Spoiling His Reluctant Runaway Bride

Matthew carried her up to a room on the third floor of the villa and gently set her down.

Before she could get her balance, he wrapped an arm around her slim waist and teased, "Not bad back there. Want a reward?"

Serena shot him a glare and gave him a quick poke to the chest with her index finger, pushing him away.

Thinking back to what Vivian said at the dinner table about the will, and the conversation she'd overheard between him and David, Serena had a pretty solid idea of what kind of person Matthew was: part cold, part roguish, mostly manipulative, and undeniably handsome.

But deep down? Probably still a decent guy. At least he didn't leave her high and dry.

She relaxed a bit and joked, with a hint of drama in her tone, "As far as performances go, you win, hands down. That acting? Smooth as butter."

Matthew flopped down onto the couch, casually flipping open a magazine on the coffee table. "Likewise," he said without looking up.

Just then, a knock came at the door. "Mr. Quinn, the antacid and warm milk you asked for."

In the middle of their half-hearted flattery, the two exchanged a glance.

Serena immediately flopped onto the bed with an exaggerated groan of pain, playing along. Matthew opened the door, calm as ever, and took the medicine and milk.

"Get up," he said, nudging her gently, "drink the milk. We've got some real business to do."

She opened one eye warily. "Business? What kind of business?"

Ignoring her question, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the walk-in closet.

Turns out this place wasn't just big-it was massive.

She'd already thought the room was huge with the giant bed, the couch, and the bookcase. But the closet? A whole new level. Rows of tailored suits, crisp white and pale blue shirts, polished leather shoes in military order...

When he opened a drawer, she saw neat rows of ties, some paired with cufflinks packed in sleek cases. The layer underneath held watches, over a dozen of them, each sitting snug in its own velvet box.

Serena rubbed her eyes. Was she seeing this right?

This was a man's closet. And not just any man's. It was spotless, luxurious, and honestly, kind of jaw-dropping.

She was at a loss for words.

Matthew grabbed a white dress shirt and handed it to her, tilting his head toward the door across the room.

"For me? You're giving me clothes? Uh... but it's a guy's shirt?" she asked in confusion.

"Go take a shower."

Her eyes widened. "Sh-shower? Wait... what are you planning?"

Matthew shot her a look of pure judgment. "Ms. Dawson, so you just climb into bed straight from the street?"

With a sulk, she snatched the shirt and headed into the bathroom.

If she had to describe this bathroom in one word, other than "big," it'd still be "big." She was honestly out of energy to complain.

Her wedding makeup today was uncomfortable as hell. Normally she was all about that bare-faced life.

After making sure the door was securely locked, she pressed her ear to it-no sounds outside. Only then did she really relax and start her shower.

She was wiped. A long, hot soak was exactly what she needed to rinse off the chaos of the day.

Rich people's shampoo and shower gel were on another level-it all smelled ridiculously good. She couldn't resist playing with the foamy bubbles, giggling like a kid.

But her little bubble party was cut short by a sharp knock: "Thump thump thump!"

Freeze. "Who's there?" she called out, tense.

"You evolving in there or what? Hurry up already!" Even through the door, she could sense all the no-chill in his voice.

She rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck. "Sorry we're not all in-and-out like you guys, okay? And you, Mr. Quinn, being a whole thirty-something year old man, don't tell me you've never waited for a girl to finish up?"

No response. But Serena grinned to herself. "When it comes to talking back, I'm nearly undefeated. Hmph! Try rushing me again. Keep waiting!"