Contract Marriage After a Crazy Night Chapter 151: ~ 151

Chapter 151

~ Clinton ~

The soft clatter of pots and pans pulled from sleep. I groaned, rolling over to the other side of the bed, only to find the space beside empty. Annie was gone, but her clothes—and mine—were neatly folded at the foot of the bed like a silent reminder of the night we’d shared. A small smile tugged at my lips as mories of her laughter, her touch, and the warmth of her body flooded back.

I swung my legs out of bed, slipped on a pair of sweatpants, and padded barefoot out of the bedroom. The delicious aroma of breakfast greeted before I even reached the kitchen. There she was—Annie—standing at the stove, wearing nothing but my oversized white shirt that draped over her like a short dress. Her hair was twisted into a ssy bun, with a few rebellious strands framing her face. Earpods in, she moved to the rhythm of music only she could hear, humming and swaying her hips as she cooked.

I leaned against the doorfra, arms crossed, watching her in quiet admiration. She was completely unaware of my presence, lost in her own little world. Her voice, soft and playful, floated through the air as she sang along:

"Like a virgin... touched for the very first ti... Like a virgin... when your heart beats next to mine..."

The mont she turned from the sink toward the stove, our eyes t. She startled slightly, then broke into a bright, genuine smile. Quickly pausing her music and removing one earpod, she greeted warmly.

"Oh, Clint! You’re awake. Good morning."

"Good morning," I replied, my voice still husky from sleep as I folded my arms and stepped further into the kitchen. "You’re in my kitchen...making breakfast."

She bit her lip, suddenly looking a little uncertain. "Yeah...is that bad? Was I being too forward?"

I pulled out a breakfast stool and sat down, studying her. "No, it’s not bad at all. I just wasn’t expecting it. That’s all."

"I thought it would be nice to make breakfast for you," she explained, watching my face closely for any sign of discomfort. "Or...maybe it isn’t?"

"It is," I assured her quickly, offering a small smile. "Don’t get wrong—I was just surprised. In a good way."

Her shoulders relaxed, and she flashed that radiant smile again before turning the stove back on. "It slls amazing in here," I added, inhaling deeply.

"I know, right?" she laughed lightly. "Well, when your mother is a professional chef, you kind of pick up a few things. I guess I’m bound to make the kitchen sll this good."

I chuckled softly. "You’re right about that."

She nodded, satisfied, then reached for her phone to turn off the Bluetooth. "Have you ever listened to Madonna songs?"

"Yeah, of course. Which song were you singing?"

"’Like a Virgin by Madonna,’" she replied with a playful grin.

"Oh, a classic. I like it."

"I know, right? Let play it properly." She turned on the speaker, and the iconic beat filled the kitchen. Almost instantly, Annie twirled around with joyful energy, cracking eggs into a bowl while moving to the rhythm.

"You seem to be in an incredibly happy mood this morning," I observed, unable to hide my amusent.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes sparkling. "I am. I got to spend the night with you, Clint. And last night..." She paused, her voice softening with affection. "Last night was magical."

Before I could respond, she leaned across the kitchen island and pressed a sweet kiss to my lips. I kissed her back, though a flicker of reluctance lingered in my chest. When she pulled away, beaming, I simply said, "I agree with you."

"I’m glad to hear that," she replied over the music, returning to her cooking—toast, crispy bacon, and a fluffy olette taking shape.

A few monts later, she scooped a small portion of the olette onto a fork. "Here, taste this. Tell if it’s missing anything." She blew on it gently. "Careful, it’s hot."

I opened my mouth, letting her feed . The flavors exploded—perfectly seasoned, rich, and delicious. "It tastes amazing," I told her honestly.

Her face lit up with pride. "Really?"

"Really. I was actually about to ask if you needed any help with breakfast."

"Nah, I’ve got it," she chuckled, waving off. "Just sit there and look handso."

Minutes later, she slid a perfectly plated breakfast in front of —golden toast, savory bacon, and that mouthwatering olette. She moved to the refrigerator with easy familiarity. "Milk or orange juice? Wait, don’t answer—I already know you prefer milk."

I looked up at her, surprised. "You still rember that?"

"Of course, Clint. Why would I forget sothing like that?" She poured a glass of cold milk and placed it beside my plate. "There you go."

"Thanks," I said, genuinely touched by the small gesture.

"You’re welco. Now eat up before it gets cold."

She fixed her own plate and joined at the island. We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the music playing softly in the background.

"This is actually delicious," I said between bites.

"I know," she replied with playful confidence.

Then she grinned mischievously. "Rember when your dad used to scold you for eating with your mouth full?"

I groaned, nodding. "Yeah... he hated that so much."

"And when you kept doing it, he actually hired a table manners teacher," she added, laughing.

"God, that was mortifying—especially because you and Ayanna were there watching the whole thing."

Annie burst into laughter, covering her mouth. "It was hilarious! We couldn’t stop giggling."

"It was embarrassing," I muttered, though a smile crept onto my face. "The lessons, the scolding, and your laughter... After that day, I made sure never to talk with my mouth full again."

"At least you learned sothing valuable from that poor teacher," she teased.

"Oh my God, are you really going to torture with that mory forever?" I asked, scratching my jaw in mock annoyance.

"If I have to? Absolutely. It’s too hilarious to let go," she said, still giggling.

We fell into a brief, peaceful silence before I spoke again, more seriously this ti. "Your mother must be wondering why you didn’t co ho to the estate last night."

Annie shrugged lightly. "I think she already knows exactly why."

My eyes widened. "She knows?"

"Yep." She reached for her phone, paused the music, and handed it to . "She sent this early this morning. Read it."

I took the phone and read the ssage:

"HEY HONEY, GOOD MORNING. YOU MUST STILL BE AT CLINTON’S APARTNT, ANING YOU BOTH HAD A NIGHT OF PASSION. TAKE YOUR TI BEFORE COMING BACK. SEND MY REGARDS TO CLINTON AND ENJOY THE REST OF YOUR MORNING. I LOVE YOU!"

I handed the phone back, montarily speechless. "I... I’m speechless."

"Why?" Annie asked, tilting her head. "Isn’t it good that my mother is supportive and knows what’s going on?"

"Yeah, it’s good... but it’s also kind of weird."

"Weird that her daughter and the son of her boss slept together?" she teased.

"When you put it that way... yes," I admitted, taking a sip of milk.

"It’s not weird. It’s cute," she insisted.

I rolled my eyes playfully. "If you say so."

A comfortable quiet settled between us again as we finished eating. When we were done, I insisted on washing the dishes despite her protests. Once the kitchen was clean, I told her I needed to get ready for work—silently reminding myself that I wanted to visit Octavia at the hospital before heading to the office.

After showering and dressing, I stepped out of the bedroom to find Annie sitting on the couch, a deep frown creasing her forehead. She stood up and handed my phone without a word.

"You forgot this when you went to brush your teeth," she said, arms folded across her chest. Her voice was calm, but her eyes held a mixture of curiosity and unease. "A woman nad Octavia called you."

She paused, staring directly at .

"Care to explain who she is?"

I looked down at the missed call on my screen, then back at Annie, suddenly unsure what to say as an awkward tension filled the room.