He Missed Our Wedding, So I Married His Enemy Chapter 05

He Missed Our Wedding, So I Married His Enemy Chapter 05

ALESSIA

I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early.

Carlos was already there.

Two bodyguards stood behind him.

A black folder rested on the table.

“Mr. Varela.”

He looked at me.

“We’re married.”

“You don’t need to sound so formal.”

I corrected myself.

“Carlos.”

He lowered his eyes and answered quietly.

Then he pushed the folder toward me.

It contained a stock-transfer contract and a postnuptial agreement.

The first page left me speechless.

“The marriage happened too quickly for us to discuss terms.”

Carlos’s voice remained calm.

“I’ll transfer five percent of the Varela Group to you.”

“If the marriage ends because of my misconduct, every marital asset goes to you.”

“I leave with nothing.”

He placed a pen before me.

“That is my sincerity.”

I pushed it back.

“No.”

His gaze sharpened.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing is wrong with the agreement. I cannot accept it.”

Carlos already carried the greater risk by marrying me.

How could I take shares worth a fortune too?

My explanation became confused.

When I finished, his expression had grown colder.

“Alessia.”

“This marriage is not a business deal to me.”

My heart seemed to take one hard blow.

I did not dare ask what he meant.

We argued for a long time before compromising.

I transferred half of five percent of my Bellandi shares to him.

If the marriage ended through my fault, I would also give up our marital property.

Carlos accepted.

Then he added one final clause.

If neither party has committed misconduct, neither party may request a divorce.

I read the sentence.

“Agreed.”

After we signed, Carlos asked whether I had plans for the afternoon.

I shook my head.

“Come somewhere with me.”

His car entered a private residential district beside the Hudson River.

There were three security checkpoints.

Varela guards stood behind the walls.

“This is where I live,” Carlos said.

“It will be our marital home.”

He entered the security code.

The numbers were familiar.

My birthday.

Without changing expression, he explained, “The house is now marital property, so I changed the code to

your birthday.”

That sounded reasonable.

He showed me the entire house.

A heavy door stood beside the primary bedroom on the second floor.

It required both a code and a fingerprint.

I assumed weapons or family ledgers were stored inside.

Carlos said, “It’s my collection room.”

I was surprised.

“Would you like to see it?”

His hand was already on the lock.

But a private collection was private for a reason.

I wanted to leave him one space of his own.

“Another time.”

His hand paused.

“All right.”

Downstairs, I noticed a black piano in the center of the living room.

“You play?”

“I learned in high school.”

“I took a few lessons too, but I had no musical talent.”

I smiled.

“I was better at painting.”

Only after I said it did I realize high school had been almost ten years ago.

It was three in the afternoon when Carlos finished showing me the house.

He stood in the living room, looking unusually uncertain.

“The house is cleaned every day.”

“Security won’t disturb you.”

I nodded.

He continued looking at me.

“Is there something else?”

“You can move in.”

He said it too directly.

Heat rushed into my face.

But we were married.

Living together was the normal thing to do.

That evening, I moved into Carlos’s house.

Nothing happened between us.

I was busy.

Carlos was busier.

By day, he managed the legal businesses of the Varela Group.

At night, he met people who would never appear inside a corporate conference room.

Sometimes he returned after midnight smelling heavily of smoke.

Occasionally, there was blood on him.

I never asked.

He never brought danger into my room.

We often worked in the same study.

Carlos gave half of it to me.

“This is the first partnership between our companies.”

“If you don’t understand something, ask.”

He wore blue-light glasses while he worked.

Even when saying something meant to relax me, his face looked cold enough to interrogate a traitor.

I always nodded.

I rarely dared ask.

Then our teams disagreed over one of the film-financing projects.

At home, I complained about it without thinking.

The next day, everyone from the Varela Group became remarkably cooperative.

I studied Carlos behind his desk and finally understood something.

The man half of New York feared might only look cold.