His Wife by Mistake
Chapter 4: Fire Games and Frozen Words
by cleenTeenStories
Nora’s POV
The knock at my door came just as I was about to attempt boiling water—yes, boiling—for pasta.
“Open up! Or I swear I’ll use my foot like a battering ram,” Callum’s voice echoed through the corridor.
I yanked the door open. “You’re two minutes early.”
He grinned, holding up a bag of frozen nuggets like he was offering fine wine. “For your Michelin-star skills? I had to come prepared.”
Inside, the VIP suite shimmered under warm lights. There was something luxurious and ridiculous about how spacious it was. From velvet cushions to modern art on the walls and kitchen cabinets that probably cost more than my entire degree, it felt unreal. Like I was accidentally squatting in a billionaire’s private penthouse.
“You know,” Callum said as he tossed himself onto the couch and kicked his shoes off, “this place screams mafia-lord-on-vacation. And you’re here living like a Turkish Bond girl.”
“Please, I’m more like an unpaid intern who got teleported to the wrong universe.”
“Correction: A paid intern with a VIP tag and a mysterious boss with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.”
I rolled my eyes, slamming the freezer shut. “Stop bringing him up.”
“I didn’t name names.”
“You thought it loudly.”
He smirked. “Fine, I’ll shut up. Only if you beat me in the Nerf war.”
Ten minutes later, we were crawling behind furniture like toddlers on caffeine. Pillows became shields, shoes became landmines, and my body was on the floor more than it was upright.
“OW! Did you just shoot me in the ear?!”
“Friendly fire!” I yelled between giggles, collapsing behind the armrest.
“You’re a menace.”
“You love it.”
We both collapsed onto the oversized couch like two exhausted kids after recess. He grabbed the TV remote like he owned the place and switched to some ridiculous 90s sci-fi show.
We talked about everything and nothing—friends from back home, professors we hated, dumb parties we skipped. The kind of silly chatter that didn’t matter much but made you feel human again.
I reminded him of the time we almost got banned from the campus library because he tried to cook instant noodles using a hair straightener. He claimed it was “experimental cuisine.”
Callum rolled his eyes. “I’m a visionary. People just don’t get me.”
He always said things like that—half sarcasm, half sincerity. A walking contradiction with a heart far too soft for the chaos around him.
He’d been single for as long as I’d known him—not because he was unworthy, but because he was painfully shy when it came to girls. He could network his way through five departments and two student councils, but the minute a girl showed interest, he turned into a speechless disaster.
Which, of course, meant he knew everything about everyone else's love lives—like a walking gossip magazine with a kind smile.
That’s probably why being around him always felt like home. He was never fake. Never pretended to understand things he didn’t. And somehow, he always made space for other people to feel... less broken.
Callum raised a brow. “So. Aeron Vale.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are. Look at you—you’re tomato sauce personified.”
I shoved a spoonful of noodles in my mouth. “No comment.”
Callum grinned. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you get flustered around anyone.”
“He’s rude. Cold. Arrogant. Possibly allergic to human emotions.”
“But he rescued you. Twice. And you can’t stop talking about how unfairly hot he is.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I threw a cushion at him. He caught it easily, still grinning. “You like him.”
“I will throw you off this balcony.”
Callum laughed, hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave before you go full Turkish drama heroine on me.”
He stood, finished his juice, and gave me a brief hug. “You’re doing better than you think, Nora. Don’t forget that.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Cal.”
He left, the door clicking shut behind him.
The silence after his presence felt too loud. For a moment, it was nice. I sipped the last of my orange juice, wiped the kitchen counter, and started sorting through the mess we made.
My phone buzzed loudly across the countertop, cutting through the leftover warmth of Callum’s laughter.
Mum.
I stared at the screen. For a second, everything inside me paused. My heartbeat stuttered.
They were calling.
After everything—after I walked out, after I told them I couldn’t take the way they looked at me like I’d never be enough—they were calling.
A tiny part of me... lit up. Hope, stupid and soft. Maybe they missed me. Maybe they were proud. Maybe they realized I was doing fine on my own.
I answered.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual, steady. My voice didn’t quite match the butterflies in my stomach.
There was a pause on the other end before my mum’s voice came through. “Nora, are you alright? You haven’t updated us since you landed.”
“I’m fine. The place is great,” I replied, smiling even though my eyes were already burning. “I got a room at the company—an actual place to stay. And the team’s working on a huge project. I might be included in it. They actually—listen to me.”
“Hmm,” she said, then passed the phone. I could hear the soft shuffle of the phone being handed over, and then—his voice.
“You’ve had your fun,” my father said flatly. “Time to come home now.”
The breath caught in my throat. “What?”
“This isn’t where girls should be, Nora. Running off to a foreign country alone—do you know how reckless this looks?”
My heart dropped. The glow I felt seconds ago went cold. “I’m not running off. I’m working. I’m—finally being taken seriously.”
“You don’t even know these people,” he said. “God knows what kind of job this even is.”
“It’s real,” I said, my voice sharper now. “I’m part of a team. And it’s only for a month—I’ll be back.”
“A month is long enough for something to go wrong,” he replied instantly. “You don’t understand how the world works, Nora. That’s always been your problem.”
I swallowed hard. “Why is it so hard for you to just say you’re proud of me? Why do I always feel like I have to beg for your trust?”
Silence.
Then: “You think we don’t care? We’re trying to protect you. You’re still young, and this world is not made for girls who go around chasing—whatever this is.”
Tears prickled behind my eyes. “No. You’re trying to protect the version of me you want, not the one I really am.”
“Nora,” my mum said gently, but I could already hear the conversation closing. “Think about your future.”
“I am,” I whispered. “You just never thought it could be mine to choose.”
The call ended. No goodbye.
I stood there staring at the screen, still glowing in my palm.
It wasn’t rage I felt. It wasn’t even sadness anymore. It was something colder, quieter. The ache of being loved, but not believed in.
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