Chapter 04: Too Perfect To Be Real

~Lora~

I didn't realise Nicolas had reached for my wrist, just a brush of fingers.

But Alex snapped, his fist connected with Nicolas’s jaw before I even understood what was happening.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing, arms steady in a way that annoyed the hell out of me

My breath hitched as my hands flew to his shoulders on instinct.

Those stupid blue eyes locked onto mine, sharp, unreadable…and suddenly looking away felt impossible.

We were too close, and fuck he still has it…the same cologne that wrecks me. Black pepper, oud, and that soft smoky vanilla that melts me on the spot.

“Put me down!” I hissed, wincing in his hold.

But of course, that only made him tighten his grip.

And just our luck…people noticed, several phones raised and cameras flashing.

Trust the crowd to eat up this kind of drama.

I wanted the ground to swallow me. Embarrassment didn’t even begin to cover it.

I buried my face in his chest, hoping to disappear, but that only made the noise swell.

Great.

I shot him a glare…,yet he didn’t spare me a look.

He just kept walking, like none of it mattered.

One of his guards swung the exit door open.

And cold air hit my skin instantly, the other guards formed a barrier behind us as he headed straight for a black BMW parked like it’d been waiting for me all night.

He lowered me beside the passenger seat, surprisingly gentle, and his breath brushed my forehead…warm and too familiar.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather whatever dignity I had left.

“How dare you touch me?” I snapped as my palm cracked across his cheek. “I told you to stay the hell away. What part of that don't you understand?”

He didn’t react, just pushed his tongue to the side, his fingers grazing it gently, a stupid smirk on his face as though he enjoyed every bit of what just happened.

After a quick glance at me, he moved to his side of the car, jaw tight, fingers wrapping around the steering wheel.

Was this man for real?

I grabbed at the seatbelt, debating between causing a dramatic scene or just hopping out completely, when he leaned closer.

“Hold still, Snowdrop. I’m taking you home.”

My strength fizzled instantly, frustration replacing it.

“No… I don’t want to go back there,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“You’re drunk. Just look at you.”

“What’s it to you?” I slurred, pointing at him…or trying to. “Huh? Why do you care?”

He exhaled. “Did you have a fight with your husband?”

“It’s none of your business,” I pouted.

“Don’t say that.” His voice dropped low, rough. “Everything about you is my business.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” I covered my ears. “Please, spare me.”

His lips twitched. “Your place or mine?”

I jabbed a finger at him. “I already said I’m not going back there.”

“Fine,” he said, eyes back on the road. “But don’t go back on your words later.”

I turned to the window, letting the wind blow sense into me, my fingers feeling the cold air outside.

The night lights blurred beautifully, and for a second I wished there was a magic trick for calming my racing heart too.

Almost an hour later, we pulled into a driveway I knew too well.

My stomach dropped.

Why here?

“When you said your place,” I whispered, steadying myself so he wouldn’t see how much this spot got to me, “you could’ve taken me anywhere else. Why… this one?”

“Its the closest from the club, and it's late. He strode toward the front door, and I followed behind, trying to keep up.

But my heart raced even more.

The haunting memory I tried to bury flashed before me.

This mansion.. he had given me three years ago, a gift I had rejected, along with him, our love and everything we once had, and gone on to marry Michael.

It's so strange, how life, secrets, and timing can twist decisions so sharply that even love seems impossible.

I had my reasons.

The eight-year age gap only validated it.

Yes, eight years.

A number he considered irrelevant, but to me, it had always mattered.

He was just too perfect to be real.

Alexander Monrovia…my childhood friend, ex boyfriend, one of LA’s youngest billionaires. Hot, self-assured, desired by more women than I cared to count.

My first heartbreak, first everything.

“Why did you let them touch you, Pookie?” His voice cut through my thoughts.

The next moment, my back hit the door as he pinned me there.

The shock shot an electric pulse down my spine.

Butterflies, his addictive scent, or something stronger, I wasn’t sure.

“So I wasn’t imagining it,” I stuttered, regaining composure, as the memory of being watched at the club hit me. “You were watching me the whole time.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he growled.

“Ju..just stop calling me Pookie,” I muttered. “I’m not yours anymore.”

“Why should I stop?” His mouth was close enough that I could feel his breath. “Does it still make your heart flutter… Snowdrop?”

My pulse betrayed me for a second, but I forced myself to look away. “Back off,” I said, more breath than voice.

He didn’t move, his arms braced beside me, caging me without touching.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

I tilted my head, acting unaffected, even though the nearness of him made my thoughts blur.

“Why won’t you let me go?” I asked weakly.

“Come inside,” he said, ignoring my plight. “You’re swaying.”

“Why here? You could’ve taken me anywhere, Alex. Anywhere but here,” I muttered, low.

“C’mon, we're here already. Don’t hurt my feelings.” He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-serious.

“You insisted on not going back, so I thought… why not as far away as possible from yours?” He added, his gaze steady on mine.

I stayed silent, knowing I was letting my heart speak.

“It’s late. Stay over. You can leave in the morning.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Right. A married woman spending the night in her ex’s house…what could possibly go wrong?”

His lips curved slowly. “You’re the one overthinking. And I promise…” His eyes roamed my body slowly. “I'll be gentle.”

A smirk formed on his face, it irritated me enough that I shoved him.

He caught my wrist effortlessly, his expression shifting, like he noticed something displeasing.

“Why is your hair tied up?” he asked, fingers brushing the bun. “You know I love it dropping.”

A memory flickered….Michael had always said he liked my hair in a bun.

Maybe that was why I’d worn it that way all these years, until now.

Alex’s fingers worked through my hair, loosening it slowly, and a strange weight lifted off me.

He tucked a strand behind my ear, his thumb brushing my cheek.

“Why do you always hurt me, Lora?” He whispered.

I looked away, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat. “What are you talking about?” I lied, stepping into the mansion.

Not seeing him for three years had been driving me insane…and now, with him this close, I could barely stand it.

Worse, I couldn’t even wrap my arms around him and claim him like I wanted to.

I turned, trying to reclaim some control. “Can I use your phone?”

“Of course,” he said, pulling it from his pocket.

I stepped toward him, reaching for it, but he didn’t let me take it without a fight.

His hand brushed mine, holding me close, and before I knew it, his arms were around me in a hug.

It was firm, enveloping, almost urgent.

My head fell against his chest, and I felt the rapid beat of his heart against my ear.

“I… I need to call James,” I said, lifting my head.

He finally gave me the space to dial, after what felt like the longest seconds ever.

The call ended, and I slid the phone back into his pocket, exhaling.

I flinched, tried to step back, to create space but no.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered. “Mischievous as ever… Can I breathe?”

He didn’t give me the chance, instead he closed around my waist, pulling me against him. “Not a chance,” he said, voice low. “I want you right here.”

The hug tightened, pressing me against him, and I could feel his bulge pressed against my thigh, hot, hard, deliberate.

“Why are you doing this?” I mumbled, my knees weak.

“Because you’re mine,” he said, softer this time, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear again. “Even if you reject me a zillion times.”

I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me.

I wasn’t drunk enough to forget who I was, but I wasn’t sober enough to fight him completely.

“Alex…” I whispered, voice barely audible. “We shouldn’t…”

He tightened his arms. “I know,” he said. “But sometimes, I can't help but want to remind myself of how every inch of you tastes.” He growled.

“Please… don’t,” I whispered, almost broken.

He didn’t move. If anything, he pressed closer, wrapping me in heat, his body claiming every inch of mine.

His warmth was suffocating, intoxicating… and I was utterly undone.

Fuck.

He knew exactly how to make me fumble and powerless in his arms.

I drew a shaky breath, trying to ground myself… and then my eyes caught something.

Something that made my heart stop.