besides wanting to give me a heart attack?"

My face heated up again. "I... There... Oh... sorry about that. Uhm... there’s a rumour online. About us. Saying our marriage is... unstable. A facade."

His eyebrows raised. "What kind of rumour?"

"It’s all over the gossip sites. They’re saying we’re never seen together outside of work, that our whole relationship is fake. They’re analysing our body language in photos, questioning whether we’re actually happy."

Axel frowned, then slowly grinned. "Sounds like someone’s trying to rattle us. Probably your sister. She’s never been subtle about her jealousy."

"So what should we do? This may damage our plans and future business opportunities if they perceive that you’re distracted by marriage and unable to manage things."

"We show them up," he said confidently. "A public dinner, you and me, all smiles and obvious affection. Let them choke on their assumptions."

I considered this, weighing the pros and cons. "You think that’ll work?"

"People believe what they see. If we give them a convincing performance, the rumours die down. If we hide or act defensive, they’ll assume there’s truth to the gossip."

"A performance," I repeated, something twisting in my stomach at the word.

"Unless you have a better idea?"

I didn’t, and we both knew it. The business world thrives on perception, and right now, our perception was being carefully destroyed by someone with an agenda.

"Fine," I said finally. "But it needs to be somewhere high-profile. Somewhere the paparazzi will definitely be."

"I know just the place. Romano’s downtown. They have a new chef and lots of celebrity clientele. The photographers camp out there every weekend."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night. Saturday. Peak visibility." He paused, studying my face. "You sure you’re up for this? Playing the devoted wife in public?"

The way he said it made my cheeks burn again, but I lifted my chin. "I can handle it. The question is, can you play the loving husband convincingly enough to fool everyone?"

His grin widened. "Oh, I think I can manage that."

"Then let’s give them something to talk about," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.