The Stranger's Wife

Chapter-9

The morning sun filtered through the windows as Aaira sighed heavily, staring at the endless list of tasks for the day. Her new assignment? Cleaning and setting up the pool for Arthur’s impromptu pool party. As if dealing with his arrogance wasn’t enough, now she had to prepare for a social event that she wanted absolutely no part in.

Grumbling under her breath, she made her way to the poolside. The shimmering blue water glistened under the sun, and she had to admit—it was beautiful. But the idea of Arthur lounging around with his friends, carefree and shirtless, while she ran around like a servant, made her blood boil.

By midday, everything was set. Lounge chairs were arranged, drinks were stocked, and the music was set to a casual but lively beat. Soon enough, Arthur’s guests began to arrive—four people, each exuding confidence and style.

His assistant, Tom, had an easy-going charm, while his manager, Nicky, radiated authority and precision. Then came his dresser and fashion designer, two women, two men who looked like they had stepped straight out of a fashion magazine, their presence commanding attention.

Aaira immediately felt like an outsider. This is not my world. I don’t belong here.

Arthur arrived last, dressed in nothing but a pair of fitted swim shorts, his usual smug smirk firmly in place. The way he carried himself, as if the entire world revolved around him, only irritated her further.

“Enjoying the view, Miss Han?” he teased, catching her staring.

Aaira scoffed. “I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

But her embarrassment grew as the party started, and one by one, Arthur’s friends jumped into the pool, laughing and splashing around. She had never seen men and women so casually comfortable together in such a setting. Coming from a more reserved background, the sight made her self-conscious.

She just wanted to leave.

Avoiding everyone’s gaze, she turned sharply, intending to make a quick exit, but in her haste, she collided straight into a warm, firm chest.

Arthur.

The sudden contact made her breath hitch. He was right there—towering over her, droplets of water trailing down his sculpted torso. Her fingers had instinctively brushed against his skin, sending a jolt through her. The moment was so fleeting yet so charged that she immediately pulled back. But as fate would have it, the tile beneath her feet was slippery.

Before she could react, she lost her footing, arms flailing uselessly as she tumbled backward into the pool.

The cold water engulfed her in an instant. Panic surged through her veins. She couldn't swim! She struggled, kicking wildly, but the water dragged her down.

“Help…” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper before darkness took over.

Arthur hadn’t thought—he had acted.

The moment Aaira went under, something inside him snapped. He dived in after her without hesitation, cutting through the water with powerful strokes.

His heart pounded as he reached her limp form. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her to the surface, breaking through the water with a gasp. He carried her out of the pool, placing her on the lounge chair. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow.

“Aaira!” His voice held desperation even though he hadn’t expected.

She wasn’t responding. His gut clenched. Without thinking twice, he pressed his lips to hers, breathing air into her lungs. His hands worked against her chest, pushing rhythmically, urging her to wake up.

“Come on,” he growled. “Wake up, damn it.”

A few agonizing seconds later, Aaira coughed violently, water spilling from her lips as she gasped for air.

Her eyes flew open, locking onto Arthur’s, a strange mix of confusion and horror swirling within them.

And then—

A slap echoed through the poolside.

Arthur barely flinched, though his jaw clenched. Aaira’s hand trembled as she pulled it back, shock settling on her own features.

“How dare you?” she hissed, her voice raw with anger and humiliation.

Arthur’s eyes darkened. “Excuse me?”

“You—you took advantage of me! You—” She struggled to sit up, fury overtaking reason.

Arthur scoffed, standing up. “Unbelievable.” He ran a hand through his wet hair, exhaling sharply. “I just saved your life, and you’re accusing me of that?”

“You had no right—”

“I had every damn right when you were drowning, Aaira!” His voice thundered, making her flinch. “I wasn’t going to let you die because of your own foolishness!”

A heavy silence followed. Everyone around them was watching, too stunned to intervene.

Arthur clenched his fists, his patience worn thin. “You know what? "I’m done.” He turned on his heels and walked away, disappearing into the mansion without another word.

Aaira’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her head was still spinning, but as she looked around, she noticed the expressions on Arthur’s friends’ faces.

They weren’t amused. They weren’t indifferent.

They looked… concerned.

Tom finally broke the silence. “You do realize he panicked, right?”

Aaira’s fingers tightened on the fabric of her dress. “What?”

Nicky crossed her arms. “Arthur. The man who doesn’t show emotions—who acts like nothing fazes him? He freaked out the moment you went under. I’ve never seen him like that.”

The words sent a ripple of guilt through Aaira.

“He looked absolutely terrified,” the designer added softly. And after he got you out, he wouldn’t let anyone else touch you. He insisted on handling it himself.

Aaira swallowed hard. She had misread everything. Arthur wasn’t trying to take advantage of her. He had panicked—he had cared.

Shame burned her from the inside.

Without wasting another second, she got up and rushed into the mansion.

Finding Arthur wasn’t difficult. His presence was impossible to ignore.

She found him in his study, standing by the window, a drink in his hand. His back was to her, his shoulders tense.

“Arthur,” she started hesitantly.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said coldly, not turning around.

Aaira’s hands curled into fists. She had hurt him. She could feel it in the way he spoke, the way his body stiffened in her voice.

“Arthur, I—”

“Just leave, Aaira.”

The bitterness in his tone cut through her. She had never seen him like this before. He was always teasing, arrogant, in control. But now…

She had shattered something between them.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer. “I was wrong,” she admitted. “I let my past cloud my judgment, and I accused you unfairly.”

Silence.

She tried again. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Sorry?” He finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “Do you think a simple apology fixes everything?”

Aaira met his gaze head-on. “No. But it’s a start.”

Arthur stared at her for a long moment. Something flickered in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. But just as quickly, it vanished.

He exhaled and downed his drink. “Just go, Aaira. I don’t want to see you right now.”

Her heart clenched, but she nodded slowly. She had made a mistake. And now, she had to figure out how to fix it.

He went down to the entrance hall to his team. "You should all head back to New York. There’s no reason for you to stay here any longer."

His four close friends and team members—Tom, Nicky, his designer, and his hairdresser—exchanged puzzled glances. They had initially come to check on Arthur, ensuring he was in good spirits. But now, their concern has only deepened.

"Arthur, are you sure?" Tom asked hesitantly. "We don’t mind staying a bit longer."

Arthur shook his head. "No, I appreciate it, but it’s time. Go back. I’ll handle things here."

His manager, Nicky, studied him carefully before glancing at Aaira, sensing something had shifted between them. But Arthur’s expression was unreadable. He wasn’t in the mood for explanations.

One by one, they bid farewell to Grandma, who had come to see them off. She hugged each of them warmly, her kind eyes lingering on Arthur with a knowing look.

"Take care of him," she murmured to Tom, but it was loud enough for Aaira to hear.

Aaira bit her lip, guilt weighing heavily on her chest.

As his team members said their goodbyes, the designer smiled at Aaira. It was nice meeting you. Try not to let his bad moods scare you. "He’s a softie deep down," she whispered, winking.

Aaira managed a weak smile, but her heart clenched.

Finally, the front door swung open, and one by one, Arthur’s team walked out, leaving an eerie silence behind. The door clicked shut, and the air felt heavier.

Arthur didn’t turn back to look at her. Instead, he walked past her as if she didn’t exist, heading toward his study.

Aaira swallowed hard.

She had expected anger, maybe a few cutting remarks. But this… this cold, dismissive silence?

It hurt far worse than she had imagined.

As she walked away, one thing became clear—this was far from over.

To be continued…