Oops... I Married the Wrong Billionaire

5

The clock on the wall read two in the morning, and Ava Carter was super bored.

She couldn't sleep. The guest bed in Lucas Ashford’s clinical penthouse was far too soft, the sheets were far too high in thread count, and the complete silence of the place felt like a sensory deprivation chamber. Weary, frustrated, and hungry, she shuffled out of her room in her oversized sleep shirt, heading straight for the kitchen.

She opened the massive stainless-steel pantry, intending to grab her leftover container of penne or at least a bag of potato chips.

She froze.

Her eyes widened in horror. Her chips were gone. Her cereal box was missing. Even her small jar of instant coffee had been removed from the lower shelf. In their place stood identical glass jars, neatly labeled, evenly spaced, and arranged with surgical precision.

Ava turned toward the spice rack on the marble island.

Allspice. Basil. Cayenne. Cinnamon. Garlic Powder. Oregano. Paprika.

Everything was in Alphabetical order.

"You have got to be kidding me," Ava whispered to the empty room.

"Is there a problem?" a calm voice asked from the shadow of the hallway.

Ava jumped, spinning around to see Lucas leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing a dark gray t-shirt and black sweatpants, looking absurdly handsome and completely awake.

"Did you touch my pasta?" Ava demanded, pointing a finger at him. "Where is my coffee? Why does your pantry look like a hospital operating room?"

Lucas walked over to the island with slow, deliberate steps. He stopped on the other side of the counter, completely unbothered by her rising blood pressure. "I organized the space. Everything you brought has been transferred into airtight containers to maintain hygiene and visual uniformity."

"Visual uniformity?" Ava raised her voice, throwing her hands up. "Lucas, it’s a kitchen! It’s meant for food! You alphabetized my garlic powder! Who alphabetizes spices at two in the morning?"

"It increases operational efficiency," Lucas replied, his voice flat and perfectly even. "It takes three seconds less to find a spice when it follows standard alphabetical sequencing. Over a year, that saves nearly two hours."

Ava stared at him, her mouth open in sheer disbelief. "Are you listening to yourself? You're applying corporate supply chain management to my oregano!"

"An efficient system prevents wasted motion," Lucas said simply. "Your previous arrangement was chaotic."

"My previous arrangement was called living like a human being!" Ava took a step closer to the counter, leaning over it. "Normal people throw things in a cupboard. Normal people don't treat a jar of paprika like an important corporate document that needs a filing cabinet!"

"Normal people often waste ten minutes looking for a can opener," Lucas countered, his gray eyes locking onto hers. He didn't raise his voice, which somehow made it ten times more irritating. "I do not waste ten minutes."

"You are exhausting," Ava groaned, running a hand through her messy hair. "You are a human spreadsheet. I bet you calculate the risk percentage before you pick out your socks."

"That would be an inefficient use of time," Lucas said without a hint of sarcasm. "I simply buy thirty identical pairs of dark socks. It eliminates decision fatigue."

Ava let out a dramatic, frustrated laugh. "You're insane. You know that, right? Completely, utterly insane."

"I am organized," Lucas said. "There is a difference."

"Where is the instant coffee?" she asked, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "Tell me where you hid it, or I swear I'm going to start swapping the labels on your little jars."

Lucas paused, a microscopic flicker of concern crossing his dark eyes. "It is on the top shelf of the upper cabinet. Next to the tea."

Ava turned around and reached up toward the highest cabinet above the marble counter. She stood on her tiptoes, stretching her arm as high as it would go. Her fingers brushed the edge of the wood, but she was a good three inches too short to reach the glass door. She groaned, stretching further, her sleep shirt riding up slightly at her waist.

"Let me," Lucas said quietly.

Before Ava could turn around, Lucas stepped up behind her.

Suddenly, her argument died in her throat.

Lucas reached over her head, his broad chest coming within inches of her back. She could feel the sudden, radiant heat radiating off his body through his shirt. A faint, clean scent of cedarwood, slate, and cold night air washed over her, entirely overwhelming the smell of her instant coffee.

Ava froze completely. Her heart gave a sudden, erratic thump against her ribs. She was intensely aware of how tall he was, how solid his frame felt behind her, and how small she felt standing trapped between him and the kitchen counter.

Lucas reached into the cabinet without any effort at all, his arm brushing lightly against her shoulder as he pulled the small glass jar down.

He didn't move away immediately. For two long, heavy seconds, he remained standing right behind her, his hand holding the jar just beside her shoulder.

Ava turned her head slowly, looking up.

Because of the angle, Lucas was looking down directly into her eyes. His expression was still calm, still unreadable, but his gray eyes darkened slightly as he looked at her face. The quiet hum of the high-rise building disappeared, replaced entirely by the sound of her own rapid breathing.

Lucas noticed the sudden shift in her expression—the wide, startled look in her brown eyes and the way her lips parted slightly in shock. He didn't say a word. He didn't smirk, and he didn't tease her.

He simply stepped back, creating a respectable distance between them, and set the jar of coffee on the counter.

"The coffee," Lucas said, his tone as level as if he were handing her a pen.

Ava swallowed hard, her skin feeling flushed. She grabbed the jar, hugging it against her chest like a shield, furious at her body for reacting to him. He was a cold, arrogant billionaire who had just alphabetized her spices, for heaven's sake.

"Right," Ava said, her voice sounding a little too breathy. She cleared her throat quickly. "Thanks."

"Do not burn the kitchen down," Lucas said softly. He turned on his heel and walked calmly down the dark hallway, his bedroom door closing with a quiet click.

Ava leaned back against the counter, pressing her cool hands against her warm cheeks. "Get a grip, Ava," she whispered to herself in the dark. "Yeah, he's fine as f**k, but you've got Ethan."

The next morning, Ava sat on the edge of the guest bed, holding her phone to her ear while she watched the morning sunlight cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"He alphabetized my spices, Ethan," Ava said into the receiver. "Alphabetized them. I think he might actually be an alien sent here to study human pain."

On the other end of the line, Ethan let out a weary, exhausted sigh. "At least he lets you stay in the kitchen, Ava. Victoria told me this morning that my dish soap has harmful chemicals in it. She brought in a six-pack of organic, unscented soap that costs twenty-five dollars a bottle."

Ava's lips twitched, a tiny laugh escaping her. "Twenty-five dollars for soap?"

"Yes! And she won't touch the door handles in the hallway without a tissue!" Ethan groaned, the sound of crinkling paper echoing through his line. "Ava, I'm sleeping on my own sofa. In my own apartment! She took the bedroom because she said my mattress lacks proper lumbar support."

"Ethan, that's terrible," Ava said, though the absurdity of it was getting harder to ignore. "Can't you just tell her no?"

"Have you seen her glare?" Ethan asked, his voice dropping to an anxious whisper. "She looks at me like I'm a rare species of fungus that managed to grow inside her living space. But... honest to God, Ava... I kind of feel bad for her."

Ava paused, her eyebrows pulling together. "You feel bad for the heiress who took your bed?"

Before Ethan could complain further, Ava's phone chimed with a second-line call. She looked at the screen.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

"Ethan, hold on, I have another call coming through," Ava said. "I'll call you back in a bit, okay?"

"Okay. It is just for a little while my love," Ethan said, hanging up.

Ava clicked over to the new line, bringing the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Ava Carter."

The voice was cool, distant, and undeniably icy.

Ava instantly recognized the tone. She sat up straight on the bed, her grip tightening on the phone. "Victoria? How did you even get my number?"

"Ethan's phone was sitting unlocked on his kitchen counter an hour ago," Victoria replied, completely unbothered.

Ava narrowed her eyes, her defensive guard slamming up instantly. "Right. Well, what do you want? Is it not enough that your rich friends are dragging me through the mud? Why are you making Ethan go through absolute hell in his own apartment? He's sleeping on his sofa because you're throwing a tantrum over a mattress!"

There was a short silence on the line. Victoria didn't yell back, but her voice became distinctly sharper. "I am not throwing a tantrum, Ava. I am attempting to survive an environment that lacks basic structural hygiene while my entire life is dismantled."

"It's a normal apartment, Victoria! He lives there!" Ava snapped, pacing across the room. "You don't get to march into his home, treat him like a servant, and act like a victim!"

"I didn't call you to debate Ethan’s living room," Victoria cut in, her tone cold and rigid. "I am calling you because I hired a digital auditor yesterday to run a check on the registry files. And what I found isn't something we can talk about over an unencrypted phone line."

Ava stopped pacing. Her anger flickered, replaced by sudden curiosity. "What are you talking about?"

"The registry swap wasn't a glitch, Ava," Victoria said softly, the icy sharpness in her voice giving way to a low, chilling seriousness. "Someone deliberately tampered with the system before any of us stepped into that building. Someone used high-level administrative credentials inside the municipal office to swap our records."

Ava held her breath, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp gasp. "What?"

"We need to talk. In person.”