The Tycoon's Gutsy Wife

Chapter 31: Childish And Selfish

She looked up at him, pretending sweetness she clearly didn’t feel, and smiled innocently. Inside, she wanted to curse him out in every language she knew, but she still needed him—unfortunately. So she bit her tongue, fighting the urge to snap.

"Indeed, you’re handsome," she said finally. "As handsome as a frog on a strict diet."

Darien frowned so deeply a wrinkle practically carved itself between his brows. He stared at her like she’d just spoken in riddles.

"What did you just say?" he asked, genuinely confused. "Was that... supposed to be an insult or a compliment?"

’Frogs can be fat and ugly. Is she saying I’m fit? Or that I look like a frog?’ he wondered.

Adeline didn’t bother explaining. She simply turned her back to him, giving him more distance.

"You need to fix this," she said sharply. "Tell them I’m not your wife and that we need a second room."

"But why?" he countered, crossing his arms with a smug grin. "Everything seems to be going well. If they think you’re my wife, I might just get what I came here for. So, suck it up and play along."

Her hands curled into fists. She resisted the urge to land a well-deserved slap across his arrogant face. Maybe that would be considered overreacting, but she was still married to Theodore. She didn’t need scandals piling up on her like cheap souvenirs.

Misunderstandings like this weren’t what she planned to face in London.

She glared at him coldly, not bothering to hide it—not caring if he noticed.

Then she turned away, dragged her luggage to the bed, and began rummaging through it. She didn’t speak, and didn’t spare him a second glance. Completely ignoring him.

It threw him off. He’d expected her to argue. Her angry face always made him want to tease her more. Push her buttons. See how far she’d snap.

But this... this silent treatment made something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

He watched as she pulled out clothes and walked straight into the bathroom without a word. The door shut behind her.

Darien rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling hard.

He had gotten so caught up in provoking her that he’d forgotten his original goal—get Adeline to fall in love with him, or at the very least trust him enough to reveal everything she knew about her grandfather.

How was he supposed to win her over when he couldn’t go five minutes without annoying her?

He sighed, needing air—needing space from the storm he had created.

Mr. Heisenberg’s mansion had a patio at the back, one Darien vaguely remembered from the first time he’d visited years ago, when his father was still alive. He stepped outside.

The night was cool. The lights were still on even though it was already past 10 p.m. Soft wind brushed through his hair as he collapsed onto one of the cushioned loungers.

He never thought he would set foot here again.

Not after what happened.

Not after the words that had fallen from his father’s best friend’s mouth when he was just seventeen—barely a month after both his father and grandfather were confirmed dead.

"I didn’t think I would see you here."

The sudden voice nearly sent him flying off the chair. He hadn’t heard a single footstep.

Darien glanced behind him and saw his uncle, and beside him was Christopher the butler, holding a silver platter with a bottle of whiskey and several boxes of cigarettes.

"Mind if I join you?" Mr. Heisenberg asked like he didn’t own the place.

Darien didn’t reply. He simply leaned back, ignoring him.

Christopher set the platter on the table, opened the whiskey bottle, then bowed and left.

"So tell me," Mr. Heisenberg began after a moment, "Why did you leave your wife in the room? Christopher said he heard some noises. Did you two argue?"

Darien clenched his jaw. "I think Christopher misheard. I was just having a conversation with... my wife."

Mr. Heisenberg hummed, accepting the answer without believing a single word. He pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it.

"It’s a good thing you’re here tonight," he said, exhaling smoke. "We can finally talk—"

"This is precisely why I said you weren’t fit enough to manage your father’s company after he passed away," he cut in. "You’re always in a rush to speak."

Darien’s gaze darkened.

"I thought that with the years that have passed, you would grow up a little," Mr. Heisenberg continued, voice dripping with mock disappointment. "But no. Someone better should be in charge."

Darien laughed, cold and humorless. "It’s been more than a decade. Don’t tell me you’re still dreaming of taking over what my father built."

When his father and grandfather died, a vicious debate broke out about control of the company. His uncle, John Hawthorne had been the most logical candidate—his father’s elder brother, older, experienced, already owning shares. Darien had been underaged, grieving and unstable.

And then there was Mr. Heisenberg—his father’s best friend—who had tried to convince shareholders he was more fit than both John and Darien.

But a few loyal family friends among the shareholders had intervened, taking Darien under their wing, guiding him until he became a capable CEO.

Mr. Heisenberg’s mouth pulled into a tight line.

"You already have so much wealth," Darien said quietly. "And you’re still thinking of stealing? I don’t know if I should be disappointed or impressed by your greed."

Mr. Heisenberg chuckled, blowing smoke into the air.

"I’m almost seventy. What’s wrong with wanting more?" he shrugged. "There’s no such thing as greed. Taking burdens off your shoulders when you were younger wasn’t greed either. I was helping. Your father left you in my care, but you’re too stubborn. You didn’t even come to the hospital to hear his final wishes—"

Darien shot to his feet.

"I think I should go."

"Why?" Mr. Heisenberg smirked. "Did I trigger you?"

Darien didn’t answer. He walked back inside the mansion, fists clenched with chest tight.

He never got to see or hear his father’s last words because of how selfish he was.

The only chance he had, and he took it for granted.

The moment Darien entered the guest room, the tension in his body evaporated—replaced by something else entirely.

There was Adeline, standing in front of the mirror, groaning under her breath as she struggled with the zipper of her dress.

The moment their eyes met, she shrieked as her dress fell to the floor